One may even for a time make a religion of a woman.

But of the English diplomacy one does not make a religion." Fay lay awake that night.

From a disused pigeon-hole in her mind she drew out and unfolded to its short length that attractive remnant, that half-forgotten episode of her teens.

She remembered everything--I mean everything she wished to remember.

Michael's face had recalled it all, those exquisite days which he had taken so much more seriously than she had, the sudden ruthless intervention of Lady Bellairs, the end of the daydream.