“I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. We dine at seven-thirty. ‘She is a maid only, and I do not believe she has married Emile. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. Goopes down on him with the lesson Titian teaches so beautifully in his “Sacred and Profane Love,” and became quite eloquent upon the impossibility of any deception in the former. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. “I wish they did,” he said, “but they don’t. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. "That's odd. " Neither spinster noticed the reluctance in the tones.
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