And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. Ed. Austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup. But it is not entirely without hope, for perhaps they may find some succour with Charvill. “Do you hear!” she said “whatever you are, wherever you are! I will not be slave to the thought of any man, slave to the customs of any time.
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