"You've no imagination, my dear!"-- that was because a door more than half open to the higher life couldn't be called anything but a thin partition.

Mrs.
Jordan's imagination quite did away with the thickness.
Our young lady had not taken up the charge, had dealt with it good-humouredly, just because she knew so well what to think of it.

It was at once one of her most cherished complaints and most secret supports that people didn't understand her, and it was accordingly a matter of indifference to her that Mrs.Jordan shouldn't; even though Mrs.Jordan, handed down from their early twilight of gentility and also the victim of reverses, was the only member of her circle in whom she recognised an equal.

She was perfectly aware that her imaginative life was the life in which she spent most of her time; and she would have been ready, had it been at all worth while, to contend that, since her outward occupation didn't kill it, it must be strong indeed.

Combinations of flowers and green-stuff, forsooth! What _she_ could handle freely, she said to herself, was combinations of men and women.