She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. "To-night you shall be my wedded wife. Lucy entered the room. After all, she found herself reflecting, behind her aunt’s complacent visage there was a past as lurid as any one’s—not, of course, her aunt’s own personal past, which was apparently just that curate and almost incredibly jejune, but an ancestral past with all sorts of scandalous things in it: fire and slaughterings, exogamy, marriage by capture, corroborees, cannibalism! Ancestresses with perhaps dim anticipatory likenesses to her aunt, their hair less neatly done, no doubt, their manners and gestures as yet undisciplined, but still ancestresses in the direct line, must have danced through a brief and stirring life in the woady buff. "I thought it best that you should imagine him. It was a young girl who overheard me when I was on my third shopkeeper who answered my question. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching.
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