She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. “I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right.
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