So she brought upon the stage the Reverend Henry Dolby, a preacher of means, worldly-wise and kindly, cheery and rotund, who, with his wife and daughter, had arrived at the Victoria that morning. But you belong to me—and I want you. ‘Home?’ ‘To your family. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. It will be a little lonely sometimes,” she said, looking around at them, “and I shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself —and I think for you. Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure.
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