' walk through
the evening glow and the moonrise, Rosalind came home to Sally's
revelation, as we have seen, the slight exception her voice took
to universal rejoicing was the barest echo of the tension of her
absolutely unsuccessful attempt to get in the thin end of the wedge
of an incredible revelation.

Quite incredible! So hopeless is the case of a mere crude,
unadulterated fact against an irresistible _a priori_ belief in its
incredibility.

Sally was reserved about details, but clear about the outcome of her
expedition with Prosy. They perfectly understood each other, and it
wasn't anybody else's concern; present company's, of course, excepted.
Questioned as to plans for the future--inasmuch as a marriage did not
seem inconsequent under the circumstances--Sally became enigmatical.
The word "marriage" had not been so much as mentioned. She admitted
the existence of the institution, but proposed--now and for the
future--to regard it as premature. Wasn't even sure she would tell
anybody, except Tishy; and perhaps also Henriette Prince, because she
was sure to ask, and possibly Karen Braun if she did ask. But she
didn't seem at all clear what she was going to say to them, as she
objected to the expression "engaged." A thing called "it" without
an antecedent, got materialised, and did duty for something more
intelligible. Yes!--she would tell Tishy about It, and just those
one or two others. But if It was going to make any difference, or
there was to be any fuss, she would just break It off, and have done
with It.

Sentiments of this sort provoked telegraphic interchanges of
smile-suggestion between her hearers all through the evening meal
that was so unusually late. This lateness received sanction from the
fact that Mr. Fenwick would very likely have letters by the morning
post that would oblige him to return to town by the afternoon train.
If so, this was his last evening, and clearly nothing mattered.
Law and order might be blowed, or hanged.

It was, under these circumstances, rather a surprise to his hearers
when he said, after smoking half through his first cigar, that he
thought he should walk up to the hotel in the new town, because he
fancied there was a man there he knew. As to his name, he thought it
was Pilkington, but wasn't sure. Taunted with reticence, he said it
was nothing but business. As Rosalind could easily conceive that Gerry
might not want to introduce all the Pilkingtons he chanced across