‘But the major—’ ‘The major can say nothing at all. . Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. He resented being regarded as irregular. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. Husband of mine, I think we have rather overrated the emotional capacity of those—those dears.
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