‘Something wrong, madame?’ Her fan came up swiftly, hiding the lower part of her face. Thames did not attempt to offer him any consolation, for he was almost as much dejected. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity. She made herself a private declaration of liberty. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. An old man and a young girl, the one as stubbornly offensive as the other. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement.
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