And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. It was now a quarter past twelve. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. What an adventure! Of course, you'll bark your shins here and there and hit your funnybone; but the newness of everything will be something of a compensation. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. John has made me so happy, I’ve been losing myself in him.
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