’I’mverycramped，andI’mfeelingalittlecoldGoodgracious！thecloakisallwhite，andsoisyourmoustache！Ineverknewitwassochilly。’
AlightfrostlaywhiteontheshoulderofDick’sulsterHe，too，hadforgottenthestateoftheweatherTheylaughedtogether，andwiththatlaughendedallseriousdiscourse。
Theyraninlandacrossthewastetowarmthemselves，thenturnedtolookatthegloryofthefulltideunderthemoonlightandtheintenseblackshadowsofthefurzebushesItwasanadditionaljoytoDickthatMaisiecouldseecolourevenashesawit，——couldseetheblueinthewhiteofthemist，thevioletthatisingraypalings，andallthingselseastheyare，——notofonehue，butathousandAndthemoonlightcameintoMaisie’ssoul，sothatshe，usuallyreserved，chatteredofherselfandofthethingsshetookinterestin，——ofKami，wisestofteachers，andofthegirlsinthestudio，——ofthePoles，whowillkillthemselveswithoverworkiftheyarenotchecked；oftheFrench，whotalkatgreatlengthofmuchmorethantheywilleveraccomplish；oftheslovenlyEnglish，whotoilhopelesslyandcannotunderstandthatinclinationdoesnotimplypower；
oftheAmericans，whoseraspingvoicesinthehushofahotafternoonstraintense-drawnnervestobreaking-point，andwhosesuppersleadtoindigestion；oftempestuousRussians，neithertoholdnortobind，whotellthegirlsghost-storiestillthegirlsshriek；ofstolidGermans，whocometolearnonething，and，havingmasteredthatmuch，stolidlygoawayandcopypicturesforevermoreDicklistenedenrapturedbecauseitwasMaisiewhospokeHeknewtheoldlife。
’Ithasn’tchangedmuch，’hesaid’Dotheystillstealcoloursatlunch-time？’