Isuppose
,
to
go
about
alone
.
"
She
makes
a
rather
wistful
pause
—
a
pause
which
he
feels
that
she
intends
him
to
fill
by
an
offer
of
himself
as
her
escort
.
But
none
such
comes
.
Realizing
this
,
she
goes
on
with
a
sigh
:
"
There
are
not
many
advantages
in
being
old
;
but
,
at
least
,
one
is
freer
,
and
in
a
youth
spent
as
mine
is
,
there
is
really
not
much
profit
or
pleasure
.
"
The
tone
in
which
she
makes
this
lugubrious
reflection
is
so
extremely
doleful
that
Jim
cannot
refrain
from
a
laugh
.
"
Cheer
up
,
old
girl
!
there
is
a
good
time
coming
!
It
is
a
long
lane
that
has
no
turning
.
"
But
he
contents
himself
with
these
vague
forms
of
consolation
.
He
has
no
engagements
of
his
own
.
Why
,
then
,
is
he
conscious
of
so
strong
a
reluctance
towards
tying
himself
by
any
promise
to
the
broadly-hinting
lady
beside
him
?
There
is
another
pause
,
during
which
Cecilia
looks
down
on
the
floor
with
a
baffled
air
,
and
traces
the
outlines
of
the
tiles
with
the
point
of
her
red
sunshade
.
"
There
is
a
band
plays
twice
a
week
in
the
Place
de
Gouvernement
—
plays
admirably
.
Now
,
I
suppose
that
there
would
be
nothing
odd
;
that
no
one
could
say
anything
;
that
it
would
not
be
the
least
improper
,
considering
our
connection
and
everything
,
if
you
were
to
take
me
to
hear
it
some
day
?
"
"
I
never
have
the
slightest
idea
of
what
is
improper
and
what
is
not
,
"
replies
he
;
but
there
is
more
of
alarm
than
of
encouragement
in
his
tone
.
"
No
more
have
I
"
—
laughing
rather
awkwardly
—
"
but
in
this
case
I
am
pretty
sure
.
Tuesdays
and
Fridays
are
the
days
on
which
the
band
plays
.
"
"
Oh
!
"
"
To-day
is
Tuesday
,
is
not
it
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
Another
pause
.
"
I
thought
that
perhaps
,
if
you
had
nothing
better
to
do
,
you
might
take
me
to-day
?
"
The
direct
proposal
which
he
has
in
vain
tried
to
avert
has
come
.
If
he
accept
it
,
of
what
profit
to
him
will
the
absence
of
the
Le
Marchant
parents
be
?
He
does
not
formulate
this
fact
to
himself
,
not
having
,
indeed
,
owned
to
his
own
heart
that
he
has
any
set
design
upon
Elizabeth
's
company
for
the
afternoon
.
"
I
am
afraid
—
—
"
he
begins
slowly
.
"
You
are
vamping
up
an
excuse
!
"
cries
Cecilia
,
reddening
.
"
I
see
it
in
your
eyes
.
You
cannot
have
made
any
engagements
here
yet
.
You
do
not
know
anybody
,
do
you
,
except
the
Le
Marchants
?
"
"
And
they
have
gone
to
Hammam
Rhira
,
"
replies
he
precipitately
.
He
is
ashamed
the
moment
that
the
words
are
out
of
his
mouth
,
for
he
knows
that
they
convey
a
falsehood
.
"
At
least
—
—
"
But
she
interrupts
him
before
he
can
add
his
conscience
clause
.
"
To-morrow
,
then
?
"
Again
he
hesitates
.
The
same
objections
apply
with
even
greater
force
to
the
morrow
.
"
But
the
band
does
not
play
to-morrow
.
"
"
Oh
!
what
does
that
matter
?
"
rejoins
she
impatiently
.
"
I
had
just
as
soon
go
somewhere
else
—
the
Arab
town
,
the
Kabyle
village
,
anywhere
.
"
He
is
driven
into
a
corner
,
and
remains
there
silent
so
long
that
there
is
a
distinct
element
of
offence
in
the
tone
and
large
sigh
with
which
the
girl
resumes
.
"
Well
,
times
are
changed
!
I
always
used
to
make
one
in
those
happy
excursions
at
Florence
;
and
somehow
—
thanks
to
her
,
I
suppose
—
I
never
felt
a
bad
third
.
"
She
rises
as
she
speaks
,
and
takes
a
couple
of
huffy
steps
towards
the
house
;
but
he
overtakes
and
stops
her
.
The
allusion
to
Amelia
has
annoyed
and
yet
stirred
in
him
the
sea
of
remorse
,
which
is
always
lying
but
a
very
little
way
below
the
surface
in
his
soul
.
"
Why
,
Cis
!
"
he
says
,
in
a
tone
of
affectionate
rallying
,
"
are
we
going
to
quarrel
at
this
time
of
day
—
you
and
I
?
Of
course
I
will
take
you
to
the
band
and
the
Kabyle
village
,
and
any
other
blessed
sight
you
choose
to
name
,
only
tell
me
by
which
of
them
you
would
like
to
begin
to
ride
round
.
"
As
he
leaves
the
house
and
the
appeased
fair
one
,
after
luncheon
,
an
hour
and
a
half
later
,
he
tells
himself
that
he
has
got
off
cheaply
in
having
vaguely
sacrificed
the
whole
of
his
Algerian
future
,
but
having
preserved
to-day
and
to-morrow
.
CHAPTER
VI
.
"
And
therein
sat
a
lady
fresh
and
fayre
,
Making
sweet
solace
to
herself
alone
.
Sometimes
she
sang
as
lowd
as
lark
in
ayre
,
Sometimes
she
laught
,
as
mery
as
Pope
Joan
.
"
Jim
's
first
care
on
returning
to
his
hotel
is
to
ascertain
that
the
departure
for
Hammam
Rhira
has
really
taken
place
,
and
,
having
been
reassured
on
this
point
,
retires
to
his
own
bedroom
to
reconnoitre
the
terrace
,
upon
which
it
gives
.
The
sun
has
long
drunk
up
the
rain
from
the
tiles
,
and
the
chairs
have
been
set
out
again
.
The
hotel
guests
,
in
all
the
sociability
of
their
after-luncheon
mood
,
are
standing
and
sitting
about
.
The
widow
Wadman
,
with
great
play
of
eyebrow
and
lip
,
is
pacing
up
and
down
in
arch
conversation
with
her
habitual
victim
.
Snatches
of
her
alluring
talk
reach
Jim
behind
his
muslin
curtain
as
she
comes
and
goes
:
"
I
think
that
caged
birds
ought
to
be
loved
!
"
"
The
Prophet
was
a
wise
man
,
was
not
he
?
he
knew
a
little
about
us
,
"
etc.
In
her
usual
place
,
aloof
from
the
rest
of
the
company
,
Elizabeth
is
sitting
in
a
clinging
white
gown
of
some
woolly
stuff
.
With
a
dainty
white
kerchief
twisted
about
her
head
,
and
a
bundle
of
many-tinted
Eastern
stuffs
on
her
knees
,
she
looks
like
a
little
Romney
.
Now
and
again
,
as
fragments
of
the
widow
's
siren
strains
reach
her
ears
,
he
sees
her
lips
curl
up
into
delighted
laughter
;
but
,
for
the
most
part
,
she
seems
to
be
looking
round
rather
uneasily
,
as
if
seeking
something
or
someone
.
Can
it
be
himself
that
she
,
in
her
innocence
of
being
observed
,
is
on
the
watch
for
?
He
has
no
right
to
be
playing
the
spy
on
her
in
any
case
.
It
is
clear
that
,
dressed
as
she
is
,
she
cannot
be
meditating
going
out
.
He
must
not
frighten
her
by
any
too
direct
or
sudden
attentions
.
In
a
little
while
the
other
occupants
of
the
terrace
will
drift
away
,
and
he
will
stroll
out
and
join
her
,
and
together
they
will
watch
the
shade
of
the
ficus-tree
,
lengthening
over
the
red
flags
.
But
she
presently
baffles
his
calculations
by
rising
,
and
,
with
her
rainbow-tinted
pile
of
brocades
clasped
in
her
slender
arms
,
slowly
passes
into
the
house
.
Has
she
retreated
thither
for
good
?
and
will
he
have
to
frame
some
new
flimsy
excuse
for
knocking
at
her
door
?
But
again
he
is
out
of
his
reckoning
,
for
in
about
a
quarter
of
an
hour
she
re-issues
,
dressed
for
walking
;
and
after
one
more
lingering
and
,
as
it
seems
to
him
,
disappointed
glance
around
her
,
paces
,
a
solitary
little
figure
,
down
the
hill
.
He
lays
his
watch
before
him
,
and
,
having
counted
five
minutes
on
its
dial-plate
,
sets
off
in
pursuit
.
He
overtakes
her
just
as
she
reaches
the
point
where
the
lane
debouches
into
the
highroad
.
She
stands
,
looking
rather
disconsolately
,
first
up
the
hill
,
then
down
it
,
evidently
uncertain
which
direction
to
choose
.
"
You
cannot
make
up
your
mind
?
"
he
says
,
pausing
beside
her
,
and
taking
off
his
hat
.
She
gives
a
slight
start
,
and
a
friendly
,
pleased
smile
runs
all
over
her
face
and
up
into
her
eyes
—
a
smile
that
makes
him
say
to
himself
confidently
that
it
was
he
whom
her
glance
had
been
seeking
on
the
terrace
.
"
Which
do
you
advise
?
"
"
I
advise
the
town
.
"
He
has
long
known
her
teachableness
,
so
it
is
no
great
surprise
to
him
that
she
at
once
turns
in
the
direction
counselled
.
"
As
I
am
going
there
myself
,
will
you
allow
me
to
walk
a
little
way
with
you
?
"
He
makes
the
request
with
respectful
diffidence
;
and
she
,
after
one
small
troubled
look
,
evidently
given
to
the
memory
of
her
father
,
assents
.
They
set
off
down
the
hill
together
,
the
air
,
sharp
after
the
rain
—
as
sharp
,
at
least
,
as
Algiers
'
stingless
air
ever
is
—
bringing
the
colour
to
Elizabeth
's
cheeks
,
as
she
steps
along
light-heartedly
,
scarcely
refraining
from
breaking
into
a
run
,
down
the
steep
incline
.
Her
spirits
are
so
evidently
rising
at
every
yard
that
he
hazards
his
next
step
.
"
I
am
going
to
see
the
Arab
town
;
Miss
Strutt
says
that
I
ought
.
"
"
She
meant
you
to
ask
her
to
show
it
you
!
"
cries
Elizabeth
,
with
a
laugh
;
"
but
she
was
quite
right
—
it
is
delightful
;
I
am
sure
you
will
like
it
.
"
"
You
have
been
there
?
"
"
Yes
,
once
or
twice
;
not
half
so
often
"
—
regretfully
—
"
as
I
should
like
to
have
been
.
"
Dare
he
speak
upon
the
last
innocent
hint
?
But
while
he
is
doubting
she
goes
on
:
"
You
must
take
care
not
to
lose
yourself
;
it
is
such
a
puzzling
place
;
all
the
streets
are
exactly
like
each
other
.
"
"
You
do
not
feel
inclined
to
show
me
the
way
about
it
?
"
He
throws
out
the
suggestion
in
a
semi-bantering
voice
,
so
that
if
it
meet
with
obvious
disapproval
he
may
at
once
withdraw
it
.
She
stops
suddenly
stock-still
,
and
faces
him
.
"
Are
you
speaking
seriously
?
It
would
be
very
delightful
;
but
do
you
think
I
might
?
do
you
think
I
ought
?
"
She
lifts
her
eyes
,
widely
opened
,
like
a
child
's
at
hearing
of
some
unexpected
treat
,
to
his
.
How
astonishingly
clear
they
are
!
and
how
curiously
guileless
!
He
has
not
the
least
doubt
that
she
will
sweetly
acquiesce
in
his
decision
,
whichever
way
it
tends
;
and
,
for
a
second
,
a
movement
of
irritation
with
her
for
her
pliability
crosses
his
mind
.
She
ought
to
be
able
to
have
an
opinion
of
her
own
.
While
he
hesitates
,
she
speaks
again
.
"
It
is
just
the
afternoon
to
do
something
pleasant
on
,
"
she
says
wistfully
,
and
yet
gaily
too
.
"
Oh
,
how
good
the
air
tastes
!
and
how
dearly
I
love
the
sun
!
"
—
lifting
her
face
with
sensitive
lips
,
half
open
,
as
if
to
suck
in
his
beams
,
to
the
great
gold
luminary
pouring
down
his
warmth
through
the
pepper-trees
upon
them
.
"
But
I
will
take
your
advice
;
I
know
of
old
"
—
with
a
pretty
flattering
smile
—
"
that
you
always
give
good
advice
.
Do
you
think
that
I
ought
—
do
you
really
think
that
I
ought
?
"
He
throws
conscience
to
the
winds
,
and
although
not
two
hours
ago
he
had
professed
to
Cecilia
his
inability
to
decide
upon
the
propriety
or
impropriety
of
any
given
course
of
female
action
,
now
answers
with
an
almost
brutal
decisiveness
:
"
I
do
not
think
that
there
is
the
smallest
doubt
about
it
.
"
A
relieved
look
crosses
her
features
.
"
Then
I
am
sure
it
is
all
right
,
"
she
says
,
with
a
joyful
surrendering
of
her
judgment
into
his
keeping
,
and
so
,
once
again
,
steps
along
with
her
quick
feather-light
feet
at
his
side
.
For
the
moment
she
is
the
happier
of
the
two
,
since
he
is
not
perfectly
pleased
either
with
himself
or
her
.
It
is
in
vain
that
he
tells
himself
that
it
is
no
babe
whom
he
is
beguiling
;
that
,
difficult
as
it
is
to
believe
it
,
those
limpid
eyes
have
looked
at
the
sun
for
seven-and-twenty
years
.
He
still
has
a
lingering
sense
of
discomfort
at
having
availed
himself
,
for
his
own
profit
,
of
her
ductility
.
And
yet
,
five
minutes
later
,
he
takes
yet
further
advantage
of
that
quality
in
her
.
They
have
reached
the
Plateau
Saulière
,
and
the
stand
of
fiacres
that
"
stationnent
"
there
.
Jim
pauses
.
"
It
is
a
good
distance
to
the
Arab
town
,
I
fancy
,
and
very
tiring
walking
when
you
get
there
.
"
"
It
is
as
steep
as
the
side
of
a
house
;
we
shall
be
like
flies
on
a
wall
,
"
cries
she
delightedly
.
"
It
would
be
a
pity
to
be
too
tired
to
enjoy
it
before
you
got
there
,
would
not
it
?
"
says
he
doubtfully
,
and
eyeing
her
bright
slenderness
with
an
air
of
uncertainty
as
to
her
powers
of
endurance
.
"
Had
not
we
better
—
would
you
mind
—
our
driving
there
?
"
"
I
am
not
at
all
tired
,
"
replies
she
;
"
I
do
not
feel
as
if
I
ever
should
be
tired
to-day
;
but
if
you
think
it
better
—
—
"
Still
he
looks
at
her
dubiously
.
To
him
there
appears
to
be
a
much
greater
degree
of
the
compromising
in
a
tête-à-tête
drive
than
in
a
walk
.
In
the
one
case
the
meeting
may
have
been
accidental
;
in
the
other
there
can
be
no
mistake
as
to
the
deliberate
intention
.
But
either
this
does
not
strike
Elizabeth
,
or
she
thinks
,
"
In
for
a
penny
,
in
for
a
pound
"
;
or
,
lastly
,
and
most
probably
,
having
given
up
her
judgment
into
his
keeping
,
she
finds
it
easiest
and
most
natural
to
acquiesce
in
whatever
he
may
propose
.
The
ungenerous
thought
flashes
across
him
that
if
this
is
the
principle
on
which
she
has
guided
her
life
,
it
is
small
wonder
if
she
have
made
shipwreck
of
it
.
He
hails
a
fiacre
,
and
silently
hands
her
in
,
and
again
they
are
off
.
Elizabeth
has
disclaimed
fatigue
,
and
yet
the
restful
position
is
evidently
agreeable
to
her
delicate
body
;
and
she
thanks
him
so
gratefully
for
his
thought
of
her
that
his
hard
thoughts
of
her
dissolve
into
remorse
,
and
by-and-by
change
into
an
enjoyment
almost
as
entire
and
uncalculating
as
her
own
.
Elizabeth
has
astonishing
powers
of
enjoying
herself
.
If
he
had
not
known
that
fact
before
,
the
afternoon
would
have
revealed
it
to
him
.
She
must
have
driven
through
the
French
town
almost
every
day
since
her
arrival
,
and
yet
its
cheerful
white-shuttered
houses
,
its
boulevards
of
glossy-leaved
ficus-trees
,
its
cafés
,
its
arcaded
streets
with
their
polyglot
promenaders
,
seem
to
fill
her
with
as
lively
a
pleasure
as
if
she
had
but
just
landed
from
the
steamboat
that
brought
her
.
The
three
Spahis
,
eternally
sitting
in
a
row
on
a
bench
outside
some
general
officer
's
quarters
,
robed
in
their
great
red
cloaks
,
with
muslin-swathed
swart
heads
and
long
red-leather
boots
,
dimly
descried
beneath
the
stately
sweep
of
their
mantles
,
sitting
there
motionless
,
solemn
and
silent
as
the
Fates
;
a
venerable
Arab
,
only
to
be
distinguished
from
Abraham
or
Isaac
by
his
carrying
a
vulgar
brown
umbrella
;
a
short
Kabyle
seen
in
back
view
,
with
his
rope-bound
headdress
,
his
brown-and-white
striped
frock
,
and
his
bare
red
legs
striding
along
,
looking
exactly
like
a
ludicrous
and
indelicate
old
woman
;
a
Biskrah
water-carrier
,
poising
a
great
burnished
copper
pot
on
his
shoulder
;
two
little
baggy
trousered
white
ladies
waddling
along
;
a
dozen
of
smart
blue
Turcos
.
She
is
enraptured
with
them
all
.
They
leave
their
fiacre
in
the
Place
de
la
Cathédrale
,
and
enter
upon
the
mysterious
recesses
of
the
Arab
town
.
Up
and
down
endless
flights
of
steps
,
up
street
after
street
—
if
streets
they
can
be
called
,
that
are
not
wider
than
a
yard
in
their
widest
part
—
and
above
their
heads
the
rafter-supported
houses
lean
together
,
letting
scarce
a
glint
of
daylight
drip
down
upon
the
dusky
path
far
below
.
They
pass
arched
doorways
,
with
pretty
designs
in
plaster
—
doorways
whose
doors
open
inwards
upon
mysterious
interiors
—
house
or
court
,
or
mosque
or
Marabé
.
All
along
stand
tiny
shops
,
like
wild-beast
dens
,
as
far
as
light
and
space
go
,
lit
only
by
the
tempered
light
—
in
reality
,
only
semi-darkness
—
that
enters
in
front
.
How
can
they
see
to
work
—
plait
straw
,
for
instance
?
as
the
three
ebon-black
negroes
are
doing
,
upon
whom
they
stare
in
,
asquat
upon
the
ground
.
The
turbans
,
and
the
red
sashes
,
and
the
burnouses
glimmer
out
of
the
little
dim
frontages
,
where
charming
pierced-brass
Moorish
lamps
hang
and
swing
aloft
;
and
tempting
piles
of
dully
splendid
brocades
and
bright
gold-laminated
gauzes
gleam
from
the
crowded
shelves
.
The
narrow
streetlets
are
full
of
unbusy
,
un-hurrying
Easterns
,
hideous
old
negresses
grinning
like
monkeys
,
idle
Arabs
sauntering
along
in
their
lazy
grace
,
draped
like
Greek
statues
,
sauntering
along
between
the
blue-washed
walls
that
look
in
their
effective
variation
upon
the
blinding
whitewash
as
if
some
of
the
sky-colour
had
rubbed
off
upon
them
.
Jim
and
Elizabeth
have
paused
,
in
their
leisurely
strolling
and
staring
,
to
look
from
the
straight
shadowed
alley
in
which
they
are
standing
up
a
long
flight
of
steps
to
a
low
carved
doorway
,
and
a
bit
of
starch-blue
wall
at
the
top
.
Down
the
steep
flight
a
veiled
,
trousered
woman
is
waddling
,
her
immense
pantaloons
waggling
awkwardly
as
she
descends
.
Elizabeth
stands
still
,
shaking
with
laughter
at
the
sight
.
Jim
laughs
too
.
"
There
is
no
expense
spared
in
material
there
,
is
there
?
It
would
not
be
a
bad
dress
for
a
fancy
ball
.
Did
you
ever
go
to
a
fancy
ball
as
a
Moorish
lady
?
"
Her
laughter
lessens
,
though
her
face
is
still
alight
with
mirth
.
"
I
never
was
at
a
fancy
ball
.
"
"
Never
?
"
"
Never
;
I
never
was
at
any
ball
in
my
life
.
"
Her
laughter
is
quite
dead
now
.
"
Never
at
any
ball
in
your
life
!
"
repeats
he
,
his
surprise
betraying
him
into
one
of
those
flights
back
into
the
past
for
which
she
has
always
showed
such
repugnance
.
"
Why
,
you
used
to
love
dancing
madly
!
I
remember
your
dancing
like
a
dervish
.
What
is
more
,
I
remember
dancing
with
you
.
"
"
Oh
,
do
not
remember
anything
to-day
!
"
cries
she
,
with
a
sort
of
writhe
in
her
voice
;
"
do
not
let
either
of
us
remember
anything
!
let
us
have
a
whole
holiday
from
remembering
!
"
So
saying
,
she
moves
on
quickly
;
and
yet
with
the
dance
gone
out
of
her
feet
.
It
never
quite
comes
back
.
They
look
into
an
Arab
club
,
where
men
are
squatting
,
playing
with
odd-looking
cards
and
drinking
muddy
coffee
.
Then
a
loud
noise
of
jabbering
young
voices
makes
them
peep
in
upon
an
Arab
school
,
where
a
circle
of
little
Moslems
is
sitting
on
the
ground
,
scribbling
Arabic
on
slates
;
while
between
the
knees
of
the
turbaned
master
a
tiny
baby
scholar
,
of
three
or
four
,
is
standing
in
a
lovely
dull
green
coatlet
.
Elizabeth
strokes
the
baby-learner
's
coppery
cheek
with
her
light
hand
,
and
says
,
with
a
laugh
,
that
it
seems
odd
to
see
little
street-boys
writing
Arabic
;
but
her
laughter
is
no
longer
the
bubbling
,
irrepressible
joy-drunk
thing
it
was
before
he
had
indulged
in
his
tactless
reminiscences
;
it
is
the
well-bred
,
civil
,
grown-up
sound
that
so
often
has
no
inside
gladness
to
match
it
.
In
his
vexation
with
himself
for
the
clouding
over
of
his
little
heaven
that
he
himself
has
effected
,
he
tries
to
persuade
himself
that
it
is
caused
by
bodily
fatigue
.
"
If
I
were
asked
,
"
he
says
,
by-and-by
,
looking
down
affectionately
at
her
pallid
profile
,
"
I
should
say
that
you
had
had
about
enough
of
this
;
your
spirit
"
—
smiling
—
"
is
so
very
much
too
big
for
your
body
that
one
has
to
keep
an
eye
upon
you
.
"
"
It
would
not
be
much
of
a
spirit
if
it
were
not
,
"
replies
she
,
with
a
pretty
air
of
perfectly
sincere
disparagement
of
her
own
slight
proportions
;
"
I
know
that
I
look
a
poor
thing
,
but
I
am
rather
a
fraud
:
I
do
not
tire
easily
;
I
am
not
tired
now
.
"
"
Bored
,
then
?
"
with
a
slight
accent
of
pique
.
She
lifts
her
sweet
look
,
with
a
sort
of
hurry
of
denial
in
it
.
"
Most
distinctly
not
.
"
"
You
would
like
to
go
on
,
then
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
Or
back
?
"
She
hesitates
,
her
eye
exploring
his
with
,
as
he
feels
,
a
genuine
anxiety
in
it
to
discover
what
his
own
wishes
are
,
so
that
her
decision
may
jump
with
them
.
"
Yes
—
perhaps
;
I
have
really
no
choice
.
"
He
both
looks
at
and
speaks
to
her
with
a
streak
of
exasperation
.
"
Do
you
never
have
a
will
—
a
preference
of
your
own
?
"
It
is
evidently
no
unfamiliar
thing
to
her
to
be
addressed
with
causeless
irritability
.
The
recollection
of
her
father
's
tone
in
speaking
to
her
flashes
back
remorsefully
upon
Jim
's
memory
.
Is
he
himself
going
to
take
a
leaf
out
of
that
book
?
It
would
be
a
relief
to
him
were
she
to
answer
him
sharply
;
but
to
do
that
is
apparently
not
within
her
capabilities
,
though
the
tender
red
that
tinges
her
cheek
shows
that
she
has
felt
his
snub
.
"
In
this
case
I
really
have
not
,
"
she
answers
gently
;
"
but
I
dare
say
that
it
was
tiresome
of
me
not
to
speak
more
decidedly
;
let
us
—
let
us
"
—
another
swift
and
apparently
quite
involuntary
glance
at
him
to
see
that
she
is
not
,
after
all
,
running
counter
to
his
inclinations
—
"
let
us
go
home
!
"
So
they
go
home
.
It
is
near
sun-setting
as
they
drive
along
the
Boulevard
de
la
République
,
the
fitting
end
to
so
princely
a
day
.
At
the
quay
the
moored
vessels
lie
,
their
masts
and
spars
making
a
dark
design
against
an
ineffable
evening
sky
of
mother-of-pearl
and
translucent
pink
.
The
sea
,
which
to-day
has
not
been
of
sapphire
,
but
of
"
watchet-blue
,
"
pierced
and
shot
with
white
,
now
copies
exactly
the
heavens
.
It
,
too
,
shades
from
opal
to
translucent
pink
.
How
many
changes
of
raiment
there
are
in
the
wardrobe
of
the
great
wet
mother
!
"
If
I
had
as
many
gowns
as
the
Mediterranean
,
how
well-dressed
I
should
be
!
"
says
Elizabeth
,
with
a
smile
.
It
is
the
first
time
she
had
spoken
since
they
had
set
off
on
their
return-drive
.
She
is
lying
back
,
with
her
hands
carefully
shielding
in
her
lap
a
few
little
crockery
pots
that
she
has
bought
of
a
fat
Turk
for
some
children
at
her
hotel
Her
face
looks
tired
;
and
yet
over
its
small
area
is
spread
an
expression
of
content
that
makes
his
heart
warm
.
Is
it
only
the
pageant
of
sky
and
ocean
that
has
called
forth
that
look
of
real
,
if
passing
,
happiness
on
the
features
of
her
who
is
always
so
tremblingly
sensitive
an
instrument
for
all
influences
of
beauty
and
grandeur
to
play
upon
?
or
has
his
own
neighbourhood
anything
to
say
to
it
?
Before
he
can
give
himself
an
answer
to
this
anxious
question
,
she
speaks
again
.
"
You
do
not
mind
my
not
talking
,
do
you
?
"
she
asks
,
half
apologetically
,
and
yet
with
a
confidence
in
his
sympathy
that
still
further
quickens
the
beats
of
his
already
not
very
still
heart
.
"
No
,
I
am
sure
you
do
not
.
Somehow
—
it
is
a
great
gift
—
you
always
feel
in
tune
with
one
,
and
one
does
not
chatter
most
when
one
is
most
greatly
pleased
,
does
one
?
Oh
,
what
a
treat
you
have
given
me
!
"
As
she
speaks
,
her
humid
eyes
travel
from
his
face
to
where
,
beyond
the
long
Atlas
range
,
delicately
toothed
and
cut
out
,
rises
the
gold-washed
snow
of
the
Kabyle
mountains
,
that
retire
majestically
invisible
on
dull
days
,
and
only
come
out
,
candescent
and
regal
,
when
the
great
sun
rides
in
pomp
.
Above
their
heads
wild
plumes
of
deep
rose
,
that
it
seems
ridiculous
to
call
clouds
,
tuft
the
sky
.
Jim
's
look
has
followed
his
companion
's
;
the
chins
of
both
are
in
the
air
;
the
cheerful
va
et
vient
of
the
boulevard
is
lost
upon
them
.
They
see
neither
the
Frenchmen
nor
plump
Frenchwomen
drinking
coffee
outside
the
cafés
,
nor
the
idle
indigènes
leaning
draped
against
the
sea-wall
.
(
Never
does
that
industrious
race
seem
to
attempt
any
severer
exertion
.
)
"
Thought
was
not
;
in
enjoyment
it
expired
.
"
But
it
is
brought
back
to
life
with
a
jump
.
"
Arrêtez
!
arrêtez
!
"
cries
a
female
voice
.
"
Jim
!
Jim
!
do
you
not
see
us
?
Arrêtez
!
arrêtez
!
"
Obedient
to
his
ears
,
Burgoyne
's
eyes
make
one
bound
from
the
heavenly
spectacle
down
to
earth
,
and
alight
upon
the
Wilsons
'
carriage
,
which
,
going
in
the
same
direction
as
himself
,
has
just
been
brought
to
a
standstill
alongside
of
his
fiacre
,
by
the
solemnly
beautiful
,
yellow-jacketed
native
coachman
.
It
is
,
of
course
,
Cecilia
's
voice
that
has
apostrophized
him
,
but
oh
,
portent
!
does
his
vision
,
so
lately
recalled
from
the
skyey
bowers
,
play
him
false
?
or
is
it
really
the
moribund
Sybilla
,
stretched
beside
her
,
with
only
two
instead
of
three
cushions
at
her
back
,
with
a
bonnet
on
her
head
—
he
did
not
even
know
that
she
possessed
a
bonnet
—
and
with
a
colour
in
her
cheek
and
a
lustre
in
her
eye
that
may
owe
their
origin
either
to
the
freshness
of
the
evening
air
,
or
to
the
invigorating
properties
of
the
conversation
of
the
very
ordinary-looking
young
man
seated
opposite
to
her
?
In
a
second
Jim
has
leapt
out
of
his
own
vehicle
,
and
gone
to
the
side
of
the
other
.
It
is
a
perfectly
futile
impulse
that
leads
him
to
do
so
.
Not
all
the
leaping
in
the
world
from
her
side
now
can
alter
the
fact
that
he
has
been
driving
tête-à-tête
with
Elizabeth
Le
Marchant
,
and
that
the
Wilson
sisters
have
seen
him
so
doing
;
but
yet
it
is
a
dim
instinct
of
preservation
towards
,
and
shielding
of
her
,
that
leads
him
to
adopt
this
useless
course
of
action
.
It
is
Cecilia
who
has
summoned
him
,
and
yet
,
when
he
reaches
her
side
,
she
does
not
seem
to
have
anything
particular
to
say
to
him
.
Sybilla
is
the
one
to
address
him
.
"
A
miracle
!
a
miracle
!
I
know
you
are
saying
to
yourself
!
"
cries
she
,
in
a
sprightly
voice
;
"
and
well
you
may
!
This
is
the
miracle-monger
!
"
indicating
with
a
still
sprightlier
air
her
vis-à-vis
.
"
Dr.
Crump
,
let
me
present
to
you
Mr.
Burgoyne
—
Jim
,
our
Jim
,
whom
I
have
so
often
talked
to
you
about
.
"
The
person
thus
apostrophized
responds
by
a
florid
bow
,
and
an
over-gallant
asseveration
that
any
person
introduced
to
his
acquaintance
by
Miss
Sybilla
needs
no
further
recommendation
.
"
It
is
an
experiment
,
of
course
;
there
is
no
use
in
pretending
that
it
is
not
an
experiment
,
"
continues
she
,
with
a
slight
relapse
into
languor
;
"
but
"
—
lowering
her
voice
a
little
—
"
they
wished
me
to
make
the
effort
.
"
It
is
a
favourite
allocation
of
Sybilla
's
that
any
course
of
action
towards
which
she
is
inclined
is
adopted
solely
under
the
pressure
of
urgent
wishes
on
the
part
of
her
family
.
Burgoyne
has
long
known
,
and
been
exasperated
by
,
this
peculiarity
;
but
at
present
she
may
say
what
she
pleases
;
he
hears
no
word
of
it
,
for
his
ear
is
pricked
to
catch
the
sentences
that
Cecilia
is
leaning
over
the
carriage-side
to
shoot
at
Elizabeth
.
"
Oh
,
Miss
Le
Marchant
!
is
it
you
?
I
beg
your
pardon
,
I
did
not
recognise
you
at
the
first
moment
.
One
does
not
recognise
people
—
does
one
?
—
when
one
is
not
expecting
to
see
them
"
—
is
an
intended
sting
lurking
in
this
implication
?
"
How
are
you
?
How
do
you
like
Algiers
?
I
hope
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
is
well
.
What
a
long
time
it
is
since
we
met
!
I
hope
we
shall
see
something
of
you
.
"
(
No
,
evidently
no
sting
was
meant
.
Cecilia
,
with
all
her
faults
,
is
really
a
good
soul
,
and
he
will
take
her
to
hear
the
band
play
next
Tuesday
.
)
There
seems
to
him
to
be
a
slight
falter
in
the
tone
with
which
Elizabeth
responds
,
and
her
voice
sounds
curiously
small
and
low
;
but
that
may
be
merely
owing
to
its
flute
quality
,
following
upon
and
contrasting
the
other
's
powerful
organ
.
It
is
not
till
the
two
parties
have
again
separated
,
and
that
he
is
once
more
seated
by
her
side
in
the
fiacre
,
that
he
dares
steal
a
look
at
her
face
to
see
how
plainly
written
on
it
are
the
traces
of
vexation
caused
by
a
meeting
which
has
produced
in
his
own
breast
such
acute
annoyance
.
Good
heavens
!
it
is
even
worse
than
he
had
expected
.
Down
the
cheek
nearest
to
him
two
good-sized
tears
are
unmistakably
trickling
.
No
doubt
the
consciousness
of
the
mysterious
story
attaching
to
her
past
makes
her
smartingly
aware
of
how
doubly
discreet
her
own
conduct
should
be
—
makes
her
bitterly
repent
of
her
present
indiscretion
.
He
is
a
strait-laced
man
,
and
it
seems
to
him
as
if
there
were
something
gravely
compromising
to
her
in
this
tête-à-tête
drive
with
himself
,
in
the
known
absence
of
her
parents
at
Hammam
Rhira
.
Why
was
he
fool
enough
this
morning
to
admit
to
Cecilia
that
they
had
gone
thither
?
He
had
no
business
to
have
led
her
into
temptation
,
and
she
had
no
business
to
have
fallen
into
it
.
Remorse
and
irritation
give
a
tartness
to
his
tone
as
he
says
:
"
After
all
,
I
do
not
think
you
need
take
it
so
much
to
heart
.
"
"
Take
what
to
heart
?
"
she
asks
,
in
unaffected
surprise
,
turning
her
full
face
,
and
her
eyes
,
each
with
one
hot
raindrop
dimming
its
slate-blue
,
upon
him
.
"
Oh
,
I
see
"
—
a
sudden
enlightenment
coming
to
her
,
and
changing
her
with
instant
spring
from
a
snowdrop
to
a
carnation
—
"
I
see
what
you
mean
;
but
you
are
mistaken
.
I
—
I
—
it
had
not
occurred
to
me
;
I
was
only
thinking
—
only
remembering
that
the
last
time
I
saw
her
was
at
—
at
Vallombrosa
.
"
Vallombrasa
!
Is
he
never
to
hear
the
last
of
Vallombrosa
?
CHAPTER
VII
.
The
latest
waking
impression
left
on
Jim
's
fancy
is
that
it
is
the
golden
rule
of
Elizabeth
Le
Marchant
's
life
to
comply
with
any
and
every
request
that
is
made
to
her
;
moreover
,
that
in
her
mind
the
boundary-line
which
parts
the
permitted
from
the
unpermitted
is
not
so
clearly
defined
as
,
did
she
belong
to
him
(
the
naked
hypothesis
makes
his
strait-laced
heart
give
a
jump
)
,
he
should
wish
it
to
be
.
If
on
the
morrow
,
with
the
sun
shining
and
the
leaf-shadows
dancing
on
the
fretted
balcony-wall
,
he
invite
her
to
some
fresh
junket
,
he
is
sure
that
she
will
readily
and
joyfully
acquiesce
;
that
her
spirits
will
go
up
like
rockets
at
the
prospect
;
and
that
her
one
anxiety
will
be
that
she
may
be
sure
to
hit
in
her
choice
upon
the
form
of
dissipation
most
congenial
to
him
.
He
will
therefore
not
invite
her
.
He
will
have
a
greater
care
for
her
reputation
than
apparently
she
has
for
it
herself
.
Not
until
the
return
of
her
parents
,
not
until
the
difficulties
of
intercourse
with
her
are
centupled
,
and
the
pleasure
minimized
,
will
he
again
seek
her
.
To
put
himself
beyond
the
reach
of
temptation
,
he
sets
off
immediately
after
breakfast
on
a
long
walking
expedition
,
which
he
means
to
occupy
the
whole
of
the
daylight
hours
.
He
wanders
about
the
great
plain
of
the
Metidje
;
he
visits
a
Kabyle
village
,
with
its
hovels
cowering
among
its
hideous
fat-fleshed
cactus
;
later
on
in
the
afternoon
he
finds
himself
in
the
little
French
hamlet
of
Biermandreis
,
and
finally
drops
down
upon
the
Jardin
d'Essai
,
that
delightful
botanic
garden
which
is
one
of
the
many
blessings
for
which
Algerian
France
has
to
thank
the
much-vilipended
Napoleon
III
.
It
is
difficult
for
even
the
reddest
Republican
to
think
hardly
of
that
dead
ruler
as
he
walks
down
the
avenue
of
gigantic
palms
that
lead
,
straight
as
a
die
,
to
where
,
like
a
deep
blue
gem
far
away
,
the
Mediterranean
shows
"
No
bigger
than
an
agate
stone
On
the
forefinger
of
an
alderman
.
"
Jim
walks
along
beneath
the
huge
date-palms
that
give
him
a
crick
in
the
neck
to
gape
up
at
ere
he
can
perceive
their
towering
head
of
waving
plumes
far
up
against
the
blue
.
They
remind
him
absurdly
of
the
pictures
in
the
missionary
books
of
his
youth
—
the
palm-tree
,
the
log
cabin
,
the
blackamoors
,
and
the
missionary
in
a
palm
hat
.
Is
he
the
missionary
,
and
is
this
inky
negress
in
a
black
bonnet
,
scarcely
distinguishable
from
her
face
,
his
one
catechumen
?
Alternating
with
the
date
are
superb
fan-palms
,
of
which
it
is
difficult
to
realize
that
it
is
their
stunted
,
puny
brothers
which
,
anxiously
tended
,
sponged
,
and
cosseted
,
drag
out
a
languid
existence
in
London
drawing-rooms
.
Among
their
Titan
fans
lies
their
mighty
fruit
,
like
a
bunch
of
grapes
,
a
yard
and
a
half
long
,
strung
upon
ropes
of
yellow
worsted
.
Half-way
down
its
length
the
main
avenue
is
intersected
by
a
splendid
alley
of
bamboos
,
which
lean
their
smooth-jointed
stems
and
their
luxuriant
narrow
leaves
towards
each
other
across
the
dimmed
interspace
,
and
unite
in
a
pointed
Gothic
arch
of
living
green
.
Jim
paces
objectlessly
down
the
long
arcade
,
stooping
now
and
again
to
pick
up
a
fragment
of
the
peeled
bark
that
looks
so
strangely
like
a
papyrus
roll
with
a
mother-of-pearl
glaze
upon
it
.
He
pulls
it
idly
open
,
as
if
expecting
to
find
the
secret
of
some
forgotten
race
written
upon
its
shining
surface
;
but
if
he
reads
any
secret
there
,
it
is
only
his
own
,
which
,
after
all
,
is
not
much
of
a
secret
.
He
merely
sees
written
there
that
it
is
too
early
to
go
home
yet
;
that
there
is
no
security
that
Elizabeth
may
not
still
be
sitting
on
the
terrace
stitching
away
with
her
gold
thimble
and
her
coloured
silks
.
The
sun
,
it
is
true
,
has
left
the
garden
,
but
he
departs
thence
over-early
.
It
will
be
safer
to
stay
away
yet
half
an
hour
or
so
.
Thus
resolving
,
he
retraces
his
steps
,
and
explores
in
a
new
direction
;
saunters
down
a
rose-alley
,
where
,
climbing
immoderately
high
up
tall
palms
,
seeming
as
if
they
would
strangle
them
with
their
long
bowery
arms
,
rose-trees
wave
far
above
him
in
the
still
air
;
and
upon
them
,
though
it
is
still
but
the
month
of
January
,
when
people
are
skating
,
blue-nosed
,
in
England
,
creamy
tea-roses
show
their
pale-yellow
hearts
,
fair
and
frequent
,
on
the
unpruned
boughs
,
rioting
in
licensed
liberty
above
his
head
.
The
walk
ends
in
a
circle
of
gigantic
magnolias
,
which
take
hands
round
a
square
fountain-basin
.
Each
huge
trunk
is
,
as
it
were
,
a
little
commonwealth
of
trees
rolled
into
one
,
instead
of
a
single
tree
.
Beneath
them
benches
stand
.
Upon
one
his
negress
sits
,
chatting
with
a
French
bonne
;
on
a
second
there
is
also
something
female
and
slender
,
something
with
its
little
white
profile
—
how
white
it
looks
in
this
deceiving
light
!
—
lifted
,
although
white
,
yet
smiling
,
animated
,
and
talking
to
a
man
standing
beside
it
.
He
has
dawdled
and
kicked
his
heels
,
and
run
the
chance
of
contracting
a
spiteful
Southern
chill
,
in
order
to
avoid
Elizabeth
;
and
he
has
succeeded
in
running
straight
into
her
arms
.
He
does
not
at
the
first
glance
recognise
her
companion
,
but
a
second
look
shows
him
that
he
is
one
of
the
inmates
of
the
hotel
—
a
French
Vicomte
;
and
though
Jim
knows
that
he
is
both
consumptive
and
the
father
of
a
family
,
that
knowledge
does
not
hinder
the
rising
in
his
breast
of
the
jealous
and
censorious
thought
that
he
has
detected
Elizabeth
in
throwing
a
great
deal
more
than
the
necessary
modicum
of
amiability
into
her
manner
to
him
.
As
Jim
comes
into
sight
,
the
Frenchman
clicks
his
heels
,
doubles
up
his
body
,
lifts
his
hat
,
and
walks
away
.
It
is
evident
,
at
all
events
,
that
their
meeting
was
a
casual
one
;
and
the
reflection
brings
with
it
a
sense
of
relief
,
coupled
with
a
feeling
of
shame
at
his
own
rooted
readiness
to
suspect
her
,
on
any
or
no
evidence
,
which
yet
,
on
the
other
hand
,
is
not
strong
enough
,
when
she
turns
her
sweet
bright
look
towards
him
,
to
hinder
the
thought
that
it
is
scarcely
,
if
at
all
,
sweeter
or
brighter
than
that
which
he
had
caught
her
squandering
on
the
casual
table
d'hôte
acquaintance
who
has
just
quitted
her
.
"
You
,
too
!
"
she
says
;
"
why
,
the
whole
hotel
seems
to
be
emptied
out
into
these
gardens
;
the
widow
Wadman
is
buying
violets
—
mark
if
they
do
not
appear
upon
Uncle
Toby
at
dinner
to-night
.
The
Vicomte
—
—
"
"
Yes
,
I
saw
you
engaged
in
animated
dialogue
with
him
,
"
interrupts
Jim
,
with
slight
acrimony
;
"
I
had
no
idea
that
you
were
such
allies
.
"
"
Had
not
you
?
"
rejoins
she
innocently
.
"
He
was
telling
me
about
his
English
governess
,
what
a
treasure
she
is
"
—
her
face
dimpling
mischievously
—
"
and
how
wonderfully
pure
her
accent
.
So
it
is
—
pure
Cockney
.
You
should
hear
the
little
Vicomte
talk
of
the
b
i
by
and
the
p
i
pers
.
"
He
rewards
her
small
pleasantry
only
by
an
absent
smile
,
and
she
speaks
again
—
rather
wistfully
this
time
.
"
Have
you
been
on
another
expedition
?
"
"
No
,
not
an
expedition
;
only
a
walk
.
If
"
—
yielding
to
the
temptation
of
putting
a
question
which
no
one
would
have
judged
more
severely
than
he
,
had
it
been
put
by
anyone
else
—
"
if
I
had
invited
you
to
do
me
the
honour
of
making
another
excursion
with
me
to-day
,
do
you
think
that
you
would
have
consented
?
"
As
he
speaks
,
he
departs
yet
further
from
the
line
of
conduct
he
has
marked
out
for
himself
by
sitting
down
on
the
bench
at
her
side
.
Her
eyes
are
fixed
upon
the
soaring
date-palm
,
which
stands
,
instead
of
a
water-jet
,
in
the
middle
of
the
fountain-basin
,
and
on
which
last
year
's
dead
plumes
hang
sapless
,
and
ready
to
fall
off
,
in
contrast
to
this
year
's
verdant
vigour
.
"
Is
not
that
rather
a
tantalizing
question
when
you
did
not
ask
me
?
"
inquires
she
,
with
soft
archness
.
"
Yes
,
I
suspect
that
I
should
;
I
was
so
very
happy
yesterday
;
and
although
you
told
me
the
other
night
"
—
swallowing
a
sigh
—
"
that
you
supposed
I
must
love
my
own
society
,
in
point
of
fact
,
I
do
not
think
I
do
.
"
After
all
,
the
sun
is
not
quite
gone
;
there
are
flashes
of
light
in
the
verdant
gloom
,
and
green
reflections
in
the
water
.
"
And
yet
,
"
says
Jim
thoughtfully
,
"
you
seem
to
have
a
good
deal
of
it
;
I
suppose
,
in
your
position
,
it
is
unavoidable
.
"
He
had
meant
an
allusion
to
her
situation
as
bad
third
to
her
uxorious
parents
;
before
his
mind
's
eye
has
risen
a
picture
of
the
little
forlorn
shawled
figure
he
had
seen
studying
its
Italian
Grammar
with
the
door
shut
upon
its
loneliness
;
but
almost
before
the
words
have
left
his
lips
,
he
sees
of
how
different
,
of
how
cruel
,
a
construction
they
may
be
capable
.
He
snatches
a
glance
of
real
terror
at
her
,
to
see
whether
she
has
made
that
erroneous
,
yet
all
too
plausible
application
—
a
glance
which
confirms
his
worst
fears
.
She
has
turned
as
white
as
the
pocket-handkerchief
which
she
is
passing
over
her
trembling
lips
.
"
Yes
,
"
she
says
in
a
hollow
whisper
;
"
you
are
right
.
In
my
position
it
is
unavoidable
,
and
it
is
cowardly
of
me
not
to
accept
it
as
such
.
"
"
I
mean
"
—
he
cries
desperately
—
"
I
only
meant
—
I
mean
—
—
"
But
she
does
not
suffer
him
to
finish
his
stuttered
explanation
.
"
It
is
cold
,
"
she
says
,
rising
.
"
I
will
go
home
.
"
He
does
not
attempt
to
accompany
or
follow
her
.
After
she
is
gone
,
he
rages
about
the
garden
,
and
passes
beyond
it
to
where
—
still
sunlight-smitten
—
the
blue
Mediterranean
is
breaking
in
joyous
foam
.
He
sits
down
on
the
shelly
strand
,
and
,
in
futile
anger
,
hurls
back
the
wet
pebbles
into
the
sea
's
azure
lap
.
Away
to
the
left
,
the
three-cornered
town
swarms
candescent
up
the
hill
,
and
the
white
lighthouse
stands
out
against
the
lapis-coloured
air
.
How
sharp-cut
and
intense
it
all
is
!
—
none
of
our
dear
undecided
grays
.
Here
,
if
you
are
not
piercing
blue
,
you
are
dazzling
white
or
profound
green
.
There
is
,
indeed
,
something
less
sharp-cut
and
uncompromising
—
a
something
more
of
mystery
in
the
glory
that
—
bright
,
too
,
but
not
making
its
full
revelation
—
envelopes
the
long
hill
range
that
,
ending
in
Cape
Matifou
,
stretches
away
to
the
far
right
.
Round
the
corner
,
to
the
right
too
,
a
party
of
Arabs
,
sitting
sideways
on
little
donkeys
,
white
draped
,
with
their
haik
-swathed
heads
,
are
disappearing
on
their
small
beasts
in
the
clear
air
.
It
is
like
a
page
out
of
the
Bible
—
a
flight
into
Egypt
—
and
they
are
going
towards
Egypt
too
.
Jim
's
eye
follows
the
placid
Easterns
,
but
without
catching
the
infection
of
their
tranquillity
.
"
Whenever
I
see
her
,
I
stick
a
knife
into
her
!
It
is
impossible
!
There
is
no
use
trying
!
I
will
give
up
the
attempt
.
It
is
out
of
the
question
to
have
any
happy
relations
with
a
woman
who
has
a
past
!
"
After
all
,
Mr.
Le
Marchant
does
not
like
Hammam
Rhira
.
He
thinks
the
hotel
cold
and
the
roads
bad
.
Jim
overhears
him
telling
someone
this
,
and
his
own
heart
leaps
.
It
is
true
that
he
takes
it
to
task
for
doing
so
.
Perhaps
,
after
all
,
Elizabeth
's
removal
would
have
been
the
best
solution
of
his
problem
.
Had
she
left
Algiers
,
he
could
scarcely
have
followed
her
,
and
she
would
have
been
freed
from
the
chance
of
his
clumsy
stabs
.
But
all
the
same
his
heart
leaps
.
It
leaps
yet
higher
a
day
or
two
later
when
he
discovers
that
,
though
Hammam
Rhira
has
not
met
with
Mr.
Le
Marchant
's
approbation
,
yet
that
,
by
his
trip
to
it
,
he
has
been
bitten
with
a
taste
for
travel
,
the
outcome
of
which
is
his
solitary
departure
on
an
expedition
to
Constantin
,
Tunis
,
etc.
,
which
must
occupy
him
at
least
a
week
.
His
wife
accompanies
him
to
the
station
,
but
his
daughter
is
not
allowed
to
go
beyond
the
hotel
steps
.
Jim
surreptitiously
watches
her
hovering
with
diffident
affection
round
her
father
,
unobtrusively
and
unthanked
fetching
and
carrying
for
him
.
He
sees
the
cold
kiss
that
just
brushes
her
cheek
,
and
hears
the
chill
parting
admonition
to
look
well
after
her
mother
and
see
that
she
does
not
overtire
herself
.
It
is
accepted
with
ready
meekness
,
but
leaves
the
recipient
so
crestfallen
,
as
she
stands
looking
after
the
departing
vehicle
,
that
Burgoyne
cannot
forbear
joining
her
,
with
some
vague
and
,
as
he
knows
,
senseless
velleity
of
championship
and
consolation
.
"
He
is
gone
for
a
week
,
is
not
he
?
"
is
the
form
that
his
sympathy
takes
,
in
a
tone
which
he
is
at
but
small
pains
not
to
render
congratulatory
.
"
Yes
,
quite
a
week
.
"
"
Are
you
"
—
he
is
perfectly
conscious
while
asking
it
that
he
has
not
the
slightest
right
to
put
the
question
—
"
are
you
glad
or
sorry
?
"
She
starts
perceptibly
.
"
Why
should
I
be
glad
?
Do
you
mean
"
—
with
an
unconquerable
streak
of
satisfaction
in
her
own
voice
—
"
because
I
shall
have
mammy
all
to
myself
?
You
must
not
think
"
—
with
an
obvious
rush
of
quickly
following
compunction
—
"
that
I
am
not
fond
of
him
,
because
he
sometimes
speaks
a
little
roughly
to
me
.
"
After
a
pause
,
in
a
lowered
voice
:
"
You
see
,
when
you
have
broken
a
person
's
heart
,
you
can
scarcely
blame
him
for
not
having
a
very
high
opinion
of
you
.
"
So
saying
,
she
suddenly
leaves
him
as
she
had
left
him
in
the
Jardin
d'Essai
.
He
does
not
again
approach
her
that
day
,
but
at
dinner-time
he
has
the
answer
to
his
question
as
to
her
being
glad
or
sorry
at
her
father
's
departure
.
She
is
apparently
in
the
best
of
spirits
,
sitting
nestled
close
up
to
her
mother
for
the
better
convenience
of
firing
a
series
of
little
jokes
and
comments
into
that
parent
's
appreciative
ear
.
"
They
make
fun
of
the
whole
hotel
,
"
observes
Miss
Strutt
with
exasperation
.
"
I
do
not
believe
that
one
of
us
escapes
!
When
he
is
not
there
to
check
them
,
there
is
no
holding
them
!
"
No
holding
Elizabeth
!
The
phrase
recurs
to
him
several
times
during
the
next
few
days
,
as
not
without
its
justness
,
when
he
sees
its
object
flitting
about
the
house
,
gay
as
a
linnet
;
when
he
meets
her
singing
subduedly
to
herself
upon
the
stairs
;
when
he
watches
her
romping
with
the
French
children
,
and
mischievously
collecting
flowers
of
Clapham
eloquence
from
their
governess
,
which
she
is
good
enough
to
retail
for
his
own
and
her
mother
's
benefit
when
evening
unites
the
three
in
the
retirement
of
their
little
salon
.
For
,
strange
and
improbably
blissful
as
it
seems
,
he
has
somehow
,
ere
three
days
are
over
,
effected
an
entrance
into
that
small
and
fragrant
sanctuary
.
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
's
first
fears
that
the
meeting
with
him
again
would
re-open
sorrow
have
disappeared
in
the
light
of
her
daughter
's
childish
gaiety
,
and
are
even
exchanged
for
a
compunctious
gratitude
to
him
for
having
been
in
part
the
cause
of
her
new
light-heartedness
.
The
weather
has
again
broken
,
a
fact
which
he
alone
of
the
whole
hotel
does
not
deplore
,
since
it
was
his
own
ostentatiously
displayed
wet-day
dreariness
that
was
the
cause
of
his
first
admission
within
the
doors
that
are
closed
upon
all
others
.
Moreover
,
had
it
not
been
wet
weather
,
could
he
have
held
an
umbrella
over
Elizabeth
's
head
when
he
met
her
in
the
eucalyptus
wood
,
and
they
walked
among
the
naked
trunks
,
while
the
long
,
loose
,
pale
foliage
waved
like
dishevelled
hair
in
the
rain
,
and
the
pungent
asphodels
grew
thick
about
their
feet
in
the
red
earth
?
And
when
,
by-and-by
,
the
clouds
disperse
again
,
and
there
comes
a
fair
day
,
bracketed
between
three
or
four
foul
ones
—
the
usual
Algerian
proportion
—
it
has
grown
quite
natural
to
all
three
that
he
should
sit
opposite
to
them
in
their
drives
;
that
he
should
haggle
with
Arabs
for
them
,
and
remonstrate
with
the
landlord
,
and
generally
transfer
all
the
smaller
roughnesses
of
life
from
their
shoulders
to
his
own
.
Brought
into
more
intimate
communion
with
them
than
he
has
ever
been
before
,
Burgoyne
realizes
how
much
they
belong
to
the
kneeling
,
leaning
,
spoiling
type
of
womankind
.
Elizabeth
would
be
the
easiest
woman
in
the
world
to
manage
.
How
is
it
that
in
her
ten
years
of
womanhood
no
man
has
been
found
to
undertake
the
lovely
facile
task
?
He
himself
knows
perfectly
the
treatment
that
would
befit
her
;
the
hinted
wishes
—
her
tact
is
too
fine
and
her
spirit
too
meek
to
need
anything
so
coarse
as
commands
—
the
infinitesimal
rebukes
and
the
unlimited
—
oh
!
limitless
—
caresses
:
"
Praise
,
blame
,
love
,
kisses
,
tears
,
and
smiles
.
"
Every
day
he
finds
himself
repeating
Wordsworth
's
line
,
and
every
day
,
in
his
fancied
guidance
of
her
,
he
tells
himself
that
the
blame
should
be
less
and
the
kisses
more
.
Mr.
Le
Marchant
has
been
gone
more
than
a
week
,
and
February
has
come
wetly
in
,
with
rain
wildly
weeping
against
the
easements
,
and
angry-handed
rain
boxing
the
unlucky
orange-trees
'
ears
.
It
has
rained
for
forty-eight
hours
without
a
break
.
The
Grand
Hotel
is
at
the
end
of
its
resources
.
Uncle
Toby
,
his
struggle
ended
,
lies
vanquished
in
the
widow
's
net
;
and
there
is
murder
in
the
lurid
eye
which
Miss
Strutt
turns
on
the
votary
of
Whiteley
.
Jim
alone
,
outdoor
man
as
he
habitually
is
,
looking
upon
a
house
merely
in
the
light
of
a
necessary
shelter
,
has
no
quarrel
either
with
the
absent
sun
or
the
present
deluge
?
for
are
not
they
the
cause
of
his
having
spent
two
whole
afternoons
in
the
company
of
Elizabeth
and
her
mother
?
To-day
has
not
Elizabeth
been
singing
to
him
,
and
cutting
him
orange-flower
bread-and-butter
,
when
Fritz
brought
in
the
afternoon
tea
,
and
set
the
real
English
kettle
fizzing
over
its
spirit-lamp
?
And
,
in
return
,
has
not
he
now
,
after
dinner
,
been
helping
her
to
weed
out
her
own
and
her
mother
's
photograph-books
?
As
he
does
so
the
idea
strikes
him
of
how
very
meagre
her
own
collection
of
acquaintances
seems
to
be
.
From
that
weeding
have
they
not
,
by
an
easy
transition
,
at
her
suggestion
,
passed
to
the
more
playful
and
ingenious
occupation
of
amputating
the
heads
of
some
of
the
rejected
friends
and
applying
them
to
the
bodies
of
others
?
Each
armed
with
a
pair
of
scissors
,
and
with
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
for
umpire
,
they
have
been
vying
with
each
other
as
to
who
can
produce
the
most
startling
results
by
this
clever
process
.
The
palm
has
just
been
awarded
to
Elizabeth
for
a
combination
which
presents
the
head
of
an
elderly
lady
,
in
a
widow
's
cap
,
mounted
upon
the
cuirass
and
long
boots
of
a
Life
Guardsman
.
Jim
's
application
of
the
cornet
's
discarded
head
to
the
body
of
a
baby
in
long
clothes
,
although
allowed
to
be
a
pretty
conceit
,
commands
but
little
real
admiration
—
an
instance
of
nepotism
which
he
does
not
allow
to
pass
without
protest
.
Elizabeth
,
elated
by
her
triumph
,
has
flown
out
of
the
room
to
examine
her
private
stores
for
fresh
material
,
and
Jim
and
her
mother
—
for
the
first
time
,
as
it
happens
,
since
that
early
meeting
,
when
her
anxious
eye
had
so
plainly
implored
him
to
leave
Algiers
—
are
tête-à-tête
.
Her
changed
aspect
towards
him
as
she
sits
,
with
a
lingering
laugh
still
on
her
face
,
beside
the
wood
fire
—
which
,
after
having
twice
gone
out
,
as
it
almost
always
does
,
the
souches
being
invariably
wet
,
burns
bright
and
crackly
—
strikes
him
with
such
a
feeling
of
warm
pleasure
that
he
says
in
a
voice
of
undisguised
triumph
:
"
What
spirits
she
is
in
,
is
not
she
?
"
"
Yes
;
is
not
she
?
"
assents
the
mother
eagerly
.
"
Oh
,
I
cannot
say
how
grateful
I
am
to
you
for
having
cheered
her
up
as
you
have
done
!
Oh
,
"
with
a
low
sigh
that
seems
to
bear
away
on
its
slow
wings
the
last
echoes
of
her
late
mirth
,
"
if
it
could
only
last
!
"
"
Why
should
not
it
last
?
"
"
If
nothing
fresh
would
happen
!
"
"
Why
should
anything
fresh
happen
?
"
She
answers
only
indirectly
;
"
'
Fear
at
my
heart
,
as
at
a
cup
,
The
life-blood
seemed
to
sip
.
'
"
Sometimes
I
think
that
Coleridge
wrote
those
lines
expressly
for
me
.
"
After
a
pause
,
in
a
voice
of
anxious
asking
:
"
She
has
not
mentioned
him
to
you
lately
,
has
she
?
"
"
No.
"
"
That
is
a
good
sign
.
Do
not
you
think
that
that
is
a
good
sign
?
I
think
that
she
is
getting
better
;
do
not
you
?
"
For
a
moment
he
cannot
answer
,
both
because
he
is
deeply
touched
by
the
confidence
in
him
and
his
sympathy
evidenced
by
her
appeal
,
and
for
a
yet
more
potent
reason
.
Little
she
guesses
how
often
,
and
with
what
heart-searchings
and
spirit-sinkings
,
he
has
put
that
question
to
himself
.
"
I
do
not
know
,
"
he
replies
at
last
,
with
difficulty
;
"
it
is
hard
to
judge
.
"
"
You
have
not
told
him
that
we
are
here
?
"
in
a
quick
,
panic-struck
tone
,
as
of
one
smitten
with
a
new
and
sharp
apprehension
.
"
Oh
no
!
"
"
You
do
not
think
that
he
is
at
all
likely
to
join
you
here
?
"
"
Not
in
the
least
!
"
with
an
almost
angry
energy
,
which
reveals
to
himself
how
deeply
distasteful
the
mere
suggestion
of
Byng
's
reappearance
on
the
scene
is
to
him
.
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
heaves
a
second
sigh
.
This
time
it
is
one
of
relief
.
"
Then
I
do
not
see
,
"
with
