He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. In fact, the whole face had undergone a transformation. ‘I can see why you lost your place, young Kimble. Wild allowed you to have your fine clothes again, or you might have been taken in a still more disgraceful garb. Stanley allowed his paper to drop a little, and scrutinized the hats and brows of their three fellow-travellers. . When she got back to her questions again in the monotonous high-road that led up the hill, she found the image of Mr. Instead, he was bowing to her greataunt.
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