It was the bitterest moment of her life. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. ’ ‘It was so,’ said Valade, becoming a trifle more fluent. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room.
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