If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. “Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. “Another young woman, I suppose,” he said, “who knows better than her Maker about her place in the world. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. For it was not a good thing to like one man too much when one was going to marry another.
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