It isn’t illusions—for us. I can’t afford to get behind. The pursuit of pleasure, selfgratification, is an original instinct with her. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. She got a bun and some cocoa in the little refreshment-room, and then wandered through the galleries up-stairs, crowded with Polynesian idols and Polynesian dancinggarments, and all the simple immodest accessories to life in Polynesia, to a seat among the mummies. "I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. I will marry you when Sir John gets his divorce, and I will do all I can to keep you out of harm. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. She let her mind run into dreams of that cloud paradise of an altered world in which the Goopes and Minivers, the Fabians and reforming people believed.
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