In the Cage

ointed her; but in the mean while there had been more talk, and it had led to her saying, as if her f

ry o

illed with all the smart people, all the fast people, those whose names are in

te intelligence. “Yes, and I dare sa

s much as I! Their affairs, their appointments and arrangements, their

rceptibly gasp; it was in intention moreover something of a ret

ontempt in her amusement: “Haven’t you found that out?” The home

meek person, was visibly struc

are! Much goo

doesn’t lead to much.” Her own initiations so clearly did. Stil

irl suddenly let herself go. “I

ed again. “The

l, my dear!” — and the young person from Cocker’s, recalling these things and summing them up, seemed suddenly to have much to say. She didn’t say it, however; s

plan of treating it with a smile. She wished to

her companion pursued wit

far. “Ah that’s becau

e and toward the far corners at all? It wasn’t the combinations, which were easily managed: the strain was over the ineffable simplicities, those that the bachelors above all, and Lord Rye perhaps most of any, threw off — just blew off like cigarette-puffs — such sketches of. The betrothed of Mr. Mudge at all events accepted the explanation, which had the effect, as almost any turn of their talk was now apt to have, of bringing her round to the terrifi

le to announce the climax of sundry private dreams. The associate of the aristocracy had personal calculations — matter for brooding and dreaming, even for peeping out not quite hopelessly from behind the window-curtains of lonely lodgings. If she did the flowers for the bachelors, in short, didn’t she expect that to have consequences very different from such an outlook at Cocker’s as she had pronounced wholly desperate? There seemed in very truth something auspicious in the mixture of bachelors and flowers, though, when looked hard