But he saw his Bishop, his
ceinture tightened on him, and he uttered only the trite saying about
the folly of counting on the sensibility of swine.
"Yes," she laughed into her good-night to him, "but I'm not sure that it
isn't better to be the pig than the pearl."
CHAPTER XIX.
"Not long ago," said Hilda, "I had a chat with him. We sat on the grass
in the middle of the Maidan, and there was nothing to interfere with my
impressions?"
"What were your impressions? No!" Alicia cried. "No! Don't tell me. It
is all so peaceful now, and simple, and straightforward. You think such
extraordinary things. He comes here quite often, to talk about her. He
is coming this afternoon. So I have impressions too--and they are just
as good."
"All right." Hilda crossed her knees more comfortably. "_What_ did you
say the Surgeon-Major paid for those Teheran tiles?"
"Something absurd--I've forgotten. He writes to her regularly, diary
letters, by every mail."
"Do you tell him what to put into them?"
"Hilda, sometimes--you're positively coarse."
"I dare say, my dear. You didn't come out of a cab, and you never are. I
like being coarse, I feel nearer to nature then, but I don't say that as
an excuse.
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