Never had he been so intrigued. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. They chatted pleasantly as he drove around the neighborhood for a half an hour, then stopped by the Diedermayer house. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. " "I fancied I heard voices," rejoined Sir Rowland.
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