With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. Still, they bob up occasionally. I know well that you are making a game with me. Whence had she come: whither was she bound? A temporary congestion in the street held up the caravan for a spell; and Ah Cum looked backward to note if any of the party had become separated. ” “But you,” she exclaimed, “you are not coming. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded.
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