"Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?" "What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. ‘Can you not open it?’ she cried. "A knowledge of the ways of men. It would be too mortifying. ‘So now you may safely cease your roundaboutation, and tell me what took you to Remenham House. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. I need not counsel you to avoid those fatal courses which have placed you in such fearful jeopardy. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended.
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