"It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. “You would appear to be trying to destroy a comradeship which has been very, very pleasant. “Sooner or later, John, it will come to that. She felt that with Capes near to her she would be content always to go on loving. . He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Why should some things and not others open the deeps?” “Well, that might, after all, be an outcome of selection—like the preference for blue flowers, which are not nearly so bright as yellow, of some insects. The Mohocks XII.
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