If he laid his own suspicions boldly before the girl, and in the end the boy came clean, he would always be haunted by the witless cruelty of the act. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. ‘But he must have—’ ‘Nicholas Charvill never did anything he must do,’ Mrs Sindlesham said evenly. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. You used to beg me for hours at a time to give it all up, never to go near the ‘Ambassador’s’ again. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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