"You don't know what you're saying."
"I do, I do, Ernest! You'd like to be like him. But you can't. You are like him in a lot of ways. The little ways. But you're not big enough to be really like him. Let me go, Ernest. Before it's too late;—let me go!"
He came and put a hand on her shoulder.
"I'll never let you go," he said.
"You must!" She whispered. "You've got to let me. Just to get away from all this. I've never been away in all my life. He'd never let me go—either."
Unconsciously her eyes went up to the picture.
The full, red face with the hard lines in it. The thick, sensual lips. The small, cunning eyes that laughed. The ponderous, heavy set of the figure. The big, powerful hands.
His gaze followed after hers.
And very suddenly he left her side. He walked over to the mantel.
"Funny," he muttered to himself. "Jolly strange—that!"