These things are difficult. " "Poh! poh!" rejoined Ireton; "it was mere idle boasting. "By all means," rejoined Quilt. "That's all right. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. Perhaps that was why Sheila began to observe Lucy, because both of them were poignantly aware of Lucy’s otherness. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. .
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