"Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. ‘Then he went stark staring crazy, if you ask me. It really isn’t so easy to go as it seems. They don’t count, and I don’t care. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. Great vistas of history opened, and she and her aunt were near reverting to the primitive and passionate and entirely indecorous arboreal—were swinging from branches by the arms, and really going on quite dreadfully—when their arrival at the Palsworthys’ happily checked this play of fancy, and brought Ann Veronica back to the exigencies of the wrappered life again. I felt—I felt living in a masked world.
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