Capes and her father stood up, and her father made a belated movement toward the curtain. “I am a fool,” he said. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. Accompanied by Sir Cecil, who still continued passionately enamoured of his sister, and to whom he represented that she had fallen a victim to the arts of a seducer, he set off, at fiery speed, for the metropolis. She told him the story of her parents, her marriage to Iovelli, the loss of her baby, the kidnapping after the miscarriage. His long struggle with himself, his avoidance of her were quite unnecessary. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another.
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