“That sounds quite absurd,” she answered. “But you must forgive me, John. . ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. . There was Major Price—you must recollect him, Sir Rowland,—he stumbled as he was getting out of his chair at that very gate. In some incomprehensible way that back view made her feel sorry for Alice. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against.
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