She guessed Jack was having trouble finding the right piece of carving. He was normal now, and the coat was only a coat. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. Pity you aren’t under my command. . 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. Well, let him be honest. One might suppose him turning up; he knew a lot of clever people, and some of them might belong to the class. . But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. ‘That’s wicked, that is. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt.
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