She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. I thought it would be magnificent to have a great house in Paris, and more money than any other woman. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. He walked with bent head. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd. If you owe your confinement to me, you shall owe your liberation to me, also.
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