I love her better than anyone else in the world, but she could never understand--she would only worry about the wet feet and clothes being spoilt.

I always think it is so fortunate though, don't you, that servants--even a dear like Priscilla--sleep so soundly.

Aunt Ginevra says they can't help it, every class has its peculiarity." Mr.Carlyon was extremely interested--he wanted to hear more of these adventures.
"How do you avoid Priscilla seeing your things in the morning then ?" he asked.
"I have got a pair of big gutta-percha boots--they were my father's waders once, and I found them, and have hidden them in one of the chests, and I tuck everything into them--so there are no marks.

It is enchanting." "And do you often have these nocturnal outings, you odd little girl ?" Cheiron said, wonderingly.
"Not very.

I have to be so careful, you see--and I only choose moonlight or starlight nights, and they are rare--but when the summer comes I hope to enjoy many more of them." Then Mr.Carlyon's old eyes looked away into distance and seemed to see a slender shape wrapped in a spotted fawn's skin, its head crowned with leaves, joining the throng of those other early worshipers of Dionysus as they beat their weird music among the dark crags of Parnassus--searching for communion with the spiritual beyond in the only way they knew of then to reach it, through a wild ecstasy of emotion.
Here was the same impulse, unconscious, instinctive.