A young man was playing the banjo. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. “After all, it’s our honeymoon. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. “Why did I ever take that loan? An idiot girl in an asylum would have known better than that! “Vulgarity of soul and innocence of mind—the worst of all conceivable combinations.
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