There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. The theme was a masquerade. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. You desire to know who he was, Sir Rowland. “We parted— that night the best of friends. He drew a little breath and stepped back. In a moment he was beside her. But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him. “It was a phase,” she said. There are some papers I have to look through to-night—important papers. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. And she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the wildest gestures.
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