cunning phrases, the suspicion and reticence that figuratively encrust
the hearts of shy and lonely men, these vanished under her warm if
careless glances. For the first time in ten years a woman of the right
sort was showing interest in him. True, there had been other women,
but these had served only to make him retreat farther into his shell.

If the crust of barbarism is thick, that of civilization is thin
enough. As Warrington went forward, Elsa stopped, and gradually went
back, not far, but far enough to cause her to throw down the bars of
reserve, to cease to guard her impulses against the invasion of
interest and fascination. She faced the truth squarely, without
palter. The man fascinated her. He was like a portrait with following
eyes. She spoke familiarly of her affairs (always omitting Arthur);
she talked of her travels, of the famous people she had met, of the
wonderful pageants she had witnessed. And she secretly laughed at
reproachful conscience that urged her to recall one of those laws Elsa
herself had written down to follow: that which forbade a young
unmarried woman to seek the companionship of a man about whom she knew
nothing. It was not her fault that, with the exception of Martha who
didn't count, they two were the only passengers. This condition of
affairs was directly chargeable to fate; and before the boat reached
Rangoon, Elsa was quite willing to let fate shift and set the scenes
how it would. The first step toward reversion is the casting aside of
one's responsibilities. Elsa shifted her cares to the shoulders of
fate. So long as the man behaved himself, so long as he treated her
with respect, real or feigned, nothing else mattered.

The phase that escaped her entirely was this, that had he not
progressed, she would have retained her old poise, the old poise of
which she was never again to be mistress. It is the old tale: sympathy