That Capes should love her seemed beyond the compass of her imagination. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. I wonder if a man can quite understand that passionate feeling? It is quite a passionate feeling. Her arms and feet were uncovered, and of almost skeleton thinness. I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. “I wish he had,” she said. Pause. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. If you choose, you can see him put on board the Zeeslang yourself, Sir Rowland.
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