Now it chanced that Adjutant Crabbenthwaite told much of Houssas
and the N'Gombi, of saraweks and week-long treks, but Mr.
Wrenn's imagination was not for a second drawn to Africa, nor
did he even glance at the sun-bonneted Salvationist women packed
in the hall. He was going over and over the Adjutant's
denunciations of the Englishmen and Englishwomen who flirt on
the mail-boats.
Suppose it had been himself and his madness over Istra--at the
moment he quite called it madness--that the Adjutant had denounced!
A Salvationist near by was staring at him most accusingly....
He walked away from the jubilee reflectively. He ate his dinner
with a grave courtesy toward the food and the waiter. He was
positively courtly to his fork. For he was just reformed. He
was going to "steer clear" of mad artist women--of all but nice
good girls whom you could marry. He remembered the Adjutant's
thundered words:
"Flirting you call it--flirting! Look into your hearts. God
Himself hath looked into them and found flirtation the gateway
to hell.
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