She hastened past. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls. An old woman took her in. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. " "Isn't that lagoon gorgeous? I wonder if there'll be sharks?" "Not in the lagoon. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray.
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