By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. The Matriarchate! The Lords of Creation just ran about and did what they were told. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. And now she was witnessing or observing the complicated machinery of civilization through which they had come, at length to land on the beach of her island.
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