She told the porter to take it to the booking-office, and it was only after a disconcerting moment or so that she found she ought to have directed him to go to the cloak-room. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. Once she heard him mutter, and she leaned down. Don’t try to shield anybody or hide anything. ‘Why, that’s it. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. “What ought you to do?” “I’ve hunted up all sorts of things.
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