"It is a hateful world!" Elsa appealed to the wife.
"It is, Elsa, dear. But James is right."
"You'll get your balance," said the guardian, "when you reach home. When's the wedding?"
"I'm not sure that I'm going to be married." Elsa twirled the sunshade again. "I really wish I had stayed at home. I seem all topsy-turvy. I could have screamed when I saw the man standing on the ledge above the boat that night. No; I do not believe I shall marry. Fancy marrying a man and knowing that his ghost was at the same time wandering about the earth!" She rose and the sunshade described a half-circle as she spoke. "Oh, bother with it all! Dinner at eight, in the big dining-room."
"Yes. But the introductions will be made on the cafe-veranda. These people out here have gone mad over cock-tails. And look your best, Elsa. I want them to see a real American girl to-night. I'll have some roses sent up to you."
Elsa had not the heart to tell him that all interest in his dinner had suddenly gone from her mind; that even the confusion of the colonel no longer appealed to her bitter malice. She knew that she was going to be bored and miserable. Well, she had promised. She would put on her best gown; she would talk and laugh and jest because she had done these things many times when her heart was not in the play of it.
When she was gone, the consul-general's wife said: "Poor girl!"
Her husband looked across the room interestedly. "Why do you say that?"
"I am a woman."
"That phrase is the City of Refuge. All women fly to it when confronted by something they do not understand."