XXI
　　Stillglowingfromhermorninginthesaddle，Gypstartedoutnextdayatnoononhervisittothe”oldscoundrel’s”cottage。ItwasoneofthoselingeringmellowmorningsoflateSeptember，whentheair，justwarmedthrough，liftsoffthestubbles，andthehedgerowsarenotyetdriedofdew。Theshortcutledacrosstwofields，anarrowstripofvillagecommon，wherelinenwasdryingongorsebushescomingintobloom，andonefieldbeyond；shemetnoone。
　　Crossingtheroad，shepassedintothecottage-garden，wheresunflowersandMichaelmasdaisiesingreatprofusionweretangledalongthelowred-brickgarden-walls，undersomepoplartreesyellow-fleckedalready。Asingleemptychair，withabookturnedfacedownward，stoodoutsideanopenwindow。Smokewreathingfromonechimneywastheonlysignoflife。But，standingundecidedbeforethehalf-opendoor，Gypwasconscious，asitwere，oftoomuchstillness，ofsomethingunnaturalaboutthesilence。Shewasjustraisingherhandtoknockwhensheheardthesoundofsmotheredsobbing。Peepingthroughthewindow，shecouldjustseeawomandressedingreen，evidentlyMrs。Wagge，seatedatatable，cryingintoherhandkerchief。Atthatverymoment，too，alowmoaningcamefromtheroomabove。Gyprecoiled；then，makinguphermind，shewentinandknockedattheroomwherethewomaningreenwassitting。Afterfullyhalfaminute，itwasopened，andMrs。Waggestoodthere。Thenoseandeyesandcheeksofthatthinnish，acidfacewerered，andinhergreendress，andwithhergreenishhairforitwasgoinggreyandsheputonitayellowlotionsmellingofcantharides，sheseemedtoGypjustlikeoneofthosegreenapplesthatturnreddishsounnaturallyinthesun。
　　Shehadrubbedoverherface，whichshoneinstreaks，andherhandkerchiefwasstillcrumpledinherhand。Itwashorribletocome，sofreshandglowing，intothepresenceofthispoorwoman，evidentlyinbittersorrow。AndadesperatedesirecameoverGyptofly。Itseemeddreadfulforanyoneconnectedwithhimwhohadcausedthistroubletobecominghereatall。Butshesaidassoftlyasshecould:”Mrs。Wagge？Pleaseforgiveme——butisthereanynews？Iam——ItwasIwhogotDaphnedownhere。”
　　Thewomanbeforeherwasevidentlybeingtornthiswayandthat，butatlastsheanswered，withasniff:”It——it——wasbornthismorning——dead。”Gypgasped。Tohavegonethroughitallforthat！Everybitofmother-feelinginherrebelledandsorrowed；butherreasonsaid:Betterso！Muchbetter！Andshemurmured:”Howisshe？”
　　Mrs。Waggeanswered，withprofounddejection:”Bad——verybad。Idon’tknowI’msurewhattosay——myfeelingsareallanyhow，andthat’sthetruth。It’ssodreadfullyupsettingaltogether。””Ismynursewithher？””Yes；she’sthere。She’saveryheadstrongwoman，butcapable，I
　　don’tdeny。Daisy’sveryweak。Oh，itISupsetting！AndnowI
　　supposethere’llhavetobeaburial。Therereallyseemsnoendtoit。Andallbecauseof——ofthatman。”AndMrs。Waggeturnedawayagaintocryintoherhandkerchief。
　　Feelingshecouldneversayordotherightthingtothepoorlady，Gypstoleout。Atthebottomofthestairs，shehesitatedwhethertogouporno。Atlast，shemountedsoftly。Itmustbeinthefrontroomthatthebereavedgirlwaslying——thegirlwho，butayearago，haddebatedwithsuchnaiveself-importancewhetherornotitwasherdutytotakealover。Gypsummonedcouragetotapgently。Theeconomicagentopenedthedooraninch，but，seeingwhoitwas，slippedherrobustandhandsomepersonthroughintothecorridor。”You，mydear！”shesaidinawhisper。”That’snice！””Howisshe？””Fairlywell——considering。Youknowaboutit？””Yes；canIseeher？””Ihardlythinkso。Ican’tmakeherout。She’sgotnospirit，notanounce。Shedoesn’twanttogetwell，Ibelieve。It’stheman，Iexpect。”And，lookingatGypwithherfineblueeyes，sheasked:”Isthatit？Ishetiredofher？”
　　Gypmethergazebetterthanshehadbelievedpossible。”Yes，nurse。”
　　Theeconomicagentsweptherupanddown。”It’sapleasuretolookatyou。You’vegotquiteacolour，foryou。Afterall，IbelieveitMIGHTdohergoodtoseeyou。Comein！”
　　Gyppassedinbehindher，andstoodgazing，notdaringtostepforward。Whatawhiteface，witheyesclosed，withfairhairstilldampontheforehead，withonewhitehandlyingonthesheetaboveherheart！Whatafrailmadonnaofthesugar-plums！Onthewholeofthatbedtheonlycolourseemedthegoldhooproundthewedding-
　　finger。
　　Theeconomicagentsaidveryquietly:”Look，mydear；I’vebroughtyouanicevisitor。”
　　DaphneWing’seyesandlipsopenedandclosedagain。AndtheawfulthoughtwentthroughGyp:’Poorthing！Shethoughtitwasgoingtobehim，andit’sonlyme！’Thenthewhitelipssaid:”Oh，Mrs。Fiorsen，it’syou——itiskindofyou！”Andtheeyesopenedagain，butverylittle，anddifferently。
　　Theeconomicagentslippedaway。Gypsatdownbythebedandtimidlytouchedthehand。
　　DaphneWinglookedather，andtwotearsslowlyrandownhercheeks。”It’sover，”shesaidjustaudibly，”andthere’snothingnow——itwasdead，youknow。Idon’twanttolive。Oh，Mrs。Fiorsen，whycan’ttheyletmedie，too？”
　　Gypbentoverandkissedthehand，unabletobearthesightofthosetwoslowlyrollingtears。DaphneWingwenton:”YouAREgoodtome。Iwishmypoorlittlebabyhadn’t——”
　　Gyp，knowingherowntearswerewettingthathand，raisedherselfandmanagedtogetoutthewords:”Bearup！Thinkofyourwork！””Dancing！Ho！”Shegavetheleastlaugheverheard。”Itseemssolongago。””Yes；butnowit’llallcomebacktoyouagain，betterthanever。”
　　DaphneWingansweredbyafeeblesigh。
　　Therewassilence。Gypthought:’She’sfallingasleep。’
　　Witheyesandmouthclosedlikethat，andallalabasterwhite，thefacewasperfect，purgedofitslittlecommonnesses。StrangefreakthatthiswhiteflowerofafacecouldeverhavebeenproducedbyMr。andMrs。Wagge！
　　DaphneWingopenedhereyesandsaid:”Oh！Mrs。Fiorsen，Ifeelsoweak。AndIfeelmuchmorelonelynow。There’snothinganywhere。”
　　Gypgotup；shefeltherselfbeingcarriedintothemoodofthegirl’sheart，andwasafraiditwouldbeseen。DaphneWingwenton:”Doyouknow，whennursesaidshe’dbroughtavisitor，Ithoughtitwashim；butI’mgladnow。Ifhehadlookedatmelikehedid——I
　　couldn’thaveborneit。”
　　Gypbentdownandputherlipstothedampforehead。Faint，veryfaint，therewasstillthescentoforange-blossom。
　　Whenshewasoncemoreinthegarden，shehurriedaway；butinsteadofcrossingthefieldsagain，turnedpastthesideofthecottageintothecoppicebehind。And，sittingdownonalog，herhandspressedtohercheeksandherelbowstoherbreast，shestaredatthesunlitbrackenandtheflieschasingeachotheroverit。Love！
　　Wasitalwayssomethinghatefulandtragicthatspoiledlives？
　　Criss-cross！Onedartingonanother，takingheralmostbeforesheknewshewasseized，thendartingawayandleavingherwantingtobeseizedagain。Ordartingonher，who，whenseized，wasfataltothedarter，yethadneverwantedtobeseized。Ordartingoneontheotherforamoment，thenbothbreakingawaytoosoon。Didnevertwodartateachother，seize，andcling，andeverafterbeone？Love！Ithadspoiledherfather’slife，andDaphneWing’s；
　　nevercamewhenitwaswanted；alwayscamewhenitwasnot。
　　Malevolentwanderer，alightinghere，there；tiringofthespiritbeforeittiredofthebody；orofthebodybeforeittiredofthespirit。Bettertohavenothingtodowithit——farbetter！Ifoneneverloved，onewouldneverfeellonely——likethatpoorgirl。Andyet！No——therewasno”andyet。”Whothatwasfreewouldwishtobecomeaslave？Aslave——likeDaphneWing！Aslave——likeherownhusbandtohiswantofawifewhodidnotlovehim。Aslavelikeherfatherhadbeen——stillwas，toamemory。Andwatchingthesunlightonthebracken，Gypthought:’Love！Keepfarfromme。I
　　don’twantyou。Ishallneverwantyou！’
　　Everymorningthatweekshemadeherwaytothecottage，andeverymorninghadtopassthroughthehandsofMrs。Wagge。ThegoodladyhadgotovertheupsettingfactthatGypwasthewifeofthatvillain，andhadtakenafancytoher，confidingtotheeconomicagent，whoconfidedittoGyp，thatshewas”verydistangey——andsuchprettyeyes，quiteItalian。”Shewasoneofthosenumberlesspersonswhosepassionfordistinctionwasjustalittletoomuchfortheirpassionatepropriety。Itwasthatworshipofdistinctionwhichhadcausedhertohaveheryoungdaughter’stalentfordancingfostered。Whoknewtowhatitmightleadinthesedays？
　　AtgreatlengthsheexplainedtoGyptheinfinitecarewithwhichshehadalways”broughtDaisyuplikealady——andnowthisistheresult。”AndshewouldlookpiercinglyatGyp’shairorears，atherhandsorherinstep，toseehowitwasdone。Theburialworriedherdreadfully。”I’musingthenameofDaisyWing；shewaschristened’Daisy’andtheWing’sprofessional，sothattakesthembothin，andit’squitethetruth。ButIdon’tthinkanyonewouldconnectit，wouldthey？Aboutthefather’sname，doyouthinkI
　　mightsaythelateMr。JosephWing，thisonce？Yousee，itneverwasalive，andImustputsomethingifthey’renottoguessthetruth，andthatIcouldn’tbear；Mr。Waggewouldbesodistressed。
　　It’sinhisownline，yousee。Oh，itisupsetting！”
　　Gypmurmureddesperately:”Oh！yes，anything。”
　　Thoughthegirlwassodeathlywhiteandspiritless，itsoonbecameclearthatshewasgoingtopullthrough。Witheachday，alittlemorecolourandalittlemorecommonnesscamebacktoher。AndGypfeltinstinctivelythatshewould，intheend，returntoFulhampurgedofherinfatuation，alittleharder，perhapsalittledeeper。
　　LateoneafternoontowardtheendofherweekatMildenham，Gypwanderedagainintothecoppice，andsatdownonthatsamelog。Anhourbeforesunset，thelightshonelevelontheyellowingleavesallroundher；astartledrabbitpeltedoutofthebrackenandpeltedbackagain，and，fromthefaredgeofthelittlewood，ajaycackledharshly，shiftingitsperchfromtreetotree。Gypthoughtofherbaby，andofthatwhichwouldhavebeenitshalf-brother；
　　andnowthatshewassonearhavingtogobacktoFiorsen，sheknewthatshehadnotbeenwisetocomehere。Tohavebeenincontactwiththegirl，tohavetouched，asitwere，thattrouble，hadmadethethoughtoflifewithhimlesstolerableeventhanitwasbefore。Onlythelongingtoseeherbabymadereturnseempossible。Ah，well——shewouldgetusedtoitallagain！Buttheanticipationofhiseyesfixedonher，thenslidingawayfromthemeetingwithhereyes，ofall——ofallthatwouldbeginagain，suddenlymadehershiver。Shewasveryneartoloathingatthatmoment。He，thefatherofherbaby！Thethoughtseemedridiculousandstrange。Thatlittlecreatureseemedtobindhimtohernomorethanifitweretheoffspringofsomechanceencounter，somepursuitofnymphbyfaun。No！Itwashersalone。Andasuddenfeverishlongingtogetbacktoitoverpoweredallotherthought。
　　Thislonginggrewinhersoallnightthatatbreakfastshetoldherfather。Swallowingdownwhateverhisfeelingmayhavebeen，hesaid:”Verywell，mychild；I’llcomeupwithyou。”
　　PuttingherintothecabinLondon，heasked:”HaveyoustillgotyourkeyofBuryStreet？Good！Remember，Gyp——
　　anytimedayornight——thereitisforyou。”
　　ShehadwiredtoFiorsenfromMildenhamthatshewascoming，andshereachedhomesoonafterthree。Hewasnotin，andwhatwasevidentlyhertelegramlayunopenedinthehall。Tremulouswithexpectation，sheranuptothenursery。Thepatheticsoundofsomesmallcreaturethatcannottellwhatishurtingit，orwhy，metherears。Shewentin，disturbed，yetwiththehalf-triumphantthought:’Perhapsthat’sforme！’
　　Betty，veryflushed，wasrockingthecradle，andexaminingthebaby’sfacewithaperplexedfrown。SeeingGyp，sheputherhandtoherside，andgasped:”Oh，bejoyful！Oh，mydear！IAMglad。Ican’tdoanythingwithbabysincethemorning。Whenevershewakesup，shecrieslikethat。Andtillto-dayshe’sbeenalittlemodel。Hasn’tshe！
　　There，there！”
　　Gyptookupthebaby，whoseblackeyesfixedthemselvesonhermotherinamomentarycontentment；but，atthefirstmovement，shebeganagainherfretfulplaint。Bettywenton:”She’sbeenlikethateversincethismorning。Mr。Fiorsen’sbeeninmorethanonce，ma’am，andthefactis，babydon’tlikeit。Hestaresatherso。ButthismorningIthought——well——Ithought:
　　’You’reherfather。It’stimeshewasgettingusedtoyou。’SoI
　　letthembeaminute；andwhenIcameback——Iwasonlyjustacrosstothebathroom——hewascomin’outlookin’quitefierceandwhite，andbaby——oh，screamin’！Andexceptforsleepin’，she’shardlystoppedcryin’since。”
　　Pressingthebabytoherbreast，Gypsatverystill，andqueerthoughtswentthroughhermind。”Howhashebeen，Betty？”shesaid。
　　Bettyplaitedherapron；hermoon-facewastroubled。”Well，”shesaid，”Ithinkhe’sbeendrinkin’。Oh，I’msurehehas——I’vesmeltitabouthim。Thethirddayitbegan。Andnightbeforelasthecameindreadfullylate——Icouldhearhimstaggerin’
　　about，abusingthestairsashewascomin’up。Ohdear——itISapity！”
　　Thebaby，whohadbeenstillenoughsinceshelayinhermother’slap，suddenlyraisedherlittlevoiceagain。Gypsaid:”Betty，Ibelievesomethinghurtsherarm。Shecriesthemomentshe’stouchedthere。Isthereapinoranything？Justsee。Takeherthingsoff。Oh——look！”
　　Boththetinyarmsabovetheelbowwerecircledwithdarkmarks，asiftheyhadbeensqueezedbyruthlessfingers。Thetwowomenlookedateachotherinhorror；andunderherbreathGypsaid:”He！”
　　Shehadflushedcrimson；hereyesfilledbutdriedagainalmostatonce。And，lookingatherface，nowgoneverypale，andthoselipstightenedtoaline，Bettystoppedinheroutburstofejaculation。
　　Whentheyhadwrappedthebaby’sarminremediesandcotton-wool，Gypwentintoherbedroom，and，throwingherselfdownonherbed，burstintoapassionofweeping，smotheringitdeepinherpillow。
　　Itwasthecryingofsheerrage。Thebrute！Nottohavecontrolenoughtostopshortofdigginghisclawsintothatpreciousmite！
　　Justbecausethepoorlittlethingcriedatthatcat’sstareofhis！Thebrute！Thedevil！Andhewouldcometoherandwhineaboutit，andsay:”MyGyp，Inevermeant——howshouldIknowIwashurting？Hercryingwasso——Whyshouldshecryatme？Iwasupset！Iwasn’tthinking！”Shecouldhearhimpleadingandsighingtohertoforgivehim。Butshewouldnot——notthistime！
　　Hehadhurtahelplessthingoncetoooften。Herfitofcryingceased，andshelaylisteningtothetickoftheclock，andmarshallinginhermindahundredlittleevidencesofhismalevolencetowardherbaby——hisownbaby。Howwasitpossible？
　　Washereallygoingmad？Andafitofsuchchillyshudderingseizedherthatshecreptundertheeiderdowntoregainwarmth。
　　Inherrage，sheretainedenoughsenseofproportiontounderstandthathehaddonethis，justashehadinsultedMonsieurHarmostandherfather——andothers——inanungovernableaccessofnerve-
　　irritation；justas，perhaps，onedayhewouldkillsomeone。Buttounderstandthisdidnotlessenherfeeling。Herbaby！Suchatinything！Shehatedhimatlast；andshelaythinkingoutthecoldest，thecruellest，themostcuttingthingstosay。Shehadbeentoolong-suffering。
　　Buthedidnotcomeinthatevening；and，tooupsettoeatordoanything，shewentuptobedatteno’clock。Whenshehadundressed，shestoleacrosstothenursery；shehadalongingtohavethebabywithher——afeelingthattoleaveherwasnotsafe。
　　Shecarriedheroff，stillsleeping，and，lockingherdoors，gotintobed。Havingwarmedanestwithherbodyforthelittlecreature，shelaiditthere；andthenforalongtimelayawake，expectingeveryminutetohearhimreturn。Shefellasleepatlast，andwokewithastart。Therewerevaguenoisesdownbeloworonthestairs。Itmustbehe！Shehadleftthelightoninherroom，andsheleanedovertolookatthebaby’sface。Itwasstillsleeping，drawingitstinybreathspeacefully，littledog-shiverspassingeverynowandthenoveritsface。Gyp，shakingbackherdarkplaitsofhair，satupbyitsside，strainingherears。
　　Yes；heWAScomingup，and，bythesounds，hewasnotsober。Sheheardaloudcreak，andthenathud，asifhehadclutchedatthebanistersandfallen；sheheardmuttering，too，andthenoiseofbootsdropped。Swiftlythethoughtwentthroughher:’Ifhewerequitedrunk，hewouldnothavetakenthemoffatall；——norifhewerequitesober。DoesheknowI’mback？’Thencameanothercreak，asifhewereraisinghimselfbysupportofthebanisters，andthen——orwasitfancy？——shecouldhearhimcreepingandbreathingbehindthedoor。Then——nofancythistime——hefumbledatthedoorandturnedthehandle。Inspiteofhisstate，hemustknowthatshewasback，hadnoticedhertravelling-coatorseenthetelegram。Thehandlewastriedagain，then，afterapause，thehandleofthedoorbetweenhisroomandherswasfiercelyshaken。
　　Shecouldhearhisvoice，too，assheknewitwhenhewasflownwithdrink，thick，alittledrawling。”Gyp——letmein——Gyp！”
　　Thebloodburnedupinhercheeks，andshethought:’No，myfriend；
　　you’renotcomingin！’
　　Afterthat，soundsweremoreconfused，asifhewerenowatonedoor，nowattheother；thencreakings，asifonthestairsagain，andafterthat，nosoundatall。
　　Forfullyhalfanhour，Gypcontinuedtositup，strainingherears。Wherewashe？Whatdoing？Onherover-excitednerves，allsortsofpossibilitiescamecrowding。Hemusthavegonedownstairsagain。Inthathalf-drunkenstate，wherewouldhisbaffledfrenziesleadhim？And，suddenly，shethoughtthatshesmelledburning。Itwent，andcameagain；shegotup，crepttothedoor，noiselesslyturnedthekey，and，pullingitopenafewinches，sniffed。
　　Allwasdarkonthelanding。Therewasnosmellofburningoutthere。Suddenly，ahandclutchedherankle。Allthebloodrushedfromherheart；shestifledascream，andtriedtopullthedoorto。Buthisarmandherlegwerecaughtbetween，andshesawtheblackmassofhisfigurelyingfull-lengthonitsface。Likeavice，hishandheldher；hedrewhimselfupontohisknees，ontohisfeet，andforcedhiswaythrough。Panting，butinuttersilence，Gypstruggledtodrivehimout。Hisdrunkenstrengthseemedtocomeandgoingusts，butherswascontinuous，greaterthanshehadeverthoughtshehad，andshepanted:”Go！gooutofmyroom——you——you——wretch！”
　　Thenherheartstoodstillwithhorror，forhehadsluedroundtothebedandwasstretchinghishandsoutabovethebaby。Sheheardhimmutter:”Ah-h-h！——YOU——inmyplace——YOU！”
　　Gypflungherselfonhimfrombehind，dragginghisarmsdown，and，claspingherhandstogether，heldhimfast。Hetwistedroundinherarmsandsatdownonthebed。Inthatmomentofhiscollapse，Gypsnatchedupherbabyandfledout，downthedarkstairs，hearinghimstumbling，gropinginpursuit。Shefledintothedining-roomandlockedthedoor。Sheheardhimrunagainstitandfalldown。Snugglingherbaby，whowascryingnow，insidehernightgown，nexttoherskinforwarmth，shestoodrockingandhushingit，tryingtolisten。Therewasnomoresound。Bythehearth，whencealittleheatstillcameforthfromtheashes，shecowereddown。Withcushionsandthethickwhitefeltfromthedining-table，shemadethebabysnug，andwrappinghershiveringselfinthetable-cloth，satstaringwide-eyedbeforeher——andalwayslistening。Thereweresoundsatfirst，thennone。Along，longtimeshestayedlikethat，beforeshestoletothedoor。Shedidnotmeantomakeasecondmistake。Shecouldhearthesoundofheavybreathing。Andshelistenedtoit，tillshewasquitecertainthatitwasreallythebreathingofsleep。Thenstealthilysheopened，andlooked。Hewasoverthere，lyingagainstthebottomchair，inaheavy，drunkenslumber。Sheknewthatsleepsowell；hewouldnotwakefromit。
　　Itgaveherasortofevilpleasurethattheywouldfindhimlikethatinthemorningwhenshewasgone。Shewentbacktoherbabyand，withinfiniteprecaution，liftedit，stillsleeping，cushionandall，andstolepasthimupthestairsthat，underherbarefeet，madenosound。Oncemoreinherlockedroom，shewenttothewindowandlookedout。Itwasjustbeforedawn；hergardenwasgreyandghostly，andshethought:’ThelasttimeIshallseeyou。
　　Good-bye！’
　　Then，withtheutmostspeed，shedidherhairanddressed。Shewasverycoldandshivery，andputonherfurcoatandcap。Shehuntedouttwojerseysforthebaby，andacertainoldcamel’s-hairshawl。
　　Shetookafewlittlethingsshewasfondestofandslippedthemintoherwrist-bagwithherpurse，putonherhatandapairofgloves。Shedideverythingveryswiftly，wondering，allthetime，atherownpowerofknowingwhattotake。Whenshewasquiteready，shescribbledanotetoBettytofollowwiththedogstoBuryStreet，andpusheditunderthenurserydoor。Then，wrappingthebabyinthejerseysandshawl，shewentdownstairs。Thedawnhadbroken，and，fromthelongnarrowwindowabovethedoorwithspikesofironacrossit，greylightwasstrikingintothehall。
　　GyppassedFiorsen’ssleepingfiguresafely，and，foronemoment，stoppedforbreath。Hewaslyingwithhisbackagainstthewall，hisheadinthehollowofanarmraisedagainstastair，andhisfaceturnedalittleupward。Thatfacewhich，hundredsoftimes，hadbeensoclosetoherown，andsomethingaboutthiscrumpledbody，abouthistumbledhair，thosecheek-bones，andthehollowsbeneaththepalelipsjustpartedunderthedirt-goldofhismoustache——somethingoflostdivinityinallthatinertfigure——
　　clutchedforasecondatGyp’sheart。Onlyforasecond。Itwasover，thistime！Nomore——neveragain！And，turningverystealthily，sheslippedhershoeson，undidthechain，openedthefrontdoor，tookupherburden，closedthedoorsoftlybehindher，andwalkedaway。
　　PartIII
　　I
　　Gypwasgoinguptotown。Shesatinthecornerofafirst-classcarriage，alone。Herfatherhadgoneupbyanearliertrain，fortheannualJunedinnerofhisoldregiment，andshehadstayedtoconsultthedoctorconcerning”littleGyp，”agednearlynineteenmonths，towhomteethweremakinglifeaburden。
　　Hereyeswanderedfromwindowtowindow，obeyingthefaintexcitementwithinher。Allthewinterandspring，shehadbeenatMildenham，veryquiet，ridingmuch，andpursuinghermusicasbestshecould，seeinghardlyanyoneexceptherfather；andthisdepartureforaspellofLondonbroughtherthefeelingthatcomesonanAprilday，whentheskyisblue，withsnow-whiteclouds，wheninthefieldsthelambsareleaping，andthegrassiswarmforthefirsttime，sothatonewouldliketorollinit。AtWidrington，aporterentered，carryingakit-bag，anovercoat，andsomegolf-
　　clubs；androundthedooralittlegroup，suchasmaybeseenatanyEnglishwaysidestation，clustered，fillingtheairwiththeirclean，slightlydrawlingvoices。Gypnotedatallwomanwhoseblondehairwasgoinggrey，ayounggirlwithafox-terrieronalead，ayoungmanwithaScotchterrierunderhisarmandhisbacktothecarriage。ThegirlwaskissingtheScotchterrier’shead。”Good-bye，oldOssy！Washenice！Tumbo，keepDOWN！YOU’REnotgoing！””Good-bye，dearboy！Don’tworktoohard！”
　　Theyoungman’sanswerwasnotaudible，butitwasfollowedbyirrepressiblegurglesandasmothered:”Oh，Bryan，youARE——Good-bye，dearOssy！””Good-bye！””Good-
　　bye！”Theyoungmanwhohadgotin，madeanotherunintelligiblejokeinaratherhigh-pitchedvoice，whichwassomehowfamiliar，andagainthegurglesbrokeforth。Thenthetrainmoved。Gypcaughtasideviewofhim，wavinghishatfromthecarriagewindow。
　　Itwasheracquaintanceofthehunting-field——the”Mr。BrynSummer’ay，”asoldPettancecalledhim，whohadboughtherhorselastyear。Seeinghimpulldownhisovercoat，tobankuptheoldScotchterrieragainstthejoltingofthejourney，shethought:’I
　　likemenwhothinkfirstoftheirdogs。’Hisroundhead，withcurlyhair，broadbrow，andthoseclean-cutlips，gaveheragainthewonder:’WhereHAVEIseensomeonelikehim？’Heraisedthewindow，andturnedround。”Howwouldyoulike——Oh，howd’youdo！Wemetouthunting。Youdon’trememberme，Iexpect。””Yes；perfectly。Andyouboughtmyhorselastsummer。Howishe？””Ingreatform。Iforgottoaskwhatyoucalledhim；I’venamedhimHotspur——he’llneverbesteadyathisfences。Irememberhowhepulledwithyouthatday。”
　　Theyweresilent，smiling，aspeoplewillinremembranceofagoodrun。
　　Then，lookingatthedog，Gypsaidsoftly:”HElooksratheradarling。Howold？””Twelve。Beastlywhendogsgetold！”
　　Therewasanotherlittlesilencewhilehecontemplatedhersteadilywithhiscleareyes。”Icameovertocallonce——withmymother；Novembertheyearbeforelast。Somebodywasill。””Yes——I。””Badly？”
　　Gypshookherhead。”Iheardyouweremarried——”Thelittledrawlinhisvoicehadincreased，asthoughcoveringtheabruptnessofthatremark。Gyplookedup。”Yes；butmylittledaughterandIlivewithmyfatheragain。”
　　What”cameover”her——astheysay——tobesofrank，shecouldnothavetold。
　　Hesaidsimply:”Ah！I’veoftenthoughtitqueerI’veneverseenyousince。Whatarunthatwas！””Perfect！Wasthatyourmotherontheplatform？””Yes——andmysisterEdith。Extraordinarydead-aliveplace，Widrington；IexpectMildenhamisn’tmuchbetter？””It’sveryquiet，butIlikeit。””Bytheway，Idon’tknowyournamenow？””Fiorsen。””Oh，yes！Theviolinist。Life’sabitofagamble，isn’tit？”
　　Gypdidnotanswerthatoddremark，didnotquiteknowwhattomakeofthisaudaciousyoungman，whosehazeleyesandlazysmilewerequeerlylovable，butwhosefaceinreposehadsuchabroadgravity。
　　Hetookfromhispocketalittleredbook。”Doyouknowthese？Ialwaystakethemtravelling。Finestthingseverwritten，aren’tthey？”
　　Thebook——Shakespeare’sSonnets——wasopenatthatwhichbegins:”LetmenottothemarriageoftruemindsAdmitimpediments。LoveisnotloveWhichalterswhenitalterationfinds，Orbendswiththeremovertoremove——”
　　Gypreadonasfarasthelines:”Love’snotTime’sfool，thoughrosylipsandcheeksWithinhisbendingsickle’scompasscome。
　　LovealtersnotwithhisbriefhoursandweeksButbearsitouteventotheedgeofdoom——”
　　andlookedoutofthewindow。Thetrainwaspassingthroughacountryoffieldsanddykes，wherethesun，fardowninthewest，shonealmostleveloverwide，whitish-greenspace，andthespottedcattlebrowsedorstoodbytheditches，lazilyflickingtheirtuftedtails。Ashaftofsunlightflowedintothecarriage，filledwithdustmotes；and，handingthelittlebookbackthroughthatstreakofradiance，shesaidsoftly:”Yes；that’swonderful。Doyoureadmuchpoetry？””Morelaw，I’mafraid。Butitisaboutthefinestthingintheworld，isn’tit？””No；Ithinkmusic。””Areyouamusician？””Onlyalittle。””Youlookasifyoumightbe。””What？Alittle？””No；Ishouldthinkyouhaditbadly。””Thankyou。Andyouhaven’titatall？””Ilikeopera。””Thehybridform——andthelowest！””That’swhyitsuitsme。Don’tyoulikeit，though？””Yes；that’swhyI’mgoinguptoLondon。””Really？Areyouasubscriber？””Thisseason。””SoamI。Jolly——Ishallseeyou。”
　　Gypsmiled。Itwassolongsinceshehadtalkedtoamanofherownage，solongsinceshehadseenafacethatrousedhercuriosityandadmiration，solongsinceshehadbeenadmired。Thesun-shaft，shiftedbyawestwardtrendofthetrain，bathedherfromthekneesup；anditswarmthincreasedherlight-heartedsenseofbeinginluck——aboveherfate，insteadofunderit。
　　Astoundinghowmuchcanbetalkedofintwoorthreehoursofarailwayjourney！Andwhatafriendlyafter-warmthclingsroundthosehours！Doesthedifficultyofmakingoneselfheardprovokeconfidentialutterance？Orisittheisolationorthecontinualvibrationthatcarriesfriendshipfasterandfurtherthanwillaspasmodicacquaintanceshipofweeks？Butinthatlongtalkhewasfarthemorevoluble。Therewas，too，muchofwhichshecouldnotspeak。Besides，shelikedtolisten。Hisslightlydrawlingvoicefascinatedher——hisaudacious，oftenwittywayofputtingthings，andtheirrepressiblebubbleoflaughterthatwouldkeepbreakingfromhim。Hedisclosedhispast，suchasitwas，freely——public-
　　schoolandcollegelife，effortsatthebar，ambitions，tastes，evenhisscrapes。Andinthisspontaneousunfoldingtherewasperpetualflattery；Gypfeltthroughitall，asprettywomenwill，asortofsubtleadmiration。Presentlyheaskedherifsheplayedpiquet。”Yes；Iplaywithmyfathernearlyeveryevening。””Shallwehaveagame，then？”
　　Sheknewheonlywantedtoplaybecausehecouldsitnearer，joinedbytheeveningpaperovertheirknees，handherthecardsafterdealing，touchherhandbyaccident，lookinherface。Andthiswasnotunpleasant；forshe，inturn，likedlookingathisface，whichhadwhatiscalled”charm”——thatsomethinglightandunepiscopal，entirelylackingtosomanysolid，handsome，admirablefaces。
　　Butevenrailwayjourneyscometoanend；andwhenhegrippedherhandtosaygood-bye，shegavehisaninvoluntarylittlesqueeze。
　　Standingathercabwindow，withhishatraised，theolddogunderhisarm，andalookoffrank，ratherwistful，admirationonhisface，hesaid:”Ishallseeyouattheopera，then，andintheRowperhaps；andI
　　maycomealongtoBuryStreet，sometime，mayn’tI？”
　　Noddingtothosefriendlywords，GypdroveoffthroughthesultryLondonevening。Herfatherwasnotbackfromthedinner，andshewentstraighttoherroom。Aftersolonginthecountry，itseemedverycloseinBuryStreet；sheputonawrapperandsatdowntobrushthetrain-smokeoutofherhair。
　　FormonthsafterleavingFiorsen，shehadfeltnothingbutrelief。
　　Onlyoflatehadshebeguntoseehernewposition，asitwas——thatofawomanmarriedyetnotmarried，whoseawakenedsenseshaveneverbeengratified，whosespiritisstillwaitingforunfoldmentinlove，who，howeverdisillusioned，is——evenifinsecretfromherself——moreandmoresurelyseekingarealmate，witheveryhourthatripensherheartandbeauty。To-night——gazingatherface，reflected，intentandmournful，inthemirror——shesawthatpositionmoreclearly，inallitsaridity，thanshehadeverseenit。Whatwastheuseofbeingpretty？Nolongerusetoanyone！
　　Notyettwenty-six，andinanunnery！Withashiver，butnotofcold，shedrewherwrapperclose。Thistimelastyearshehadatleastbeeninthemaincurrentoflife，notamerederelict。Andyet——betterfarbelikethisthangobacktohimwhommemorypaintedalwaysstandingoverhersleepingbaby，withhisarmsstretchedoutandhisfingerscrookedlikeclaws。
　　Afterthatearly-morningescape，Fiorsenhadlurkedafterherforweeks，intown，atMildenham，followedthemeventoScotland，whereWintonhadcarriedheroff。Butshehadnotweakenedinherresolutionasecondtime，andsuddenlyhehadgivenuppursuit，andgoneabroad。Sincethen——nothinghadcomefromhim，saveafewwildormaudlinletters，writtenevidentlyduringdrinking-bouts。
　　Eventheyhadceased，andforfourmonthsshehadheardnoword。
　　Hehad”gotover”her，itseemed，whereverhewas——Russia，Sweden——
　　whoknew——whocared？
　　Sheletthebrushrestonherknee，thinkingagainofthatwalkwithherbabythroughempty，silentstreets，intheearlymistymorninglastOctober，ofwaitingdead-tiredoutsidehere，onthepavement，ringingtilltheyletherin。Often，since，shehadwonderedhowfearcouldhaveworkedheruptothatweirddeparture。
　　Sheonlyknewthatithadnotbeenunnaturalatthetime。HerfatherandAuntRosamundhadwantedhertotryforadivorce，andnodoubttheyhadbeenright。Butherinstinctshadrefused，stillrefusedtoleteveryoneknowhersecretsandsufferings——stillrefusedthehollowpretenceinvolved，thatshehadlovedhimwhensheneverhad。No，ithadbeenherfaultformarryinghimwithoutlove——”LoveisnotloveWhichalterswhenitalterationfinds！”
　　Whatirony——givingherthattoread——ifherfellowtravellerhadonlyknown！
　　Shegotupfrombeforethemirror，andstoodlookingroundherroom，theroomshehadalwayssleptinasagirl。Sohehadrememberedherallthistime！Ithadnotseemedlikemeetingastranger。Theywerenotstrangersnow，anyway。And，suddenly，onthewallbeforeher，shesawhisface；or，ifnot，whatwassolikethatshegavealittlegasp。Ofcourse！Howstupidofhernottohaveknownatonce！There，inabrownframe，hungaphotographofthecelebratedBotticelliorMasaccio”HeadofaYoungMan”intheNationalGallery。Shehadfalleninlovewithityearsago，andonthewallofherroomithadbeeneversince。Thatbroadface，thecleareyes，thebold，clean-cutmouth，theaudacity——only，thelivefacewasEnglish，notItalian，hadmorehumour，more”breeding，”
　　lesspoetry——something”oldGeorgian”aboutit。Howhewouldlaughifshetoldhimhewaslikethatpeasantacolytewithfluffed-outhair，andalittleruchingroundhisneck！And，smiling，Gypplaitedherownhairandgotintobed。
　　Butshecouldnotsleep；sheheardherfathercomeinandgouptohisroom，heardtheclocksstrikemidnight，andone，andtwo，andalwaysthedullroarofPiccadilly。Shehadnothingoverherbutasheet，andstillitwastoohot。Therewasascentintheroom，asofhoneysuckle。Wherecoulditcomefrom？Shegotupatlast，andwenttothewindow。There，onthewindow-sill，behindthecurtains，wasabowlofjessamine。Herfathermusthavebroughtitupforher——justlikehimtothinkofthat！
　　And，buryinghernoseinthosewhiteblossoms，shewasvisitedbyamemoryofherfirstball——thateveningofsuchdelightanddisillusionment。PerhapsBryanSummerhayhadbeenthere——allthattimeago！Ifhehadbeenintroducedtoherthen，ifshehadhappenedtodancewithhiminsteadofwiththatmanwhohadkissedherarm，mightshenothavefeltdifferenttowardallmen？Andifhehadadmiredher——andhadnoteveryone，thatnight——mightshenothaveliked，perhapsmorethanliked，himinreturn？OrwouldshehavelookedonhimasonallherswainsbeforeshemetFiorsen，somanymothsflutteringroundacandle，foolishtosingethemselves，nottobetakenseriously？Perhapsshehadbeenboundtohaveherlesson，tobehumbledandbroughtlow！
　　Takingasprigofjessamineandholdingittohernose，shewentuptothatpicture。Inthedimlight，shecouldjustseetheoutlineofthefaceandtheeyesgazingather。Thescentoftheblossompenetratedhernerves；inherheart，somethingfaintlystirred，asaleafturnsover，asawingflutters。And，blossomandall，sheclaspedherhandsoverherbreast，whereagainherheartquiveredwiththatfaint，shytremor。
　　Itwaslate，no——early，whenshefellasleepandhadastrangedream。Shewasridingheroldmarethroughafieldofflowers。
　　Shehadonablackdress，androundherheadacrownofbright，pointedcrystals；shesatwithoutsaddle，herkneecurledup，perchedsolightlythatshehardlyfeltthemare’sback，andthereinssheheldwerelongtwistedstemsofhoneysuckle。Singingassherode，hereyesflyinghereandthere，overthefield，uptothesky，shefelthappier，lighterthanthistledown。Whiletheyracedalong，theoldmarekeptturningherheadandbitingatthehoneysuckleflowers；andsuddenlythatchestnutfacebecamethefaceofSummerhay，lookingbackatherwithhissmile。Sheawoke。
　　Sunlight，throughthecurtainswhereshehadopenedthemtofindtheflowers，wasshiningonher。
　　II
　　Verylatethatsamenight，SummerhaycameoutofthelittleChelseahouse，whichheinhabited，andwalkedtowardtheriver。Incertainmoodsmenturninsensiblytowardanyspacewherenaturerulesalittle——downs，woods，waters——wheretheskyisfreetotheeyeandonefeelsthebroadcomradeshipofprimitiveforces。Amanisalonewhenheloves，alonewhenhedies；nobodycaresforonesoabsorbed，andhecaresfornobody，no——nothe！Summerhaystoodbytheriver-wallandlookedupatthestarsthroughtheplane-treebranches。Everynowandthenhedrewalongbreathofthewarm，unstirringair，andsmiled，withoutknowingthathesmiled。Andhethoughtoflittle，ofnothing；butasweetishsensationbesethisheart，akindofquiveringlightnesshislimbs。Hesatdownonabenchandshuthiseyes。Hesawaface——onlyaface。Thelightswentoutonebyoneinthehousesopposite；nocabspassednow，andscarceapassengerwasafoot，butSummerhaysatlikeamaninatrance，thesmilecomingandgoingonhislips；andbehindhimtheairthateverstirsabovetheriverfaintlymovedwiththetideflowingup。
　　Itwasnearlythree，justcomingdawn，whenhewentin，and，insteadofgoingtobed，satdowntoacaseinwhichhewasjunioronthemorrow，andworkedrightontillitwastimetoridebeforehisbathandbreakfast。Hehadoneofthoseconstitutions，notuncommonamongbarristers——fosteredperhapsbyozoneintheCourtsofLaw——thatcandothissortofthingandtakenoharm。Indeed，heworkedbestinsuchlongspurtsofvigorousconcentration。Withrealcapacityandalikingforhiswork，thisyoungmanwascertainlyonhiswaytomakeaname；though，intheintervalsofenergy，noonegaveamorecompleteimpressionofimperturbabledriftingonthetidesofthemoment。Altogether，hewasratheraparadox。HechosetoliveinthatlittleChelseahousewhichhadascrapofgardenratherthanintheTempleorSt。James’s，becauseheoftenpreferredsolitude；andyethewasanexcellentcompanion，withmanyfriends，whofeltforhimtheaffectionatedistrustinspiredbythosewhoarepronetofitsandstartsofworkandplay，convivialityandloneliness。Towomen，hewasalmostuniversallyattractive。Butifhehadscorchedhiswingsalittleonceortwice，hehadkeptheart-freeonthewhole。Hewas，itmustbeconfessed，abitofagambler，thesortofgamblerwhogetsindeep，andthen，byaplucky，luckyplunge，getsoutagain，untilsomedayperhaps——hestaysthere。Hisfather，adiplomatist，hadbeendeadfifteenyears；hismotherwaswellknowninthesemi-
　　intellectualcirclesofsociety。Hehadnobrothers，twosisters，andanincomeofhisown。SuchwasBryanSummerhayattheageoftwenty-six，hiswisdom-teethtocut，hisdepthsunplumbed。
　　WhenhestartedthatmorningfortheTemple，hehadstillafeelingofextraordinarylightnessinhislimbs，andhestillsawthatface——itsperfectregularity，itswarmpallor，anddarksmilingeyesratherwideapart，itsfine，small，close-setears，andthesweepoftheblack-brownhairacrossthelowbrow。Orwasitsomethingmuchlessdefinitehesaw——anemanationorexpression，atrick，aturn，anindwellinggrace，asomethingthatappealed，thatturned，andtouchedhim？Whateveritwas，itwouldnotlethimbe，andhedidnotdesirethatitshould。Forthiswasinhischaracter；ifhesawahorsethatheliked，heputhismoneyonwhateveritran；ifcharmedbyanopera，hewentoverandoveragain；ifbyapoem，healmostlearneditbyheart。Andwhilehewalkedalongtheriver——hisusualroute——hehadqueerandunaccustomedsensations，nowmelting，nowpugnacious。Andhefelthappy。
　　Hewasratherlate，andwentatonceintocourt。Inwigandgown，thatsomething”oldGeorgian”abouthimwasveryvisible。A
　　beauty-spotortwo，afull-skirtedvelvetcoat，aswordandsnuff-
　　box，withthatgreywigoritsequivalent，andtherewouldhavebeenaperfecteighteenth-centuryspecimenofthelessbucolicstamp——thesamestrong，lightbuild，breadthofface，brownpallor，cleanandunpinchedcutoflips，thesameslightinsolenceanddevil-may-caredom，thesameclearglance，andbubbleofvitality。
　　Itwasalmostapitytohavebeenbornsolate。
　　Exceptthatonceortwicehedrewafaceonblotting-paperandsmeareditover，heremainednormallyattentivetohis”lud”andthemattersinhandallday，conductedwithouterrortheexaminationoftwowitnessesandwithterrorthecross-examinationofone；lunchedattheCourtsinperfectamitywiththesuckingbarristerontheothersideofthecase，fortheyhadneither，asyet，reachedthatmaturitywhichenablesanadvocatetocallhisenemyhis”friend，”andtreathimwithconsiderableasperity。
　　ThoughamonghisacquaintancesSummerhayalwaysprovokedbadinage，inwhichhewasscarcelyeverdefeated，yetinchambersandcourt，oncircuit，athisclub，insocietyorthehunting-field，hehadanunfavourableeffectonthegrossersortofstories。Therearemen——
　　bynomeansstrikinglymoral——whoexercisethisblightinginfluence。TheyaregenerallywhattheFrenchcall”spirituel，”
　　andoftenhaveratherdesperatelove-affairswhichtheykeepverycloselytothemselves。
　　Whenatlastinchambers，hehadwashedoffthatspecialreekofclothes，andparchment，far-awayherrings，anddistemper，whichclingsaboutthelaw，dippinghiswholecurlyheadinwater，andtowellingvigorously，hesetforthalonealongtheEmbankment，hishattiltedup，smokingacigar。Itwasnearlyseven。Justthistimeyesterdayhehadgotintothetrain，justthistimeyesterdayturnedandseenthefacewhichhadrefusedtoleavehimsince。
　　Feverrecursatcertainhours，justsodidthedesiretoseehermountwithinhim，becominganobsession，becauseitwasimpossibletogratifyit。Onecouldnotcallatseveno’clock！Theideaofhisclub，whereatthistimeofdayheusuallywent，seemedflatandstale，untilherememberedthathemightpassupBuryStreettogettoit。But，nearCharingCross，ahandsmotehimontheshoulder，andthevoiceofoneofhisintimatessaid:”Halo，Bryan！”
　　Odd，thathehadnevernoticedbeforehowvacuousthisfellowwas——
　　withhistalkofpolitics，andracing，ofthisassandthatass——
　　subjectshithertoofprimaryimportance！And，stoppingsuddenly，hedrawledout:”Lookhere，oldchap，yougoon；seeyouattheclub——presently。””Why？What’sup？”
　　Withhislazysmile，Summerhayanswered:”’Therearemorethingsinheavenandearth，Horatio，’”andturnedonhisheel。
　　Whenhisfriendhaddisappeared，heresumedhisjourneytowardBuryStreet。Hepassedhisbootshop，where，forsometime，hehadbeenmeaningtoordertwopairs，andwentbythinking:’IwonderwhereSHEgoesforthings。’Herfigurecametohimsovividly——sittingbackinthatcorner，orstandingbythecab，herhandinhis。Thebloodrushedupinhischeeks。Shehadbeenscentedlikeflowers，and——andarainywind！Hestoodstillbeforeaplate-glasswindow，inconfusion，andsuddenlymutteredaloud:”Damnit！IbelieveI
　　am！”Anoldgentleman，passing，turnedsosuddenly，toseewhathewas，thatherickedhisneck。
　　ButSummerhaystillstood，nottakinginatallthereflectedimageofhisfrowning，ruefulface，andofthecigarextinctbetweenhislips。Thenheshookhisheadvigorouslyandwalkedon。Hewalkedfaster，hismindblank，asitissometimesforashortspaceafterapieceofsell-revelationthathascometoosoonforadjustmentorevenquiteforunderstanding。Andwhenhebegantothink，itwasirritablyandatrandom。HehadcometoBuryStreet，and，whilehepassedupit，feltaqueer，weaksensationdownthebackofhislegs。Noflower-boxesthisyearbroketheplainfrontofWinton’shouse，andnothingwhateverbutitsnumberandthequickenedbeatingofhisheartmarkeditoutforSummerhayfromanyotherdwelling。ThemomentheturnedintoJermynStreet，thatbeatingoftheheartsubsided，andhefeltsuddenlymorose。HeenteredhisclubatthetopofSt。James’Streetandpassedatonceintotheleastusedroom。Thiswasthelibrary；andgoingtotheFrenchsection，hetookdown”TheThreeMusketeers”andseatedhimselfinawindow，withhisbacktoanyonewhomightcomein。Hehadtakenthis——hisfavouriteromance，feelinginwantofwarmthandcompanionship；buthedidnotread。Fromwherehesathecouldthrowastonetowhereshewassittingperhaps；exceptforwallshecouldalmostreachherwithhisvoice，couldcertainlyseeher。
　　Thiswasimbecile！Awomanhehadonlymettwice。Imbecile！Heopenedthebook——”Oh，no；itisanever-fixedmarkThatlooksontempestsandisnevershaken。
　　Itisthestartoeverywanderingbark，Whoseworth’sunknownaltho’itsheightbetaken。””Pointoffive！Threequeens——threeknaves！DoyouknowthatthingofDowson’s:’Ihavebeenfaithfultothee，Cynara，inmyfashion’？BetterthananyVerlaine，except’Lessanglotslongs。’
　　Whathaveyougot？””Onlyquarttothequeen。Doyoulikethename’Cynara’？””Yes；don’tyou？””Cynara！Cynara！Ye-es——anautumn，rose-petal，whirling，dead-
　　leafsound。””Good！Pipped。Shutup，Ossy——don’tsnore！””Ah，poorolddog！Lethim。Shuffleforme，please。Oh！theregoesanothercard！”Herkneewastouchinghis——！……
　　Thebookhaddropped——Summerhaystarted。
　　Dashit！Hopeless！And，turningroundinthathugearmchair，hesnoozeddownintoitsdepths。Inafewminutes，hewasasleep。Hesleptwithoutadream。
　　Itwastwohourslaterwhenthesamefriend，seekingdistraction，cameonhim，andstoodgrinningdownatthatcurlyheadandfacewhichjustthenhadthesleepyabandonmentofasmallboy’s。
　　Maliciouslyhegavethechairalittlekick。
　　Summerhaystirred，andthought:’What！WhereamI？’
　　Infrontofthegrinningface，abovehim，floatedanother，filmy，charming。Heshookhimself，andsatup。”Oh，damnyou！””Sorry，oldchap！””Whattimeisit？””Teno’clock。”
　　Summerhayutteredanunintelligiblesound，and，turningoverontheotherarm，pretendedtosnoozedownagain。Buthesleptnomore。
　　Instead，hesawherface，heardhervoice，andfeltagainthetouchofherwarm，glovedhand。
　　III
　　Attheopera，thatFridayevening，theywereplaying”Cavalleria”
　　and”Pagliacci”——worksofwhichGyptoleratedthefirstandlovedthesecond，whileWintonfoundthem，with”Faust”and”Carmen，”
　　abouttheonlyoperashecouldnotsleepthrough。
　　Women’seyes，whichmustnotstare，covermorespacethantheeyesofmen，whichmustnotstare，butdo；women’seyeshavelessmethod，too，seeingallthingsatonce，insteadofonethingatatime。GyphadseenSummerhaylongbeforehesawher；seenhimcomeinandfoldhisoperahatagainsthiswhitewaistcoat，lookinground，asiffor——someone。Hereyescriticizedhiminthisnewgarb——hisbroadhead，anditscrisp，dark，shininghair，hisairofsturdy，lazy，lovableaudacity。Helookedwellineveningclothes。
　　Whenhesatdown，shecouldstillseejustalittleofhisprofile；
　　and，vaguelywatchingthestoutSantuzzaandthestouterTuriddu，shewonderedwhether，byfixinghereyesonhim，shecouldmakehimturnandseeher。Justthenhedidseeher，andhisfacelightedup。Shesmiledback。Whynot？Shehadnotsomanyfriendsnowadays。Butitwasratherstartlingtofind，afterthatexchangeoflooks，thatsheatoncebegantowantanother。Wouldhelikeherdress？Washerhairnice？Shewishedshehadnothaditwashedthatmorning。Butwhentheintervalcame，shedidnotlookround，untilhisvoicesaid:”Howd’youdo，MajorWinton？Oh，howd’youdo？”
　　Wintonhadbeentoldofthemeetinginthetrain。Hewaspiningforacigarette，buthadnotlikedtodeserthisdaughter。Afterafewremarks，hegotupandsaid:”Takemypewaminute，Summerhay，I’mgoingtohaveasmoke。”
　　Hewentout，thinking，notforthefirsttimebyathousand:’Poorchild，sheneverseesasoul！Twenty-five，prettyaspaint，andcleanoutoftherunning。WhatthedevilamItodoabouther？’
　　Summerhaysatdown。Gyphadaqueerfeeling，then，asifthehouseandpeoplevanished，andtheytwowerebackagainintherailway-
　　carriage——alonetogether。Tenminutestomakethemostof！Tosmileandtalk，andenjoythelookinhiseyes，thesoundofhisvoiceandlaugh。Tolaugh，too，andbewarmandnicetohim。Whynot？Theywerefriends。And，presently，shesaid，smiling:”Oh，bytheway，there’sapictureintheNationalGallery，Iwantyoutolookat。””Yes？Which？Willyoutakeme？””Ifyoulike。””To-morrow’sSaturday；mayImeetyouthere？Whattime？Three？”
　　Gypnodded。Sheknewshewasflushing，and，atthatmoment，withthewarmthinhercheeksandthesmileinhereyes，shehadthesensation，sorareandpleasant，offeelingbeautiful。Thenhewasgone！Herfatherwasslippingbackintohisstall；and，afraidofherownface，shetouchedhisarm，andmurmured:”Dad，dolookatthathead-dressinthenextrowbutone；didyoueverseeanythingsodelicious！”
　　AndwhileWintonwasstar-gazing，theorchestrastruckuptheovertureto”Pagliacci。”Watchingthatheart-breakinglittleplotunfold，Gyphadsomethingmorethantheoldthrill，asifforthefirsttimesheunderstooditwithotherthanheraestheticsense。
　　PoorNedda！andpoorCanio！PoorSilvio！Herbreastheaved，andhereyesfilledwithtears。Withinthosedoubledfiguresofthetragi-comedysheseemedtosee，tofeelthatpassionatelove——tooswift，toostrong，tooviolent，sweetandfearfulwithinthem。”Thouhastmyheart，andIamthineforever——
　　To-nightandforeverIamthine！
　　Whatistherelefttome？WhathaveIbutaheartthatisbroken？”
　　Andtheclear，heart-achingmusicmockingitall，downtothoselastwords:
　　Lacommediaefinita！
　　Whileshewasputtingonhercloak，hereyescaughtSummerhay’s。
　　Shetriedtosmile——couldnot，gaveashakeofherhead，slowlyforcedhergazeawayfromhis，andturnedtofollowWinton。
　　AttheNationalGallery，nextday，shewasnotlatebycoquetry，butbecauseshehadchangedherdressatthelastminute，andbecauseshewasafraidoflettinghimthinkhereager。Shesawhimatoncestandingunderthecolonnade，lookingbynomeansimperturbable，andmarkedthechangeinhisfacewhenhecaughtsightofher，withalittlethrill。SheledhimstraightupintothefirstItalianroomtocontemplatehiscounterfeit。Atophatandmoderncollardidnotimprovethelikeness，butitwastherestill。”Well！Doyoulikeit？””Yes。Whatareyousmilingat？””I’vehadaphotographofthat，eversinceIwasfifteen；soyouseeI’veknownyoualongtime。”
　　Hestared。”GreatScott！AmIlikethat？Allright；IshalltryandfindYOU
　　now。”
　　ButGypshookherhead。”No。Comeandlookatmyveryfavouritepicture’TheDeathofProcris。’Whatisitmakesoneloveitso？Procrisisoutofdrawing，andnotbeautiful；thefaun’squeerandugly。Whatisit——
　　canyoutell？”
　　Summerhaylookednotatthepicture，butather。Inaestheticsense，hewasnotherequal。Shesaidsoftly:”Thewonderinthefaun’sface，Procris’sclosedeyes；thedog，andtheswans，andthepityforwhatmighthavebeen！”
　　Summerhayrepeated:”Ah，forwhatmighthavebeen！Didyouenjoy’Pagliacci’？”
　　Gypshivered。”IthinkIfeltittoomuch。””Ithoughtyoudid。Iwatchedyou。””Destructionby——love——seemssuchaterriblething！Nowshowmeyourfavourites。IbelieveIcantellyouwhattheyare，though。””Well？””The’Admiral，’forone。””Yes。Whatothers？””ThetwoBellini’s。””ByJove，youAREuncanny！”
　　Gyplaughed。”Youwantdecision，clarity，colour，andfinetexture。Isthatright？Here’sanotherofMYfavourites。”
　　Onascreenwasatiny”Crucifixion”bydaMessina——thethinnestofhighcrosses，thethinnestofsimple，humble，sufferingChrists，lonely，andactualintheclear，darkenedlandscape。”Ithinkthattouchesonemorethanthebig，idealizedsort。OnefeelsitWASlikethat。Oh！Andlook——theFrancesca’s！Aren’ttheylovely？”
　　Herepeated:”Yes；lovely！”Buthiseyessaid:”Andsoareyou。”
　　Theyspenttwohoursamongthoseendlesspictures，talkingalittleofartandofmuchbesides，almostasaloneasintherailwaycarriage。But，whenshehadrefusedtolethimwalkbackwithher，Summerhaystoodstock-stillbeneaththecolonnade。Thesunstreamedinunder；thepigeonspreenedtheirfeathers；peoplepassedbehindhimanddownthereinthesquare，blackandtinyagainstthelionsandthegreatcolumn。Hetookinnothingofallthat。Whatwasitinher？Shewaslikenoonehehadeverknown——
　　notone！Differentfromgirlsandwomeninsocietyas——Similefailed。Stillmoredifferentfromanythinginthehalf-worldhehadmet！Notthenewsort——college，suffrage！Likenoone！Andheknewsolittleofher！Notevenwhethershehadeverreallybeeninlove。Herhusband——wherewashe；whatwashetoher？”Therare，themute，theinexpressiveShe！”Whenshesmiled；whenhereyes——buthereyesweresoquick，woulddropbeforehecouldseerightintothem！Howbeautifulshehadlooked，gazingatthatpicture——herfavourite，sosoftly，herlipsjustsmiling！Ifhecouldkissthem，wouldhenotgonearlymad？Withadeepsigh，hemoveddownthewide，greystepsintothesunlight。AndLondon，throbbing，overflowingwiththeseason’slife，seemedtohimempty。
　　To-morrow——yes，to-morrowhecouldcall！