There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. I undid his coat, and I took it from his pocket. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. “You are unjust and quixotic, Anna, you have no right to treat any one as you are treating me. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. ’ ‘Certainly he is not a friend,’ Melusine agreed, ‘but he has gone, after all.
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