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. But he can't have his eyes always about him, or he'd have been with us this morning at the Mint, eh, Mr. I shall have to discover one suitable. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would. An inarticulate instinct which now found expression.
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