Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. You are my wife now and you belong to me. A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test. That could signify nothing except that the doctor had a friend down there somewhere, on an island in one of those archipelagoes. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed.
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