fixedfuture
,
a
family
and
family
affections
,
he
was
not
the
man
to
look
forward
;
it
would
have
to
come
,
and
he
did
not
feel
any
dislike
for
it
,
but
he
gave
it
no
thought
.
As
to
Anne
,
she
had
never
made
up
her
mind
that
she
had
a
right
to
be
Hamlin’s
wife
;
to
have
thought
so
for
one
moment
would
have
seemed
to
her
grasping
ingratitude
;
and
she
was
too
happy
in
the
present
to
think
about
the
future
.
The
thing
to
be
thought
of
was
to
become
worthy
of
him
,
that
was
all
.
CHAPTER
III
.
BY
the
middle
of
the
summer
a
perfect
colony
from
æsthetic
London
had
settled
itself
,
to
the
amazed
terror
of
the
vicar
and
his
parishioners
,
in
Wotton
Hall
and
the
inn
of
the
adjacent
village
.
The
Spencers
came
,
with
a
perfect
shipload
of
babies
,
and
accompanied
by
Mrs
Spencer’s
father
and
mother
;
Cosmo
Chough
came
,
bringing
scarcely
any
luggage
except
MS.
poems
and
old
music
;
Thaddy
O’Reilly
came
,
and
half‐a‐dozen
young
poets
and
painters
,
to
name
whom
would
be
perfectly
superfluous
,
and
who
were
all
the
humble
worshippers
of
Walter
Hamlin
.
All
these
people
had
pictures
to
paint
,
poems
to
compose
,
articles
to
write
;
but
the
exciting
question
for
the
whole
household
was
the
approaching
publication
of
Hamlin’s
new
book
.
Hamlin’s
acquaintance
with
Anne
Brown
had
not
been
without
a
decided
influence
on
his
art
.
He
had
written
a
number
of
sonnets
about
her
ever
since
the
moment
of
their
first
meeting
,
recording
various
moods
,
real
and
fictitious
,
in
connection
with
her
,
and
of
which
he
had
sent
or
read
her
the
greater
number
.
Perhaps
he
would
have
written
much
the
same
sort
of
thing
about
any
other
woman
;
but
Anne
had
influenced
him
at
once
more
directly
and
more
indirectly
.
The
æsthetic
school
of
poetry
,
of
which
Hamlin
and
Chough
were
the
most
brilliant
exponents
of
the
younger
generation
,
was
evidently
running
to
seed
.
It
was
beginning
to
be
obvious
,
to
every
one
who
was
not
an
æsthete
,
that
the
reign
of
the
mysterious
evil
passions
,
of
the
half‐antique
,
half‐medieval
ladies
of
saturnine
beauty
and
bloodthirsty
voluptuousness
of
the
demigods
and
heroes
treated
like
the
figures
in
a
piece
of
tapestry
,
must
be
coming
to
a
close
;
and
that
a
return
to
nature
must
be
preparing
.
Anne
had
felt
it
,
and
had
vaguely
determined
that
the
man
who
was
to
revolutionise
poetry
was
Hamlin
.
Indeed
,
who
else
could
it
be
?
The
elder
poets
were
safe
in
their
ruts
;
the
majority
of
the
younger
ones
who
had
already
come
forward
were
mere
imitators
and
caricaturists
,
not
excepting
the
great
Chough
himself
.
Hamlin
alone
was
a
man
of
genius
;
he
alone
was
capable
of
turning
over
a
new
leaf
;
and
one
or
two
new
departures
,
attempts
at
a
new
way
of
describing
things
,
if
not
actually
an
attempt
at
describing
new
things
,
persuaded
Anne
that
the
change
was
beginning
.
She
did
not
like
telling
him
that
she
perceived
it
coming
;
for
she
thought
that
Hamlin
might
,
did
he
perceive
it
,
consider
it
as
an
apostasy
from
his
original
school
,
and
draw
back
.
But
she
encouraged
him
by
showing
a
marked
preference
for
the
pieces
which
savoured
of
this
new
style
;
and
she
even
suggested
to
him
to
write
a
tale
,
in
which
he
should
substitute
,
for
the
conventional
background
copied
by
æsthetic
poetry
from
the
borders
of
missals
,
the
pictures
of
old
masters
and
of
their
French
gods
,
Gautier
and
Baudelaire
,
the
scenery
of
his
own
home
,
the
wide
commons
,
the
beech‐woods
on
the
downs
,
the
solemn
horizons
of
the
fenny
country
which
spread
from
Wotton
to
the
sea
.
He
had
written
it
,
and
read
it
to
her
during
that
fortnight
of
solitude
;
and
Anne’s
heart
had
beat
at
the
thought
of
the
change
which
was
to
be
wrought
by
Hamlin’s
new
book
—
of
the
unknown
youths
hitherto
fumbling
vainly
for
a
new
style
,
who
were
to
recognise
in
Hamlin
the
leader
of
a
new
school
,
the
prophet
of
a
new
art
.
When
the
colony
of
London
æsthetes
arrived
at
Wotton
,
the
new
poem
was
solemnly
read
to
them
.
They
were
all
seated
in
the
old‐fashioned
library
,
the
rows
and
rows
of
old
novels
and
books
of
standard
literature
,
the
busts
of
ancient
philosophers
looking
down
upon
them
,
—
a
quaint
little
assembly
of
ladies
in
peacock‐blue
and
dull
sage
and
Japanese
dragoned
and
medieval
brocaded
gowns
,
with
slashed
sleeves
and
limp
tails
—
of
men
got
up
to
look
like
Frenchmen
or
Germans
,
or
Renaissance
creatures
,
in
wondrous
velveteens
,
colonred
almost
like
the
bindings
of
their
own
books
.
They
listened
with
considerable
attention
,
and
obvious
impatience
to
interrupt
.
The
first
who
did
so
was
Mrs
Spencer
.
“
Why
,
Walter
!
”
she
exclaimed
indignantly
,
“
what
possesses
you
?
are
you
crazy
?
Why
,
you
are
going
in
for
realism
;
do
you
know
that
?
”
“
I
don’t
see
any
particular
realism
,
Edith
,
”
answered
Hamlin
,
testily
.
“
Come
,
now
,
it
isn’t
Zola
,
my
dear
,
”
said
her
father
,
a
good‐natured
man
,
who
never
carried
his
belief
in
himself
to
the
length
which
it
was
carried
to
by
his
family
.
“
No
,
it
isn’t
Zola
,
”
cried
Miss
Spencer
;
“
but
it’s
worse
than
Zola
.
.
.
.
”
(
“
It’s
just
the
decentest
thing
I’ve
heard
for
many
a
long
year
,
”
murmured
the
old
painter
.
)
“
It’s
worse
than
Zola
,
because
it’s
poetry
and
not
prose
,
because
it’s
English
poetry
,
because
it’s
poetry
by
Walter
Hamlin
,
who
has
hitherto
been
an
apostle
of
beauty
,
and
is
now
basely
turning
apostate
and
going
over
to
ugliness
.
”
There
was
a
slight
laugh
at
Mrs
Spencer’s
vehemence
,
in
which
Hamlin
alone
did
not
join
.
“
I
don’t
think
there’s
anything
actually
ugly
in
it
,
”
put
in
Chough
,
blandly
.
“
Hamlin
could
never
write
anything
ugly
.
But
it
is
certain
that
there’s
a
want
of
idealism
in
it
,
a
want
of
that
exotic
perfume
which
constitutes
the
essence
of
poetry
.
I
think
it’s
an
unfortunately
chosen
subject
.
.
.
.
”
“
I
think
it’
s
perfectly
disgusting
,
”
gobbled
out
Dennistoun
,
the
little
rickety
poet
,
who
had
to
be
carried
up
and
down
stairs
,
and
who
wrote
,
while
slowly
sinking
inch
by
inch
into
the
grave
,
about
carrying
off
lovely
girls
,
and
throttling
them
in
the
fierceness
of
his
love
.
“
Did
you
notice
about
the
heroine
washing
the
children
?
I
call
that
beastly
,
beastly
.
And
then
,
I
don’t
know
how
any
man
can
write
a
poem
about
people
who
are
in
love
and
get
married
.
”
This
seemed
an
unanswerable
piece
of
criticism
.
Anne
alone
leaned
across
the
table
;
she
was
very
indignant
.
“
I
think
,
”
she
said
,
“
that
there
is
much
more
poetry
in
people
who
love
each
other
respectably
,
and
respectably
get
married
,
than
in
all
the
nasty
situations
which
modern
poets
write
about
.
”
Cosmo
Chough
looked
at
Dennistoun
,
and
Dennistoun
looked
at
Mrs
Spencer’s
father
.
“
My
dear
young
lady
,
”
cried
the
old
painter
in
his
broad
Scotch
,
“
d’ye
ever
know
any
of
these
gentlemen
write
a
poem
about
people
who
did
any
single
respectable
thing
?
”
“
I
wonder
you
can
talk
like
that
,
papa
,
”
silenced
his
daughter
,
whose
zeal
for
him
and
his
school
included
timely
snubbings
for
himself
.
“
Well
,
my
dear
,
I
privately
think
with
Miss
Brown
that
there’s
nothing
more
poetic
than
a
gude
,
bonnie
lass
of
a
wife
,
and
I
don’t
wonder
a
bit
at
Walter
being
of
that
opinion
.
But
then
,
of
course
,
I’m
not
a
poet
.
”
“
It’s
that
washing
of
the
children
which
troubles
me
,
”
reflected
Chough
,
“
and
their
being
married
.
Don’t
you
think
,
now
,
Hamlin
,
that
you
might
just
alter
a
little
,
and
make
it
appear
that
they
weren’t
married
?
”
“
Only
put
a
husband
of
the
lady
in
the
distance
,
”
suggested
O’Reilly
,
laughing
.
“
Thank
you
,
”
said
Hamlin
,
affecting
to
laugh
,
“
your
suggestion
is
most
happy
,
and
most
characteristic
.
You
are
always
full
of
original
ideas
—
all
of
you
,
”
and
he
looked
bitterly
round
.
Chough
felt
the
rebuke
and
was
silent
.
But
Dennistoun
,
who
was
gasping
,
propped
up
in
his
chair
,
was
furious
.
“
It’s
not
a
question
of
an
alteration
here
or
there
,
”
he
gobbled
out
;
“
it’s
the
whole
tone
of
the
poem
which
is
pestilent
.
It’s
Wordsworth
pure
and
simple
,
that’s
what
it
is
.
”
Hamlin
rolled
up
his
MS.
He
was
very
white
.
The
others
he
did
not
mind
,
but
this
little
rickety
Dennistoun
,
whose
poems
were
the
most
limited
and
the
most
hopelessly
morbid
of
the
whole
set
,
annoyed
him
;
for
in
Dennistoun
,
for
all
his
limitations
and
repetitions
,
Hamlin
recognised
the
most
genuine
poet
of
his
circle
,
his
most
real
rival
.
Those
words
,
“
It’s
Wordsworth
,
that’s
what
it
is
,
”
were
like
a
blow
.
He
could
have
knocked
down
Dennistoun
,
had
he
not
been
a
cripple
.
The
conversation
was
changed
;
and
soon
the
first
dinner‐bell
dispersed
the
company
.
When
Anne
came
down
she
heard
some
one
stirring
in
the
study
next
door
.
She
went
in
.
Hamlin
was
seated
before
the
table
,
his
head
on
his
hands
;
the
MS.
,
all
crumpled
up
,
lay
in
front
of
him
.
Anne
came
silently
to
his
side
.
Her
heart
was
bursting
with
indignation
.
“
What’s
the
matter
?
”
asked
Hamlin
,
crossly
.
“
Nothing
.
I
only
came
—
because
I
wanted
to
see
you
—
because
I
wanted
to
tell
you
how
I
despise
those
people
and
their
disgusting
,
unmanly
school
of
poetry
—
how
I
hate
their
stupid
criticism
,
—
how
completely
I
believe
in
you
and
in
your
poem
.
”
Anne
had
spoken
with
vehemence
and
almost
anger
.
She
took
one
of
his
hands
,
which
was
dog’s‐earing
the
MS.
“
Oh
,
why
,
”
she
asked
,
“
why
do
you
read
them
what
you
write
?
Don’t
you
know
them
sufficiently
to
know
what
they
will
say
?
”
“
I
never
thought
—
”
and
Hamlin
stopped
.
“
I
never
thought
that
that
fellow
Dennistoun
would
ever
dare
to
speak
like
that
about
a
poem
of
mine
.
”
His
tone
was
angry
and
tearful
,
like
that
of
a
punished
child
.
“
Nor
did
I
.
I
never
thought
any
one
would
dare
to
speak
like
that
.
But
what
does
it
matter
—
what
can
the
words
of
such
a
man
matter
to
you
?
”
He
did
not
answer
.
“
Surely
,
”
went
on
Anne
,
“
you
can’t
mind
what
they
say
?
You
believe
in
your
poem
,
as
I
believe
in
it
?
”
It
seemed
so
impossible
to
her
how
any
one
could
not
believe
in
that
poem
,
which
seemed
to
her
so
strong
,
and
noble
,
and
beautiful
.
“
I
know
you
believe
in
it
,
”
answered
Hamlin
,
brusquely
;
“
you
made
me
write
it
—
so
of
course
you
must
—
”
“
And
—
and
—
are
you
sorry
to
have
written
it
?
”
“
I
don’t
know
;
I
can’t
judge
.
There’s
O’Reilly
outside
.
”
“
The
disconsolate
poet
being
consoled
by
his
beautiful
fiancée
for
having
written
about
people
who
were
united
in
legitimate
wedlock
,
”
whispered
O’Reilly
to
Mrs
Spencer
as
they
entered
the
room
.
“
Well
,
Hamlin
,
old
fellow
,
do
you
repent
you
of
that
sinful
marriage
between
your
hero
and
heroine
?
”
asked
O’Reilly
.
“
I
repent
me
of
nothing
at
all
,
except
of
having
read
my
poem
to
a
parcel
of
damned
meretricious
rhymesters
,
”
answered
Hamlin
,
angrily
.
“
Walter
!
”
cried
Mrs
Spencer
,
“
how
can
you
talk
like
that
!
”
But
,
despite
this
bravado
,
Anne
felt
,
and
her
spirit
sank
within
her
,
that
Hamlin
had
been
disgusted
with
his
poem
.
He
was
rather
cantankerous
throughout
dinner
;
and
Anne
,
watching
him
,
felt
a
strange
mixture
of
indignation
—
towards
his
critics
for
their
criticism
,
and
towards
Hamlin
for
minding
it
.
CHAPTER
IV
.
THE
time
has
come
for
him
to
break
with
the
old
school
,
thought
Anne
;
consoling
herself
for
a
certain
childish
petulance
,
perhaps
not
quite
new
to
her
,
in
Hamlin’s
manner
.
But
Anne
proved
mistaken
.
Whether
the
critics
became
less
rabid
on
the
following
day
,
or
whether
Hamlin
was
suddenly
smitten
with
the
truth
of
their
criticism
,
she
could
not
say
.
He
was
very
snappish
at
first
towards
Chough
,
and
absolutely
refused
to
speak
to
Dennistoun
for
nearly
twenty‐four
hours
.
Chough
,
who
loved
Hamlin
like
the
apple
of
his
eye
,
would
not
,
however
,
be
spurned
;
he
followed
Hamlin
about
,
he
soothed
him
,
he
flattered
him
,
he
assured
him
that
he
was
much
the
greatest
poet
of
his
generation
;
but
he
repeated
,
almost
with
tears
in
his
eyes
,
Dennistoun’s
criticism
.
“
Such
a
poem
will
never
,
never
do
,
”
he
cried
;
“
it
is
impossible
,
intolerable
,
and
it
will
just
put
some
fellow
like
Dennistoun
into
your
place
.
”
“
Thank
you
for
your
advice
,
Chough
,
”
answered
Hamlin
,
angrily
;
“
I
think
I
told
you
before
that
I
didn’t
want
it
.
”
Anne
did
not
revive
the
subject
of
the
unlucky
poem
.
It
was
useless
provoking
quarrels
between
Hamlin
and
his
friends
;
quarrels
in
which
she
was
forced
to
own
to
herself
that
he
showed
himself
too
easily
mortified
and
put
out
of
temper
.
If
he
had
been
taught
to
mistrust
their
judgment
,
if
he
had
been
alienated
from
their
school
by
their
absurd
criticism
,
why
,
so
much
the
better
.
This
business
drew
Anne’s
attention
to
the
poetry
of
the
school
;
she
re‐read
a
number
of
poems
by
Chough
,
Dennistoun
,
and
several
gods
,
demigods
,
and
heroes
of
the
movement
.
Whether
it
was
that
she
had
read
them
fragmentarily
before
,
or
that
she
had
not
understood
their
full
meaning
,
or
whether
her
attention
was
now
called
to
their
bad
points
rather
than
to
their
good
ones
,
she
scarcely
knew
;
but
it
seemed
to
her
that
she
had
never
before
comprehended
this
style
of
poetry
:
its
beauty
had
ceased
to
please
her
,
it
seemed
to
her
false
,
emasculate
,
diseased
.
Hamlin
alone
had
not
gone
to
its
worst
lengths
;
he
had
sinned
,
but
comparatively
little
.
He
was
evidently
intended
for
something
better
.
And
Anne
thought
with
pride
of
that
“
Ballad
of
the
Fens
”
which
they
had
all
fallen
upon
,
and
which
was
to
be
the
signal
for
a
new
era
in
poetry
.
Soon
it
would
be
out
;
and
she
the
only
person
to
have
appreciated
it
.
It
seemed
to
Anne
that
at
last
,
in
her
humble
way
,
she
might
be
beginning
to
repay
the
debt
of
gratitude
which
she
owed
Hamlin
(
not
that
she
wished
that
the
debt
should
ever
be
less
,
God
knows
,
or
dreamed
that
it
could
be
)
;
but
at
last
Hamlin
might
reap
some
advantage
from
his
generosity
.
He
had
stooped
to
make
her
,
to
turn
the
Perrys’
servant
into
a
lady
;
in
her
turn
,
perhaps
she
,
the
woman
of
the
lower
classes
,
might
encourage
the
delicately
nurtured
poet
to
attempt
things
bolder
,
simpler
,
and
more
healthy
than
he
had
done
before
.
The
proof‐sheets
of
the
new
volume
began
to
come
in
.
Anne
had
read
nearly
all
its
contents
at
one
time
or
other
,
yet
Hamlin
,
in
his
grave
,
ceremoniously
adoring
way
,
handed
on
the
proofs
to
her
.
One
day
a
fresh
bundle
came
by
post
.
After
breakfast
,
Hamlin
took
Anne
aside
.
“
I
want
you
to
read
these
sonnets
,
”
he
said
.
“
I
don’t
think
you
have
read
them
all
.
There
are
rather
more
than
I
care
to
print
in
this
volume
,
so
I
should
like
you
to
select
those
which
you
think
the
best
or
the
least
bad
:
divide
them
into
two
packets
,
and
tell
me
which
you
prefer
.
”
Anne
was
quite
taken
aback
for
joy
,
and
at
the
same
time
for
fear
.
“
Don’t
say
that
,
”
she
said
;
“
I
could
never
,
never
take
the
responsibility
of
deciding
about
your
poems
.
Let
me
read
them
,
and
let
me
tell
you
what
I
like
best
,
but
don’t
ask
me
to
choose
.
What
am
I
,
that
I
should
decide
in
such
matters
?
”
“
You
are
the
person
whom
I
trust
and
respect
,
and
—
will
you
let
me
say
so
?
—
whom
I
love
most
in
all
the
world
,
”
said
Hamlin
,
solemnly
.
“
For
whom
should
my
poetry
be
written
except
for
you
?
Whom
else
should
I
care
to
please
?
Are
you
not
the
best
and
worthiest
thing
in
my
life
,
and
is
it
not
my
highest
ambition
to
do
anything
worthy
of
you
?
”
Hamlin
had
never
spoken
so
passionately
and
earnestly
before
.
Anne
did
not
answer
,
but
she
squeezed
his
hand
,
and
the
gesture
,
and
the
look
accompanying
it
,
meant
“
I
love
you
.
”
“
Listen
,
”
said
Hamlin
,
detaining
her
as
she
was
leaving
—
“
I
want
to
say
one
word
more
.
These
sonnets
are
not
merely
my
verses
;
they
are
myself
—
and
many
of
them
,
you
will
see
,
are
about
you
.
Perhaps
you
would
rather
that
some
of
these
were
not
published
;
perhaps
your
permitting
them
to
be
published
might
mean
more
than
you
should
wish
.
Tell
me
your
opinion
frankly
,
and
put
aside
everything
that
you
don’t
like
.
”
“
I
will
,
”
answered
Anne
.
“
What
you
wish
me
to
do
,
I
must
do
.
”
She
went
up
into
her
room
,
shut
the
door
,
and
seating
herself
at
the
table
,
unrolled
the
little
bundle
of
proof‐sheets
.
But
at
first
she
could
not
read
,
or
could
read
only
the
titles
—
her
heart
beat
so
,
and
the
blood
boomed
so
in
her
temples
.
That
he
should
love
her
so
much
,
believe
in
her
so
much
—
that
it
should
really
be
he
,
just
he
and
she
,
and
not
some
one
else
;
it
seemed
too
strange
to
be
true
.
She
slowly
began
to
read
the
sonnets
.
Some
of
them
she
knew
already
;
others
were
expansions
in
verse
of
things
which
Hamlin
had
said
or
written
to
her
;
many
were
about
herself
,
passionate
,
with
a
sort
of
delicate
,
subdued
,
respectful
passion
,
played
,
like
some
exquisite
instrument
,
in
various
keys
and
rhythms
of
subdued
pain
or
gladness
.
She
felt
so
proud
and
glad
,
and
at
the
same
time
so
moved
and
saddened
,
that
she
almost
cried
over
them
.
There
were
a
lot
of
other
sonnets
,
descriptive
of
places
and
of
moods
.
Some
of
these
she
did
not
at
all
relish
.
They
were
not
fleshly
nor
exactly
improper
;
but
they
contained
allusions
which
Anne
could
not
help
following
,
allusions
which
she
did
not
quite
understand
,
but
which
she
did
not
like
.
She
felt
half
ashamed
of
herself
,
wondering
whether
all
the
impure
poetry
which
she
had
lately
been
reading
,
whether
her
prejudice
against
the
school
to
which
these
decidedly
belonged
,
might
not
be
making
her
imagine
things
which
were
not
meant
;
and
Anne
blushed
at
the
thought
—
blushed
at
her
knowing
so
many
things
,
having
learned
so
many
things
,
in
her
half
education
as
an
Italian
servant
,
in
her
culture
as
an
æsthetic
personage
,
which
perhaps
other
girls
of
her
age
would
not
dream
of
.
It
was
probably
only
her
own
morbid
fancy
.
But
then
she
came
upon
a
set
of
sonnets
—
no
fewer
than
twelve
connected
together
by
similarity
of
title
—
which
put
an
end
to
her
doubts
.
She
felt
giddy
and
sick
as
she
read
them
;
mysterious
and
mystical
hankerings
,
mysterious
half‐longing
repentance
,
and
half‐repentant
longings
after
untold
shameful
things
.
Anne
pushed
aside
the
proof‐sheets
,
and
leaned
her
head
on
her
hands
.
She
seemed
to
be
smothering
for
want
of
air
;
she
went
to
the
window
,
and
leaned
against
its
rails
.
It
was
raining
—
a
steady
,
clear
fine
rain
.
She
looked
at
it
mechanically
as
it
filled
the
air
like
a
thin
veil
,
and
crevassed
the
sand
outside
with
yellow
trickles
of
water
.
She
did
not
for
one
instant
believe
that
Hamlin
had
ever
felt
the
things
about
which
he
was
writing
;
but
he
had
written
about
them
.
She
knew
,
from
an
unerring
instinct
,
as
well
as
from
her
own
deep
love
,
that
Hamlin
was
as
pure
a
man
as
could
be
found
;
had
he
not
been
towards
her
—
was
he
not
,
at
that
very
moment
—
the
very
personification
of
chivalrous
and
spiritual
lovingness
?
Then
she
remembered
the
allusions
which
,
without
understanding
them
,
used
to
frighten
her
in
his
letters
—
the
allusions
to
vague
evil
which
beckoned
to
him
,
which
surrounded
him
;
and
she
remembered
also
his
constant
references
in
conversation
to
his
being
unlike
what
she
imagined
,
to
his
baseness
and
unworthiness
.
Two
years
earlier
she
would
have
been
seized
with
an
agonising
terror
;
a
week
before
she
might
have
been
overcome
with
pitying
admiration
at
his
self‐tormenting
moral
purity
,
taking
umbrage
at
every
thought
of
evil
which
passed
across
and
seemed
to
soil
his
mind
.
But
somehow
,
now
,
she
did
neither
.
She
did
not
for
one
second
believe
that
Hamlin
was
in
any
way
a
bad
man
.
She
repeated
to
herself
that
he
was
morbidly
introspective
,
self‐scrutinising
,
morbidly
imaginative
;
but
she
could
not
realise
that
these
hateful
sonnets
had
been
written
in
any
great
agony
of
imagined
self‐debasement
;
they
were
so
artistic
,
so
evidently
written
with
enjoyment
,
so
self‐conscious
;
they
were
so
clearly
not
the
doubts
of
a
troubled
mind
,
but
the
work
of
a
poet
—
and
,
what
was
much
worse
,
so
clearly
the
work
of
a
poet
of
a
definite
school
,
of
the
school
of
Chough
and
Dennistoun
and
all
the
others
,
whom
she
was
beginning
to
loathe
.
Anne
looked
at
them
over
and
over
again
.
There
was
no
reality
in
them
;
mere
revolting
pose
.
Gradually
her
mind
settled
about
them
.
They
were
doubtless
things
written
long
ago
,
when
,
without
knowing
what
it
all
meant
,
he
had
been
carried
away
by
the
wave
of
imitation
of
one
or
two
shameless
or
foolish
writers
.
He
had
alluded
to
sonnets
which
he
had
expected
her
to
dislike
,
he
had
insisted
so
on
a
certain
number
being
put
aside
;
if
he
had
made
her
think
that
it
was
the
sonnets
about
herself
which
provoked
his
doubts
,
that
came
from
a
sort
of
shame
,
an
unwillingness
to
point
out
to
her
what
she
might
perhaps
overlook
:
it
was
not
quite
straightforward
,
but
everybody
,
Anne
had
learned
by
this
time
,
did
not
do
right
in
a
quite
straightforward
way
.
The
only
thing
which
perplexed
her
was
,
why
he
had
submitted
these
poems
to
her
at
all
?
Why
had
he
not
torn
them
up
?
why
shown
them
to
her
?
A
little
she
could
not
help
,
as
a
woman
,
resenting
his
having
done
so
at
all
.
But
perhaps
he
had
done
so
to
show
her
the
difference
between
what
he
had
been
and
what
he
was
going
to
be
,
—
perhaps
—
perhaps
he
had
got
a
little
callous
,
living
among
poets
of
this
school
.
Anyhow
,
they
were
things
of
the
past
,
and
Anne
did
not
distress
herself
any
longer
about
them
,
so
foreign
did
they
seem
to
Hamlin
,
so
impossible
was
it
to
bring
them
into
connection
with
the
thought
of
him
.
She
put
the
proofs
into
her
pocket
,
and
waited
for
an
opportunity
of
giving
them
back
.
Before
dinner
,
when
the
guests
were
safe
out
of
the
way
,
she
called
Hamlin
into
the
library
.
“
Here
are
the
proofs
,
”
she
said
,
laying
them
on
the
table
.
“
Have
you
read
them
already
?
”
cried
Hamlin
;
“
how
sweet
of
you
!
Now
tell
me
what
you
think
about
them
.
”
He
looked
so
cheerful
,
so
utterly
unconscious
of
the
possibility
of
Anne’s
having
anything
to
say
disagreeable
to
himself
and
herself
,
that
she
began
to
feel
nervous
.
“
I
think
they
are
most
of
them
very
beautiful
,
”
she
answered
slowly
—
“
indeed
,
quite
some
of
the
best
things
you
have
ever
done
—
and
especially
those
about
me
;
I
am
very
grateful
to
you
for
them
.
But
”
—
she
resumed
,
after
a
moment’s
silence
—
“
there
are
some
which
I
dislike
extremely
,
and
which
are
utterly
unworthy
of
you
.
I
have
put
them
into
the
smaller
roll
by
themselves
.
”
She
spoke
rapidly
,
decidedly
,
but
when
she
had
done
she
felt
that
she
was
crimson
.
Hamlin
seemed
quite
speechless
for
astonishment
.
He
quickly
unrolled
the
smaller
parcel
,
and
glanced
at
its
contents
.
A
look
of
surprised
ill‐humour
crossed
his
face
.
“
I
am
quite
astonished
at
your
choice
,
”
he
said
with
affected
coolness
;
“
for
these
are
the
very
sonnets
which
Chough
and
Dennistoun
and
all
my
other
friends
picked
out
as
among
my
best
.
”
So
he
had
already
provided
himself
with
a
stock
of
criticisms
.
“
I
am
no
judge
of
their
technical
merits
,
”
answered
Anne
,
trying
to
feel
as
if
she
had
expected
this
news
.
“
It
seemed
to
me
that
they
were
very
excellent
in
workmanship
,
and
there
is
beautiful
imagery
in
them
.
But
I
think
the
subject
and
tone
of
them
horrible
.
”
she
spoke
resolutely
and
unflinchingly
,
because
she
saw
Hamlin’s
eyes
fixed
incredulously
on
her
.
“
You
asked
me
to
give
you
my
frank
opinion
;
and
even
had
you
not
asked
me
,
I
should
have
felt
bound
to
tell
you
that
I
think
those
sonnets
ought
not
to
be
published
.
Perhaps
you
think
it
strange
of
me
to
speak
so
openly
;
but
,
of
course
,
I
understand
what
those
sonnets
allude
to
,
and
,
of
course
,
so
will
every
grown‐up
reader
.
”
Hamlin
bit
his
moustache
.
“
There
is
not
a
single
word
to
which
any
one
can
take
objection
in
these
sonnets
,
”
and
he
turned
over
the
proofs
.
“
What
do
the
words
matter
?
It
is
the
meaning
.
I
think
,
”
and
Anne
vainly
tried
to
soften
down
her
expressions
,
—
“
I
think
that
those
sonnets
are
things
you
should
be
ashamed
of
.
”
Hamlin’s
eyes
flashed
,
but
he
kept
his
temper
.
“
Everything
is
legitimate
for
the
sake
of
an
artistic
effect
,
”
he
said
,
echoing
the
worn‐out
aphorism
of
his
school
.
“
Even
to
do
a
disgraceful
thing
?
”
“
I
can
see
nothing
disgraceful
in
a
man
attempting
to
describe
what
has
passed
through
his
mind
.
”
Hamlin
spoke
sullenly
and
doggedly
.
“
You
have
shifted
your
position
,
”
cried
Anne
.
“
You
intimated
just
now
that
a
man
may
pretend
to
anything
for
the
sake
of
an
artistic
effect
.
And
now
you
are
trying
to
make
me
believe
that
you
really
have
felt
and
thought
those
horrible
things
.
It
is
of
no
use
.
You
have
not
—
”
“
How
do
you
know
?
”
exclaimed
Hamlin
,
angrily
.
“
Do
you
think
I
tell
you
everything
that
I
have
ever
done
,
or
thought
,
or
felt
?
”
Anne
was
silent
for
a
moment
:
that
he
should
prefer
to
make
her
believe
in
his
own
baseness
!
It
was
horrible
,
loathsome
,
and
,
at
the
same
time
,
pitiable
and
childish
.
“
I
know
you
have
not
,
”
she
repeated
,
“
because
I
know
you
to
be
a
gentleman
.
And
I
know
that
all
that
is
affectation
—
school
affectation
—
learned
from
creatures
like
Dennistoun
and
Chough
;
they
have
all
done
it
,
or
something
of
the
sort
,
and
you
have
learned
what
comes
naturally
to
their
dirty
minds
.
Oh
,
Mr
Hamlin
,
do
not
commit
this
abomination
—
this
baseness
of
pretending
to
shameful
things
which
you
have
not
felt
or
thought
;
do
not
be
so
mean
,
so
base
,
so
lying
,
as
to
slander
yourself
for
the
sake
of
an
artistic
effect
.
”
Anne
had
seized
his
arm
;
he
was
shaken
by
her
unexpected
vehemence
and
passion
;
he
had
never
thought
that
Anne
could
become
so
passionate
about
anything
;
he
looked
on
,
taken
by
surprise
,
not
knowing
what
to
think
.
“
Do
not
slander
yourself
,
”
repeated
Anne
—
“
do
not
blacken
your
real
self
,
which
does
not
belong
to
yourself
alone
,
which
belongs
also
to
your
friends
,
to
your
honour
,
which
belongs
in
part
to
me
.
Do
not
lie
to
me
about
yourself
!
”
“
As
you
choose
,
”
answered
Hamlin
;
“
perhaps
you
are
right
;
though
,
heaven
knows
,
I
thought
myself
,
when
writing
those
sonnets
,
but
too
bitterly
in
earnest
.
”
Anne’s
look
—
a
look
of
incredulous
contempt
—
smote
him
like
a
rod
.
“
I
suppose
I
am
apt
to
be
morbid
,
”
he
said
,
sadly
;
“
that
is
the
wretchedness
of
my
life
,
that
I
never
know
where
the
truth
about
myself
really
lies
—
it
seems
to
me
that
I
ought
to
speak
out
,
and
yet
.
.
.
”
“
And
yet
it
is
mere
nonsense
.
”
Hamlin
smiled
a
forced
smile
.
“
Perhaps
it
is
.
Since
you
are
determined
,
I
suppose
it
must
be
.
”
“
You
won’t
publish
those
sonnets
?
”
asked
Anne
,
anxiously
.
“
I
will
not
,
since
they
offend
you
so
much
.
But
it
is
curious
,
that
of
all
the
people
to
whom
I
have
shown
them
,
you
are
the
only
one
who
has
taken
the
slightest
exception
to
them
.
”
For
a
moment
Hamlin
had
been
overcome
,
had
been
delighted
by
this
sudden
burst
of
impetuosity
,
by
this
passionate
belief
in
him
and
vindication
of
himself
.
But
now
,
as
he
again
glanced
at
the
sonnets
,
he
was
once
more
annoyed
and
resentful
.
“
Such
things
must
be
judged
from
a
purely
artistic
standpoint
,
”
he
said
with
some
irritation
.
“
I
am
willing
to
judge
art
from
an
artistic
standpoint
;
but
I
cannot
judge
from
an
artistic
standpoint
an
honourable
man
trying
to
defame
himself
.
”
Hamlin
sighed
.
“
Well
,
after
all
,
I
bade
you
select
,
and
the
principal
thing
is
that
you
should
be
satisfied
.
But
it
is
a
pity
,
because
those
were
just
the
best
sonnets
in
the
book
;
and
the
book
will
be
very
small
without
the
‘Ballad
of
the
Fens.’
”
“
The
‘Ballad
of
the
Fens’
?
—
aren’t
you
going
to
print
that
?
What
do
you
mean
?
”
Could
Hamlin
be
merely
worrying
her
,
to
vent
his
annoyance
at
the
loss
of
the
sonnets
?
“
The
‘Ballad
of
the
Fens’
has
been
torn
up
,
”
answered
Hamlin
,
with
a
kind
of
dogged
satisfaction
.
“
Oh
,
Mr
Hamlin
!
How
could
you
—
the
finest
thing
you
have
ever
written
.
”
The
ballad
torn
up
!
“
I
know
you
thought
it
good
,
and
so
did
I
myself
.
But
,
on
reflection
,
I
saw
that
my
friends
were
right
,
and
that
such
a
thing
would
not
do
.
”
He
spoke
sharply
,
brutally
,
as
if
to
bring
home
to
Anne
the
unreliableness
of
her
judgment
:
she
had
induced
him
to
write
it
;
she
had
praised
it
;
and
she
wanted
him
to
tear
up
those
sonnets
.
“
It
is
a
bad
plan
to
keep
things
about
which
one
is
doubtful
,
”
he
went
on
;
“
so
I
tore
it
up
.
I
think
it
was
wiser
;
don’t
you
?
”
“
No
,
”
said
Anne
,
in
a
husky
voice
which
burst
out
in
a
way
that
almost
frightened
him
;
“
no
,
no
—
it
was
.
.
.
”
but
she
said
no
more
.
CHAPTER
V.
ONE
morning
Hamlin
received
two
unexpected
letters
at
breakfast
.
From
his
looks
,
which
he
was
at
all
times
quite
unable
to
control
,
it
was
clear
that
one
of
them
brought
good
news
,
while
the
other
must
be
about
some
disagreeable
matter
.
“
Edmund
Lewis
is
coming
the
day
after
to‐morrow
,
”
announced
Hamlin
to
his
aunt
,
to
Anne
,
and
to
his
guests
.
There
was
a
chorus
of
exclamations
of
surprise
,
sprinkled
with
pleasure
.
“
Who
is
Edmund
Lewis
?
”
asked
Anne
.
“
He
is
an
old
friend
of
mine
,
a
charming
fellow
whom
I
have
not
seen
for
some
years
.
Some
of
the
drawings
in
the
drawing‐room
at
Hammersmith
are
by
him
.
”
Anne
remembered
the
name
,
and
the
strange
,
beautiful
,
cruel
,
mysterious
,
out‐of‐drawing
heads
in
crayon
,
which
had
curiously
impressed
her
the
first
morning
after
her
arrival
in
England
,
rose
before
her
eyes
;
since
then
she
had
seen
so
many
similar
things
,
had
got
to
understand
so
completely
that
mysterious
,
beautiful
faces
,
with
combed‐out
hair
,
big
weird
eyes
,
and
cruel
lips
,
were
so
much
school
property
,
that
she
had
become
quite
indifferent
to
them
.
“
I
thought
you
told
me
that
something
strange
had
happened
to
him
—
that
he
had
left
England
for
good
,
”
remarked
Anne
.
“
Oh
,
it
was
nothing
particularly
strange
,
”
interrupted
little
O’Reilly
—
“
only
a
German
lady
whom
he
met
one
day
,
blond
,
fat
,
thirty‐five
,
who
was
nothing
but
a
soul
—
you
know
the
sort
of
thing
—
with
a
husband
who
was
a
great
deal
besides
a
soul
(
a
charming
man
,
for
the
rest
,
and
quite
wildly
in
love
with
the
Gnädige
Frau
)
.
The
excess
of
soul
having
induced
acute
neuralgia
in
the
lady
,
poor
Teddy
Lewis
,
who
is
a
tremendous
magnetiser
,
was
called
in
to
soothe
her
agonies
,
during
which
process
the
lady
discovered
that
the
soul‐sorrow
and
consequent
neuralgia
from
which
she
suffered
was
due
to
the
soullessness
of
her
husband
,
and
that
only
the
brotherly
affection
of
Ted
could
cure
her
.
The
difficulty
was
the
husband
,
who
loved
the
lady
fervently
,
and
she
him
,
but
not
in
a
way
which
should
satisfy
her
soul
.
Hence
struggles
,
agonies
,
etc.
—
you’ve
read
it
all
in
the
‘Wahlverwandschaften’
—
finally
ended
by
the
husband
being
implored
to
sacrifice
himself
to
the
spiritual
exigencies
of
his
adored
wife
,
which
absolutely
required
that
he
should
divorce
her
and
let
her
marry
Lewis
.
That’s
all
.
”
“
How
can
you
talk
in
such
a
flippant
way
,
Mr
O’Reilly
?
”
cried
Mrs
Spencer
.
“
You
have
a
way
of
making
the
most
serious
things
seem
ridiculous
.
Poor
Mrs
Lewis
!
she’s
dead
now
;
you
needn’t
make
fun
of
her
.
”
“
Poor
Mrs
Lewis
!
”
laughed
O’Reilly
;
“
well
,
you
know
you
wouldn’t
receive
her
,
Mrs
Spencer
,
when
she
first
came
to
England
.
”
“
I
thought
her
a
designing
woman
then
;
I
didn’t
know
all
the
circumstances
.
”
“
Come
now
,
Edith
,
”
interrupted
her
father
,
in
his
broad
Scotch
;
“
I
think
the
less
ye
knew
those
circumstances
the
better
it
was
for
all
concerned
.
”
“
I
don’t
see
that
at
all
,
papa
.
I
don’t
see
why
a
woman’s
happiness
should
be
sacrificed
,
”
and
Mrs
Spencer
,
who
was
the
most
devoted
of
wives
and
mothers
,
tossed
her
head
rebelliously
.
“
I
don’t
see
why
the
world
should
insist
that
a
woman
is
to
be
satisfied
with
a
husband
who
is
good
to
her
and
her
children
.
After
all
,
she
has
a
soul
,
and
that
requires
response
.
”
“
Would
you
behave
as
Mrs
Lewis
did
?
”
asked
O’Reilly
,
“
If
—
well
—
let
me
see
—
Mr
Spencer
were
suddenly
to
develop
an
overpowering
belief
in
the
Royal
Academy
and
in
Zola
?
”
“
Papa
would
never
have
let
me
marry
a
man
who
could
ever
develop
such
beliefs
.
”
At
this
perfectly
solemn
answer
there
was
a
general
laugh
;
even
poor
Mr
Spencer
,
who
was
the
most
timid
of
æsthetical
persons
,
joining
.
“
I
think
it
was
rather
hard
on
poor
Ted
Lewis
,
”
remarked
Hamlin
,
“
to
become
necessary
to
the
soul
of
a
lady
whether
he
liked
it
or
no.
”
“
Oh
,
Lewis
liked
it
well
enough
,
be
sure
of
that
,
”
answered
Chough
,
bitterly
.
“
Don’t
you
think
it
was
rather
hard
upon
the
husband
,
”
suggested
Anne
,
“
since
he
really
cared
for
his
wife
?
Fancy
being
abandoned
like
that
,
and
his
children
left
without
a
mother
!
”
“
He
was
at
liberty
to
marry
again
,
”
replied
Mrs
Spencer
sharply
,
still
thinking
of
what
she
would
do
if
by
any
chance
Mr
Spencer
were
to
suddenly
disbelieve
in
her
father
and
his
school
.
“
What
would
you
have
had
Lewis
,
or
rather
the
poor
Baroness
,
do
,
Miss
Brown
?
”
asked
O’Reilly
.
“
Why
,
I
would
have
them
never
dream
of
each
other
;
but
if
they
had
been
so
foolish
,
be
ashamed
as
soon
as
possible
,
and
each
go
his
and
her
way
,
and
attend
to
his
and
her
proper
concerns
.
”
Dennistoun
,
who
had
sat
silent
at
the
other
end
of
the
table
,
propped
up
on
his
chair
,
suddenly
stretched
out
his
long
neck
,
and
gobbled
out
—
“
Love
permits
no
man
or
woman
to
resist
:
it
is
imperious
,
irresistible
,
dragging
us
along
to
happiness
,
or
misery
,
or
shame
,
whether
we
will
or
not
.
Love
is
the
extinction
of
the
reason
,
the
extinction
of
the
will
,
or
rather
the
merging
of
the
whole
individuality
in
one
mysterious
desire
.
Those
who
can
talk
of
resistance
have
never
experienced
love
.
Woe
to
them
!
their
hour
is
coming
!
”
—
and
he
tried
to
fix
his
weak
eyes
on
Anne
.
“
Well
,
”
she
answered
quickly
,
“
I
hope
I
may
never
make
such
a
disgusting
fool
of
myself
as
you
describe
,
Mr
Dennistoun
;
but
as
I
think
that
not
everybody
is
liable
to
go
mad
,
so
also
I
think
that
not
everybody
is
liable
to
falling
in
love
in
your
sense
of
the
word
.
”
O’Reilly
leaned
over
the
back
of
her
chair
.
“
It
happens
only
to
those
who
want
to
write
about
it
,
Miss
Brown
,
”
he
whispered
.
“
Anyhow
,
”
remarked
Hamlin
,
“
Lewis
is
a
charming
fellow
,
and
I
am
sure
you
will
appreciate
him
,
Miss
Brown
.
He
is
,
moreover
,
the
most
backbitten
man
in
creation
,
”
and
Hamlin
glanced
round
the
table
;
“
but
you
must
never
believe
any
harm
of
him
.
”
Perhaps
,
thought
Anne
,
Edmund
Lewis
was
disliked
by
this
set
for
the
same
reasons
which
,
she
could
not
help
understanding
,
were
beginning
to
make
her
vaguely
unpopular
.
Still
,
she
did
not
like
the
story
of
his
marriage
,
she
did
not
like
the
recollection
of
his
morbidly
beautiful
drawings
.
“
It’s
good
news
about
Lewis
,
”
said
Hamlin
to
her
after
breakfast
;
“
but
unfortunately
there’s
been
rather
a
bothering
letter
also
.
Did
I
ever
mention
a
cousin
of
mine
,
the
daughter
of
papa’s
sister
and
of
a
horrible
Russian
creature
called
Polozoff
?
She
was
brought
up
with
us
as
a
child
,
and
is
connected
with
a
great
many
painful
circumstances
.
I
have
completely
lost
sight
of
her
since
she
was
about
fifteen
,
and
now
I
suddenly
get
a
letter
from
her
telling
me
that
her
husband
is
dead
,
and
that
she
is
coming
to
England
.
I
rather
loathe
the
idea
of
her
,
and
if
you
knew
the
part
she
played
in
this
house
fifteen
years
ago
,
you
could
understand
it
.
But
the
worst
is
that
Aunt
Claudia
perfectly
abhorred
her
—
I
will
tell
you
the
horrible
,
prosaic
,
tragic
story
some
day
—
and
that
I
perfectly
dread
having
to
break
the
news
to
her
.
I
do
hate
a
scene
so
!
There
she
is
;
I
suppose
I’d
better
tell
her
.
”
Mrs
Macgregor
was
walking
slowly
up
and
down
the
gravel
walk
before
the
house
.
“
Do
come
and
keep
me
in
countenance
.
It
really
is
no
fault
of
mine
,
but
I
know
my
aunt
will
be
furious
.
”
“
What’s
the
matter
?
”
cried
Mrs
Macgregor
suspiciously
,
as
if
expecting
to
be
told
something
disagreeable
.
“
I
wanted
to
tell
you
,
Aunt
Claudia
,
”
said
Hamlin
,
“
that
I
had
a
letter
this
morning
.
”
“
Yes
,
I
know
,
from
your
dear
Lewis
,
”
interrupted
Mrs
Macgregor
.
“
What’s
that
to
me
?
”
“
I
don’t
mean
that
one
.
I
had
a
letter
from
—
guess
from
whom
?
”
and
Hamlin
tried
to
smile
—
“
from
Cousin
Sacha
.
”
Mrs
Macgregor
recoiled
as
if
she
had
trodden
on
a
toad
.
“
From
whom
?
”
“
From
Cousin
Sacha
.
Sacha
Polozoff
—
Madame
Elaguine
,
I
suppose
I
ought
to
call
her
.
”
For
a
moment
there
was
a
dead
silence
.
The
old
lady’s
face
,
usually
so
vacant
,
was
lit
up
into
a
terrific
energy
of
anger
.
“
What
business
has
she
to
write
to
you
?
”
“
Well
,
really
,
aunt
,
I
don’t
see
why
she
shouldn’t
,
”
answered
Hamlin
.
“
After
all
,
we
are
cousins
,
and
we
have
never
openly
quarrelled
.
”
My
aunt
,
“
he
explained
,
turning
to
Anne
,
”
has
got
a
tremendous
aversion
—
a
prejudice
—
towards
this
one
and
only
cousin
of
mine
.
She
disliked
her
father
,
very
reasonably
,
and
I
think
she
has
let
her
dislike
descend
to
the
second
generation
rather
unreasonably
.
“
”
Unreasonably
!
“
exclaimed
Mrs
Macgregor
;
”
you
know
it
was
not
unreasonable
,
Walter
—
you
know
what
that
Cousin
Sacha
of
yours
was
in
this
house
.
“
”
I
know
nothing
of
the
sort
,
“
cried
Hamlin
,
angrily
.
”
I
know
that
Sacha
lived
in
this
house
as
a
child
;
I
know
she
left
it
as
a
child
;
I
know
we
all
hated
her
and
hers
,
and
that
perhaps
they
deserved
it
;
but
I
know
that
we
have
no
right
to
hate
a
woman
of
whom
we
know
nothing
,
because
she
happened
to
have
been
a
badly
brought
up
child
,
years
ago
.
“
At
all
events
,
”
went
on
Hamlin
,
“
I
insist
upon
her
being
properly
treated
as
a
lady
,
and
a
relation
.
”
“
Properly
treated
!
”
almost
foamed
out
his
aunt
.
“
Do
you
mean
to
say
that
she
is
coming
here
?
”
“
Not
here
;
but
to
London
.
Her
husband
is
dead
;
and
she
writes
to
me
that
she
thinks
she
had
better
send
her
boy
to
an
English
school
;
and
as
the
only
person
in
England
upon
whom
she
has
a
claim
—
”
“
A
pretty
claim
!
”
interrupted
Mrs
Macgregor
.
“
As
her
first
cousin
,
she
has
written
to
me
for
information
and
assistance
.
”
“
And
you
are
going
to
give
it
her
,
Walter
?
”
“
Of
course
I
am
.
And
I
hope
,
Aunt
Claudia
,
that
you
will
remember
that
I
won’t
be
disgraced
towards
a
lady
who
has
done
us
no
harm
.
She
will
be
in
London
,
most
likely
,
when
we
return
at
the
beginning
of
winter
.
”
Anne
had
heard
many
allusions
to
this
Cousin
Sacha
,
and
they
belonged
to
that
class
of
cynical
hints
which
always
made
her
indignant
with
Mrs
Macgregor
.
She
instinctively
took
part
with
this
unknown
woman
,
and
she
admired
Hamlin’s
decision
and
generosity
.
Why
did
he
not
always
act
like
this
?
“
That
child
—
that
Sacha
,
”
said
Mrs
Macgregor
,
when
Hamlin
had
left
them
,
“
was
the
evil
genius
of
his
house
.
She
was
sent
as
if
to
embody
all
the
bad
tendencies
of
the
family
.
It
was
a
miserable
house
at
best
,
my
brother‐in‐law’s
,
for
he
was
a
weak
,
vicious
,
violent
man
.
But
just
when
this
wretched
child
was
brought
to
us
my
sister
had
died
,
Mr
Hamlin
was
very
much
shaken
and
repentant
for
the
life
he
had
led
her
,
and
I
really
believe
that
he
had
made
up
his
mind
to
live
decently
for
the
sake
of
his
children
.
The
two
boys
were
growing
up
,
and
there
seemed
some
chance
of
things
going
quietly
and
happily
.
Then
Mr
Hamlin
thought
fit
to
invite
home
his
sister
,
who
was
a
widow
;
she
had
married
a
horrible
Russian
,
a
sort
of
indecent
madman
,
with
every
possible
vice
under
the
sun
.
She
was
an
odious
woman
herself
,
the
regular
slave‐driving
type
of
the
Hamlins
.
Oh
,
you
can’t
judge
of
them
from
Walter
;
he’s
like
my
sister
,
not
like
them
.
Well
,
she
was
violent
,
and
overbearing
,
and
tyrannical
,
and
lazy
,
and
hysterical
,
like
a
regular
Jamaica
woman
.
She
was
enough
in
the
house
;
but
then
she
had
this
child
of
hers
,
this
Sacha
,
with
her
—
a
wretched
,
neglected
creature
,
brought
up
by
French
servants
,
who
were
her
father’s
mistresses
,
and
literally
with
no
more
idea
of
right
and
wrong
than
any
of
the
little
heathens
whom
they
pick
out
of
gutters
in
the
East
End
and
send
to
reformatories
.
”
“
Poor
child
!
”
said
Anne
.
She
shuddered
at
this
glimpse
into
Hamlin’s
early
life
;
it
had
a
horrible
attraction
for
her
,
and
yet
she
felt
that
she
would
far
rather
know
nothing
about
it
.
All
this
filth
seemed
to
cling
to
her
mind
and
soil
it
.
“
How
horrible
for
her
!
”
“
She
was
about
twelve
when
she
came
to
us
,
”
went
on
Mrs
Macgregor
meditatively
,
“
and
you
couldn’t
believe
that
such
a
child
could
exist
in
Christendom
.
She
could
no
more
spell
the
simplest
word
than
I
can
speak
Arabic
;
she
spoke
an
awful
jargon
of
English
and
French
and
Russian
and
German
,
and
she
used
to
talk
about
things
,
and
repeat
stories
which
she
had
heard
from
her
nurses
,
or
her
father
,
or
her
father’s
friends
—
I
don’t
know
whom
—
that
were
enough
to
make
your
hair
stand
on
end
.
Mr
Hamlin
was
in
perfect
despair
;
because
,
although
he
was
a
vicious
sort
of
man
himself
,
and
quite
did
my
poor
sister
to
death
with
his
bad
conduct
,
he
was
awfully
strict
about
all
his
kith
and
kin
,
and
kept
the
boys
as
tight
as
if
he
had
been
a
Puritan
.
What
we
all
had
to
go
through
,
you
have
no
idea
.
At
first
I
was
quite
ashamed
to
let
any
governess
see
such
a
little
heathen
as
that
child
was
,
and
we
had
to
pay
the
governesses
double
wages
to
keep
them
on
.
Then
,
every
time
that
they
tried
to
break
Sacha
off
some
one
of
her
disgusting
ways
,
her
mother
,
who
was
always
moaning
and
groaning
with
imaginary
maladies
on
her
sofa
,
and
no
more
thought
of
her
daughter
than
of
the
man
in
the
moon
,
would
go
into
hysterics
and
throw
things
in
their
face
,
and
have
them
turned
away
,
and
keep
Sacha
for
a
day
in
her
room
,
kissing
her
and
giving
her
sweets
.
Well
,
we
thought
we
were
little
by
little
getting
the
better
of
her
;
and
then
,
thank
goodness
,
Madame
Polozoff
,
that
was
Mr
Hamlin’s
sister
,
died
.
Sacha
learned
a
few
things
,
and
began
to
behave
a
little
more
like
a
Christian
child
;
but
it
was
only
on
the
surface
.
She
was
utterly
and
thoroughly
corrupt
.
When
the
boys
returned
from
school
(
Arnold
was
sixteen
,
and
Walter
seventeen
)
,
the
mischief
began
.
That
wretched
Sacha
fell
madly
in
love
with
Walter
,
and
began
running
after
him
;
but
Walter
perfectly
loathed
the
sight
of
her
:
he
was
always
the
cold
,
moral
,
irreproachable
sort
of
creature
that
he
is
.
Then
she
went
after
Arnold
.
Arnold
was
much
the
livelier
of
the
two
:
he
was
a
dear
,
warm‐
hearted
,
simple
sort
of
boy
,
a
perfect
scapegrace
,
always
in
pickles
,
but
we
only
liked
him
the
better
.
But
that
wretched
Sacha
(
he
didn’t
care
a
rap
about
her
either
,
for
she
was
a
horrid
,
lying
,
sickly
,
stunted
little
thing
)
,
in
order
to
curry
favour
with
him
,
put
him
up
to
all
sorts
of
mischief
,
which
I
suppose
she
had
learned
from
her
precious
father
and
his
servants
.
What
was
poor
Arnold
to
know
?
The
nasty
little
fiend
used
to
get
out
of
bed
and
unlock
the
house‐door
for
him
,
so
that
he
might
go
in
and
out
at
night
and
get
into
scrapes
with
the
village
girls
,
and
drink
at
the
pot‐house
;
and
she
used
to
steal
the
wine
and
the
brandy
out
of
the
cupboards
for
him
,
and
teach
him
all
sorts
of
ungentlemanly
,
knavish
,
lying
ways
;
I
believe
she
used
even
to
give
him
money
out
of
her
savings
,
just
for
him
to
go
to
the
pot‐house
.
If
ever
a
boy
was
ruined
by
a
woman
,
poor
Arnold
was
ruined
by
that
miserable
Sacha
.
Then
,
in
return
for
her
assistance
and
her
lies
and
her
money
,
he
had
to
pretend
to
like
her
,
to
kiss
her
,
and
call
her
his
darling
little
cousin
,
and
promise
to
marry
her
,
whom
he
abominated
.
Meanwhile
Walter
went
dreaming
on
as
he
always
has
,
avoiding
Sacha
like
the
plague
,
and
not
perceiving
any
of
the
pretty
doings
of
his
brother
;
and
Mr
Hamlin
,
who
thought
that
his
house
,
just
because
it
was
his
house
,
must
be
the
palace
of
virtue
,
and
his
son
,
because
he
was
his
son
,
must
be
the
most
obedient
and
austere
boy
in
the
world
,
took
to
liking
Sacha
and
her
pretty
,
foreign
little
ways
,
and
to
think
her
quite
a
nice
little
girl
,
just
the
wife
for
one
of
his
sons
.
Then
one
day
(
I
suppose
Sacha
thought
that
poor
Arnold
did
not
kiss
her
and
darling
little
Sacha
her
enough
,
or
got
jealous
or
something
)
they
had
a
great
row
,
and
Arnold
called
her
a
liar
,
and
said
that
if
she
were
not
a
girl
he
would
thrash
her
well
.
So
Sacha
rushed
off
sobbing
to
Mr
Hamlin
,
and
told
him
that
Arnold
had
called
her
a
liar
,
and
had
threatened
to
beat
her
;
and
Mr
Hamlin
called
Arnold
,
and
struck
him
in
the
face
till
his
nose
bled
,
and
called
him
a
coward
and
a
brute
,
and
swore
he
would
cut
him
off
with
a
shilling
.
Then
it
all
came
out
about
Arnold’s
escapades
,
his
nights
at
the
pot‐house
,
and
so
forth
;
and
of
course
his
father
said
that
all
he
said
about
Sacha’s
putting
him
up
to
it
was
a
pack
of
lies
,
and
finally
it
ended
with
Mr
Hamlin
behaving
in
such
a
way
that
poor
Arnold
ran
away
to
America
.
Then
we
had
no
news
of
him
for
about
six
months
,
and
Mr
Hamlin
wanted
to
take
Walter
into
his
good
graces
,
although
he
had
never
cared
for
him
,
and
Sacha
tried
to
make
up
to
Walter
.
But
Walter
also
ran
away
to
his
uncle
,
because
he
said
he
would
not
stay
unless
Arnold
was
recalled
,
or
at
least
money
were
sent
to
him
.
So
Mr
Hamlin
had
to
give
in
and
send
for
Arnold
;
but
meanwhile
he
had
quarrelled
with
Sacha
,
and
packed
her
off
to
her
Russian
relatives
,
who
sent
her
to
some
German
deaconesses
on
the
Rhine
—
a
nice
child
to
bring
up
!
Walter
returned
,
and
began
to
prepare
for
the
university
;
then
Arnold
was
got
back
from
America
;
but
he
had
only
got
into
worse
and
worse
ways
—
he
was
always
drunk
,
and
finally
his
mind
began
to
give
way
.
Poor
Arnold
!
he
was
much
,
much
nicer
than
Walter
—
such
a
bright
,
good‐humoured
,
manly
fellow
—
and
now
.
.
.
”
“
Now
?
”
repeated
Anne
in
astonishment
;
she
had
listened
without
saying
a
word
to
this
horrible
page
of
family
history
.
“
Now
?
Do
you
mean
that
Mr
Hamlin’s
brother
is
alive
?
”
Mrs
Macgregor
looked
at
her
with
strange
wide
eyes
.
“
Of
course
he
is
.
We
say
he
is
dead
;
or
if
not
dead
,
mad
.
Well
,
he
might
as
soon
be
either
,
poor
boy
.
He
wanders
about
with
a
servant
.
Walter
allows
him
some
money
.
We
never
talk
of
him
.
Ah
!
”
cried
Mrs
Macgregor
,
and
it
was
a
kind
of
suppressed
cry
of
pain
—
“
and
that
it
is
all
,
all
owing
to
Sacha
Polozoff
;
and
she
has
the
insolence
to
write
to
Walter
!
”
Anne
did
not
know
what
to
say
.
“
But
,
”
she
could
not
help
saying
after
a
minute
,
for
it
seemed
to
her
as
if
the
whole
story
were
so
unjust
,
so
one‐sided
,
as
if
there
were
so
much
too
much
laid
at
the
door
of
the
unhappy
,
neglected
,
corrupt
child
—
so
much
too
little
pity
or
indignation
shown
at
her
having
been
thus
neglected
and
corrupted
,
—
“
but
,
Aunt
Claudia
—
is
it
fair
to
put
it
all
down
to
Sacha
?
After
all
,
Arnold
was
sixteen
,
he
was
a
man
,
he
had
been
decently
brought
up
—
and
she
,
she
was
an
ignorant
child
,
brought
up
as
you
say
without
idea
of
right
or
wrong
.
Don’t
you
think
—
oh
,
don’t
you
think
,
auntie
dear
,
that
it
was
mainly
the
fault
of
old
Mr
Hamlin
,
and
his
bad
example
,
and
his
closing
his
eyes
to
his
boy’s
behaviour
?
”
It
seemed
to
her
so
frightful
that
a
girl
,
a
child
,
a
victim
,
just
because
she
was
a
victim
,
should
have
such
a
weight
of
guilt
thrown
upon
her
.
“
She
was
a
woman
,
and
he
was
a
man
,
”
said
Mrs
Macgregor
fiercely
,
her
love
for
her
lost
nephew
,
and
her
strange
theories
of
sexual
influences
mixing
grotesquely
and
tragically
—
“
and
a
woman
can
always
do
what
she
will
with
a
man
;
a
woman
can
always
,
unless
she
be
as
weak
as
my
poor
sister
,
ruin
or
save
a
Hamlin
,
ever
since
Walter’s
great‐uncle
Mordaunt
went
to
the
bad
,
even
worse
