He gave her silence in return. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. Time after time he reminded her of how powerless she would be without him, how unkind the world was towards single women. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. "What's that to you?" demanded Jonathan, gruffly.
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