I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. The doctor nodded to him curtly. ’ ‘Eh bien. I’ve wanted you—always. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. I gather you wish to go up in some fantastic get-up, wrapped about in your opera cloak, and that after the festivities you propose to stay with these friends of yours, and without any older people in your party, at an hotel. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. And then they disgorged. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. Pitt, the governor, a tall pompous personage, who, in his turn, ushered in four other individuals. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment.
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