It was hard to associate her with the stories which he and all Paris had heard of “Alcide. With some difficulty, they managed to negotiate the passage with their burden and carry him out into the library. One OUGHT to want to please her. No more. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. Her pulses began to race.
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