Doubtless he would have asked her to dine at Rector's first if
she had been properly dressed. They both recovered sufficiently to go
to "Hamlet," and she trembled lest he would not like it. She need not
have worried--or rather she had more cause to worry than she knew.
Like it? He loved it; he shouted with honest mirth from first to last.
And, when it was over--
"Say," he burst out, "that beats any musical comedy show hollow! _It's
the funniest thing I ever see in my life!_"
Henceforward that dear lady did not let her theories out in a cold
world, but kept them safe in cotton wool under lock and key.
There are fakers in the Village--just as there are fakers everywhere
else. Only, of course, the ardour of new ideas which sincerely
animates the Village does lend itself to all manner of poses. And
because of this a perfectly earnest movement will attract a number of
superficial dilettanti who dabble in it until it is in disrepute. And,
vice versa, a crassly artificial fad will, by its novelty and
picturesqueness, draw some of the real thinking people.
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