“It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. His brows drew a little nearer together. There was a confused impression of livery carriages and whips with white favors, people fussily wanting other people to get in before them, and then the church.
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