207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. There was some one there. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do. The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation. I think not, Annabel. Ann Veronica had one of her flashes of insight. In the beginning it was a dictionary. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business.
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