...

And in the exquisitely spiritual honeymoon, vague as the shadow of a rainbow, is the very essence and aroma of that impalpable Paradise we women prophesy in dreams! ...

More sentiment! Heigho! My brother is the weeping crocodile, and the five winds are my wits.

...

Shall we dress?
Even with a maid and the electric air-blast it will take time to dry my hair and dress it." When he came out of his dressing-room she was apparently still in the hands of the maid.