She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. ‘But for now, I’m taking you home. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. It was dangerous for her to dare approaching him and she knew the tremendous risk she was taking, but a part of her demanded that he be found. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us.
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