There was a long white cloud in the sky, an island floating in a sea of blue.
She noted its bays and peninsulas, the azure rivers that interlaced it, its soft depressions and radiant uplands.

She never forgot it.

She could have drawn the snowy island, from memory, for years.

All her life long she had waited for this moment; all her life long she had lived with the sword of its acceptance in her heart.

She had thought that she had accepted; but now the sword turned--horribly turned--round and round in her heart, and she did not know what she should do.
'Well,' Gerald repeated, standing still, and, as she knew, looking at the back of her head in a little perplexity.
Helen looked cautiously down at the cigarette she held; it still smoked languidly.