“Women should understand men’s affairs, perhaps,” said Miss Garvice, “but to mingle in them is just to sacrifice that power of influencing they can exercise now. He embraced her, kissing her cheek, then her neck. Prudence shook her head. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Winifred screamed. It developed into a sort of secret and private bad manners. He had no ideas about daughters. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature.
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