‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. “Let us escape,” she said. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. You'll have it down. “I don’t want you to do it, to go on talking to me. ” Lord, he was right! But softly now. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. "What did the old fellow judge from, eh, Joan?" asked he.
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