"And who is this Van Gal—Gal—what's his outlandish name?" "Van Galgebrok," replied the widow. In fact, I order you to do so. The place was crowded, and the people about her were almost equally made up of very goodlooking and enthusiastic young people and a great variety of Goopes-like types. A kind but hard looking female officer named Rose took her into a room and sat her down at a small wooden table. That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again. But she certainly remembered that when she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. Go on with your studies at the Imperial College, for example, get a degree, and make yourself good value. Oh dear!—oh dear! Be careful of him," she added to her husband, "and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again. But in that reservation it may be she went a little beyond the converse of his view.
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