‘Allow me. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. Others are smart but fall prey to emotional damage, the female lunar instinct of cunning that goes awry. That is good. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed.
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