Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. "I could not make him understand. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. She felt a new warmth in her blood, a strange sense of elation crept over her. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room.
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