“Nothing was ever done,” Miss Brett asserted, “without a certain element of Faith. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. I was mean to him. She thought gleefully of the dress she would get to wear for the Ball (Prom?) and could not wait to tell her foster family about how excited she was. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. “Get out of the car. “Of course I will,” he answered. “I thank you for your advice,” she said. “Quite right,” she said.
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