” She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry canes. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. In vain Wood protested his innocence. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. “Think how dumb we find ourselves and stifled! I know we seem to have a sort of freedom. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. ” She took his hand, interrupting him. Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively.
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