She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. ’ Then she ran swiftly out of the library, calling out as her cavalier was almost at the front door. It was not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley.
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