With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. "This is strange," said Jack, under his breath. And when she went to sleep, then always Capes became the novel and wonderful guest of her dreams. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own. But she had found it very difficult. "I know my life is valuable to you, or you would not spare it. She could have dined alone in her room; but courage had demanded that she face the ordeal and have done with it.
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