It cannot be luck; it cannot be chance.

There is too much method in the mad tumble of it all, too much plot and counter-plot, too much cunning intent--which even we can appreciate--for us to think that it has no meaning.

Why, the very wind that blows has its assured direction and carries the pollen of this flower to the heart of that.
But there is no need to understand it.

The thing happens--that is all.

Miss Janet Hallard and Sally are intimates; that is really sufficient.
Yet they were not really intimate enough as yet for Sally to sit down on the bed directly she came into the room and break into an excited description of her adventure.