But those days are over—quite over. “Always has been,” said Ogilvy. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. “I’d have to be blown up into a thousand pieces. Why? What is she to you?” “I was there by accident,” Ennison answered. You are you. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both. “You told me that in the Zoological Gardens. "Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. And it's a maxim of universal application: or, at least, of universal practice. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question.
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