"He has not the power—perhaps not the will to do so. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. " Then he became merciful. Tender with the sick, firm with the strong, fearless, with a body that had the resistance of iron, there was nothing of the hypocrite in him. Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. I am not come here to play the part of your father-confessor. I suspect he has a bit of vanity. I get the feeling that you are special, so alone, so beautiful that I must get to the bottom of you if it takes my whole life.
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