The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. "Is it wrong, then, to surrender to good impulses?" "In the present instance, yes. But he was wide awake. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. They heard voices inside but stood for a full thirty seconds looking at each other.
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