“I must take them,” she said, to help herself over her own incredulity. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. "I was just thinking of you Jack. He looked at his friend. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness. ’ ‘And now we know also who is the prétendant, Mademoiselle Charvill.
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