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Updated: May 16, 2025
Burton-Jones' windows immensely but now, windows bored her. In the only window that mattered the blinds were down. Desire's life had narrowed as it broadened. It wasn't life that she wanted any more it was the one thing which could have made life dear. A great impatience of trivialities came upon her.
Desire said, "No, thank you, John," in her detached way a way which drove him mad even while he adored it. So the Burton-Jones garden party faded into history. But history-in-the-making caught up its effects and carried them on.... It was a lovely night. But indoors it was hot with the accumulated heat of the day. Instead of going to bed, Mary slipped out into the garden.
Having obtained his mate by any means at all, it would have gone hard with anyone who, however justly, attempted to take her from him. Today, at Mrs. Burton-Jones' garden party, the acquired restraints of character seemed wearing thin. The professor decided that it might be advisable to go home. Desire and Mary noticed his absence at about the same time.
Malice crept into her faun-like eyes as she looked across to where Desire sat, a composed young figure, listening with apparent interest to the biggest bore in Bainbridge. What right had she to hold a man's hot heart between her placid hands! Mary ground her parasol into Mrs. Burton-Jones' best sod and her small white teeth shut grindingly behind her lips.
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