The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry. 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. Let me have more light, that I may behold him. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque. The crown has passed from the brow of one monarch to that of another. Let him be sure.
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