That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. I wasn't taught that; I simply fell into it from contact. "I want to know what you've done with the rest of the notes—with the gold— and the papers you took away from my room!" rejoined Wild. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. Why wasn't the world full of love, when love made happiness? Why did people hide their natural kindliness as if it were something shameful? Why shouldn't people say what they thought and act as they were inclined? Why all this pother about what one's neighbour thought, when this pother was not energized by any good will? Why was truth avoided as the plague? Why did this young man have one name on the hotel register and another on his lips? Why was she bothering about him at all? Why should there be this inexplicable compassion, when the normal sensation should have been repellance? Sidney Carton. That Capes should love her seemed beyond the compass of her imagination. The decision had been sound. "Oh! they are—are they?" muttered Jack, triumphantly; "that'll do.
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