Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. “It is just a look. “One has to be so careful of one’s friends and acquaintances,” he remarked, by way of transition. Wood in the deepest mourning. Your father has forbidden you to go!’” “Well?” “She said, ‘I hate being horrid to you and father, but I feel it my duty to go to that ball!’” “Felt it her duty!” “‘Very well,’ I said, ‘then I wash my hands of the whole business. He wore a French military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone.
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