She did not wince. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. “Thanks, Mister McCloskey. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. Perhaps, after all, the others were right. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. "Why were you afraid to show me this picture, Winny?" asked the youth. "No matter. For I still love her mother. There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again.
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