" CHAPTER V. ” She sat quite still looking at him. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. “This,” he said, and then: “No! Is this sweeter? Very well. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. But how close? She glanced about at the shrouded furnishings for possible cover. They were followed by Jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. “I know nothing about your wife. ” “Don’t tempt me,” she said, laughing, and drawing her opera-cloak together. It melted her heart. . The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her.
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