“Only—I have come face to face—with something terrible, and wholly unexpected trouble. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. Why wasn't the world full of love, when love made happiness? Why did people hide their natural kindliness as if it were something shameful? Why shouldn't people say what they thought and act as they were inclined? Why all this pother about what one's neighbour thought, when this pother was not energized by any good will? Why was truth avoided as the plague? Why did this young man have one name on the hotel register and another on his lips? Why was she bothering about him at all? Why should there be this inexplicable compassion, when the normal sensation should have been repellance? Sidney Carton. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table.
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