All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. "We have him!" cried Jonathan, hurrying down the steps. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. At the farther end of the Lodge, the floor was raised to the height of a couple of steps; whence the whole place, with the exception of the remotest corner of the angle before-mentioned, could be commanded at a single glance. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel.
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