Something had happened to her, something had pierced her. By
that strange and faun-like power of his he had reached out and touched
her inmost soul, and she knew as she went away that she was changed.
He had cast a glittering spell upon her, and nothing could ever be the
same again.
After a space she spoke at random and Fielding made reply. With the
instinct of self-defence she maintained some species of casual
conversation during their stroll back to the waiting car, but she never
had the vaguest recollection afterwards as to what passed between them.
She was thankful to be swooping back again through the summer night. An
urgent desire for solitude was upon her. All her throbbing pulses cried
out for it. Was it but yesterday--but yesterday that she had felt so
safe? And now--
Later, alone in her room at the Court, she leaned from her open window
seeking with an almost frantic intensity to recover the peace that had
been hers. How had she lost it? She could not say. Was it the mere piping
of a flute that had reft it from her? She wanted to laugh at herself, but
could not. It was too absurd, too fantastic, for everyday, prosaic
existence, that rhapsody of the starlight, but to her it had been pure
magic.
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