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His long struggle with himself, his avoidance of her were quite unnecessary. ‘They lived with him, one after the other, for all the world as his wife. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. He was bewildered. Yes; she had heard the music the night before. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf. She had delicate oval features, light, laughing blue eyes, a pretty nez retroussé, (why have we not the term, since we have the best specimens of the feature?) teeth of pearly whiteness, and a brilliant complexion, set off by rich auburn hair, a very white neck and shoulders,—the latter, perhaps, a trifle too much exposed. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless.
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