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"How?" cried her brother, starting. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. "We've no time for any Bedlam scenes now. Through one doorway she saw a grave Chinaman standing on a stage-like platform. . . And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. Now, you and I can gossip at a gate, and Honi soit qui mal y pense. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself.
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