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Chapter 30

           Thehoursflewbyongoldenwings—weallthree—Sibyl,myselfandLucio—hadattained,asIimagined,toaperfectunityoffriendshipandmutualunderstanding—wehadpassedthatlastdaytogetherintheoutlyingwoodsofWillowsmere,underagorgeouscanopyofautumnleaves,throughwhichthesunshedmellowbeamsofroseandgold—wehadhadanalfrescoluncheonintheopenair—Luciohadsungforuswildoldballadsandlove-madrigalstilltheveryfoliagehadseemedtotremblewithjoyatthesoundofsuchentrancingmelody—andnotacloudhadmarredtheperfectpeaceandpleasureofthetime.MavisClarewasnotwithus—andIwasglad.SomehowIfeltthatoflateshehadbeenmoreorlessadiscordantelementwhenevershehadjoinedourparty.Iadmiredher—inasortoffraternalhalf-patronizingwayIevenlovedher—neverthelessIwasconsciousthatherwayswerenotasourways—herthoughtsnotasourthoughts.Iplacedthefaultonherofcourse;IconcludedthatitwasbecauseshehadwhatIelectedtocall‘literaryegoism,’insteadofbyitsrightfulname,thespiritofhonourableindependence.

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