“In any way,” responded Miss Fraser, who was an enthusiast, and habitually sentimental. “What would I give to do even one unique thing, or to marry even one unique person!”
“You couldn’t marry two at the same time—in England.”
“England limits itself so terribly; but there is a broader time coming. Those who see it, and act upon what they see, are pioneers; Mr. Lane is a pioneer.”
“But don’t you think him rather extravagant?”
“Oh yes. That is so splendid. I love the extravagance of genius, the barbaric lavishness of moral and intellectual supremacy.”
“I wonder whether the supremacy of Eustace Lane is moral, or intellectual, or—neither?” said Winifred. “There are so many different supremacies, aren’t there? I suppose a man might be supreme merely as a—as a—well, an absurdity, you know.”
Jenny smiled the watery smile of the sentimentalist; a glass of still lemonade washed with limelight might resemble it.
“Eustace Lane likes you, Winnie,” she remarked.
“I know; that is why I am wondering about him. One does wonder, you see, about the man one may possibly be going to marry.”
There had never been such a man for Jane Fraser, so she said nothing, but succeeded in looking confidential.