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Updated: June 7, 2025
Once more she was listening to the voice of young Trefane, "Ah, Margery, I love you!" to her own half whispered answer, "Poor boy!" Once more she was looking back through that forest of her life where she had wandered so long, and where every tree was Horace Pendyce. "What a pity one can't always be young!" she said.
She was thinking of a night in her youth, when her old playfellow, young Trefane of the Blues, danced with her nearly all the evening, and of how at her window she saw the sun rise, and gently wept because she was married to Horace Pendyce. "I always feel sorry for a woman who can dance as she does. I should have liked to have got some men from town, but Horace will only have the county people.
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