CHAPTER XIII. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. “I’m next, Mr. ‘He is not in England, you understand. I was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way. Just as Hogarth got to the door, the turnkey stopped him. She would never again be lonely. "Then you haven't heard?" "Of what?" "Well, well!" cried the manager, delighted at the idea of surprising the doctor. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Without Jack, it was certain that she faced danger if she went outside Golden Square. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. . Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street.
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