“Fiction is natural to children. They do not, as a rule, lie artificially. The lie is the first exercise of the imagination—the first invention, the germ of art. Children often invent or lie to themselves. The lie is the first romance of childhood. The child plays with words as with everything else, and makes phrases without troubling himself as to reality. The real lie—the moral lie—is dissimulation which only arises from fear. It is in direct ratio to ill-judged severity and unscientific education.”—Guyau.
[“OUR HERO.”]
By AGNES GIBERNE, Author of “Sun, Moon and Stars,” “The Girl at the Dower House,” etc.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Rapid travelling, ninety years ago, was a comparative term, but Ivor performed the journey as fast as relays of horses could convey a post-chaise to the coast, and as quickly as contrary winds would allow him to cross the Channel.
He sent no warning of his approach. A letter could not go with greater speed than Denham went himself. Now that he was actually on the road to Polly, each hour’s delay became all but insupportable. Six long years since he had said good-bye for one fortnight to Polly! Would she be altered—as much as he himself was altered?
It was a cold day, late in spring, when he found himself at the front door of the Bryces’ comfortable mansion. The old butler opened to Denham, as once before to Roy, but this time Drake was not taken in. One glance—and his face changed.
“Sir!”