She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. “It was,” she admitted. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. His shouts for help were answered by roars of mockery and laughter. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon.
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