She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. This at once thrilled her and worried her. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. I don’t think they do matter. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth.
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