She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. Wild's busy. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft.
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