At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. "I do," replied Jack, carelessly. "Love me, love my dog! Because I've scolded him and told him a few truths, you are ice to me. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. There is a button loose on that coat under your pillow. “I will go,” he said. You don’t have to live forever to understand that. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone.
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