He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time.
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