Chapter 10

Lance stared at the figure of the marble girl, but at the moment it was no more to him than a white blur contrasting with the dark foliage. His face was very grave. The Bosquet was a favourite retreat of his, with its shadows and silence and its moist green gloom. It smelt of box. It seemed to symbolise the change that had come over him during the last year; he had been conscious of a withdrawing, of a significant aloftness. He had retreated so much more into himself, a new and rather mysterious self. There were ti…