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To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. “I think that I shall be the most unpopular man in London. Why should I peep at it through smoked glass to see things that don’t affect me?” He smiled his delight at his companion. She had come across the wicked South Seas which were still infested with cannibals; she had seen drunkenness and called men beachcombers; who was this moment as innocent as a babe, and in the next uttered some bitter wisdom it had taken a thousand years of philosophy to evolve.
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