They belonged to a society whose object was to lure the
London public by the force of example towards the adoption of the early
Greek fashions and the simpler Greek attitudes. A friend of Flossie's
had thrown in her lot with them, but could never be induced to abandon
her umbrella. They also, as Joan told herself, were reformers. Near to
them was a picturesque gentleman with a beard down to his waist whose
"stunt"--as Flossie would have termed it--was hygienic clothing; it
seemed to contain an undue proportion of fresh air. There were ladies in
coats and stand-up collars, and gentlemen with ringlets. More than one
of the guests would have been better, though perhaps not happier, for a
bath.
"I fancy that's the idea," said Joan. "What will you do if you fail? Go
back to China?"
"Yes," he answered. "And take her with me. Poor little girl."
Joan rather resented his tone.
"We are not all alike," she remarked. "Some of us are quite sane."
He looked straight into her eyes. "You are," he said. "I have been
reading your articles. They are splendid.
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