Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. By now the horses would be rested and he might go as swiftly back again. “How have you been, my dear? Up to no good, I see.
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