The thing’s too poignant for the words one has. This girl’s extremity was very great, not to be set in words. Words cannot bring to earth that which, ethereal, defies our comprehension as life and death defy it and, like life and death, to our comprehension only sublimely IS. Words only can say her spirit, bursting from bondage, streamed up to cleave to his; how tell the anguish, how the ecstasy? Words only can say her spirit, like a live part of her drawn out of her, seemed to be rushing upwards from her body to her lips; words cannot tell the anguish that was bliss, the rapture that was pain. Only can say that she was in his arms, her heart to his, his lips against her own, and cannot tell-- But also it is to be accounted to her for her extremity that herein all her life’s habit was delivered over by her to betrayal. CHAPTER XI He was saying, “We must go in. Can you go in?” She breathed, “I can.” That dinner! That after-dinner in the drawing-room upstairs! It is a nightmare to be imagined, not to be described. Imagine walking from the darkness and the frightful secret of the passage into the blazing dazzle and the glittering eyes of the resplendent dinner party! They, in Harry’s absence, have been exchanging the last private nods and flashes. “Soon! Soon!” they have been nodding to one another. Uncle Pyke, licking his chops anticipatorily of his bath in his soup, has been licking them also in relish of working off his daughter in this excellent match; Aunt Belle, kind, kind Aunt Belle, with a last satisfied eye about the appointments of the table, has patted her Laetitia’s hand and conveyed to her, “Soon, soon, darling; soon, soon!” Beautiful Laetitia has given a gentle, glad squeeze to the patting hand and smiled a lovely, happy, certain smile. “Soon! Soon!” has gone the jolly signal--and it is not going to be soon, nor late; it is never, never going to happen; and worse than never happen!