In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. Her aunt went off at a tangent. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. A fine doctor from the Arte de Medici e Speziali was commissioned directly from Rome to oversee her care. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. So she brought upon the stage the Reverend Henry Dolby, a preacher of means, worldly-wise and kindly, cheery and rotund, who, with his wife and daughter, had arrived at the Victoria that morning. For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams.
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