” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded. ’ ‘It’s too late for that,’ Gerald told her evenly. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. So far the thing was acceptable enough. She was a merry creature, it is true, and quite beautiful. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. You would find things to laugh at even in Artemus Ward. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. For a moment he did not recognize Annabel. with you.
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