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Suddenly a wave
comes and you are swept off--swept off into what disastrous sea?
She did not think in pictures, it was not her way, but to-night, half-
terrified, half-exultant, in the long dim room she waited, the pressure of
her heart beating up into her throat, listening, watching Joan furtively,
seeing Morris, his eternal shadow, itching with its long tapering fingers
to draw her away with him beyond the house. No, she would be true with
herself. It was he who would be drawn away. The power was in her, not in
him....
She looked wearily across at Joan. The child was irritating to her as she
had always been. She had never, in any case, cared for her own sex, and
now, as so frequently with women who are about to plunge into some
passionate situation, she regarded every one she saw as a potential
interferer. She despised women as most women in their secret hearts do,
and especially she despised Joan.
"You'd better go up to bed, dear. It's half-past ten."
Without a word Joan got up, came across the room, kissed her mother, went
to the door. Then she paused.


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