As far as I can, I belong to them all. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression. Beautiful is the girl of twelve,—who is neither child nor woman, but something between both, something more exquisite than either! Such was the fairy creature presented to Thames Darrell, under the following circumstances. “There’s endless reasons, no doubt, why we shouldn’t,” he said. And that would spoil it. The tired woman looked quietly at her. Without Jack, it was certain that she faced danger if she went outside Golden Square.
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