"My family may go to the devil. Why, after all, you're a Vaughan. Everybody knows that. You're called by the name."
"Even Maurice looks down on me. He's never let me call him Father."
"He deserves to be shot. If I had ever done what he did, I'd stand by the child. I'd brave the whole thing out, by God!"
"Well, he has—in a way. He's kept me. Given me his name."
"His parents did that. He's never liked you or been really kind to you."
"He thinks I've spoiled his life."
"With Meggie, you mean. Picture Meg and Maurice married!" He laughed and kissed her temple, and, feeling her silky brow touch his cheek, he kissed that, too.
She said: "I can picture that more easily than I can our own marriage. I feel as though we should go on and on, meeting and parting like this for ever. In a way I think I'd like it better, too."
"Better than being married to me? Look here, Pheasant, you're just trying to hurt me."
"No, really. It's so beautiful, meeting like this. All day I'm in a kind of dream, waiting for it; then after it comes the night, and you're in the very heart of me all night—"
"What if I were beside you?"
"It couldn't be so lovely. It couldn't. Then in the morning, the moment I waken, I am counting the hours till we meet again. Maurice might not exist. I scarcely see or hear him."
"Dreams don't satisfy me, Pheasant. This way of living is torture to me. Every day as the spring goes on it's a greater torture. I want you—not dreams of you."
"Don't you love our meeting like this?"
