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“What do you mean?” she asked. One would think I had agreed to her going. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. 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. Though the starling was more than two feet above the level of the water, he alighted with his little charge—which he had never for an instant quitted—in safety upon it. CHAPTER XVII. “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last.
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