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She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. The Well Hole 336 XIII. . . At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. The first person who issued from the Lodge was Mr. "It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. A door slammed. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. Because of the Dance.
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