” Courtlaw was pale and dishevelled. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. ‘But you,’ she said in the friendliest way imaginable, ‘are a person tout à fait sympathique, I think. ‘It’s a pretty name. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. There's not his peer among the peerage. I shall never come back. That’s really our choice now, defy—or futility.
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