Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. There was no way to warn her of his presence without startling her. Once inside, he looked around, worried that his parents would suddenly cancel their trip and return home. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. She kept her eyes closed. ‘But you are idiot. "Gad! it's a devilish fine face when lit up.
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