"
"It makes me go round and round," whispered Mavis.
He sat grave and silent--just nodding his head in approval of all he
saw, not troubling to applaud any further, impassive as some Eastern
sultan for whom slaves and courtiers had made a mask.
Then gradually his mind seemed half to detach itself from the thraldom
of external objects. These novel sense impressions, pouring into him,
joined themselves to old memories, and, mingling, made up a fuller
stream of joy. He seemed to be able to think of five or six things at
once; but, as the undercurrent of every thought, there was the same
deep-flowing comfort, of which the source lay in his relief at the
escape from danger. Those fairies flashing about under the branches of
sham trees momentarily evoked the ancient haunting distress of his
youth, and out of this thought came the lofty conception of Mavis as
his guardian angel. How persistently the first of those fancies
lingered--after so many years! Bother the fairies or nymphs, or
whatever they were. Household angels are what a man wants to bring
him contentment; and keep him straight, day by day, and week by week.
Before the ballet was over, he became bored with it. Too long! Enough
is as good as a feast.
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