nosooner
out
of
his
mouth
than
he
sees
how
false
is
the
impression
produced
by
his
reply
—
sees
it
written
in
the
sudden
dead-whiteness
of
her
cheek
and
the
terror
in
her
eye
.
"
Do
you
mean
"
—
she
stammers
—
"
that
anybody
—
any
of
your
friends
—
is
—
is
lately
dead
?
"
"
Oh
no
!
no
!
"
he
cries
reassuringly
;
"
you
are
making
a
mistake
;
nobody
is
dead
—
nobody
,
that
is
"
—
with
a
sigh
—
"
that
you
do
not
already
know
of
.
All
our
friends
—
all
our
common
friends
—
are
,
as
far
as
I
know
—
—
"
"
Elizabeth
!
"
breaks
in
Mr.
Le
Marchant
's
voice
,
in
severe
appellation
;
he
has
only
just
become
aware
that
his
daughter
is
not
unaccompanied
,
and
the
discovery
apparently
does
not
please
him
.
Without
a
second
's
delay
,
despite
her
twenty-seven
years
,
she
has
sprung
forwards
to
obey
the
summons
;
and
Jim
has
the
sense
to
make
no
further
effort
to
rejoin
her
.
By
the
time
that
their
circuit
is
finished
,
and
they
have
again
reached
the
front
of
the
church
,
vespers
are
ended
,
and
there
is
a
movement
outwards
among
the
worshippers
.
They
stream
—
not
very
numerous
—
out
on
the
little
terrace
.
The
priests
follow
,
tonsured
,
but
—
which
looks
strange
—
with
beards
and
whiskers
.
The
acolytes
,
in
their
red
chasubles
,
carry
a
black
and
white
pall
,
and
lay
it
over
the
memorial
stone
below
the
cross
.
On
either
hand
stand
a
band
of
decently
clad
youths
—
sons
of
drowned
seamen
—
playing
on
brass
instruments
.
It
is
a
poor
little
music
,
doubtfully
in
tune
;
but
surely
no
rolling
organ
,
no
papal
choir
,
could
touch
the
heart
so
much
as
this
simple
ceremonial
.
The
little
Latin
cross
standing
sheer
out
against
the
sea
;
the
black
pall
thrown
over
the
stone
that
commemorates
the
sea
's
innumerable
dead
;
the
red-clad
acolytes
,
standing
with
eyes
cast
down
,
holding
aloft
their
high
tapers
,
whose
flickering
flame
the
sea-wind
soon
puffs
out
;
and
the
sons
of
the
drowned
sailors
,
making
their
homely
music
to
the
accompaniment
of
the
salt
breeze
.
The
little
service
is
brief
and
those
who
have
taken
part
in
it
are
soon
dispersing
.
As
they
do
so
,
Jim
once
more
finds
himself
for
a
moment
close
to
Elizabeth
.
The
sun
has
nearly
touched
the
sea-line
by
this
time
,
and
he
sees
,
or
thinks
he
sees
,
her
shiver
.
"
You
are
cold
,
"
he
says
solicitously
;
"
you
will
get
a
chill
.
"
She
looks
back
at
him
,
half
surprised
,
half
grateful
,
at
the
anxiety
of
his
tone
.
"
Not
I
!
"
she
answers
,
with
a
gentle
air
of
indifference
and
recklessness
;
"
naught
never
comes
to
harm
!
"
"
But
you
shivered
!
I
saw
you
shiver
.
"
"
Did
I
?
It
was
only
"
—
smiling
—
"
that
a
goose
walked
over
my
grave
.
Does
a
goose
never
walk
over
your
grave
?
"
And
once
more
she
is
gone
.
He
does
not
see
her
again
that
day
.
Of
the
three
places
laid
for
dinner
at
the
round
table
in
the
salle
à
manger
,
only
two
are
occupied
;
hers
is
,
and
remains
,
empty
.
She
is
not
with
her
parents
,
and
,
what
is
more
,
she
does
not
appear
to
be
missed
by
them
.
It
fills
Jim
with
something
of
the
same
shocked
surprise
as
he
had
felt
on
hearing
the
cold
and
surly
tone
in
which
she
had
been
addressed
by
her
father
,
to
see
how
much
more
,
and
more
genially
,
that
father
talks
;
how
much
less
morose
his
back
looks
than
had
been
the
case
on
the
previous
evening
.
The
next
morning
rises
superb
in
steady
splendour
,
and
Jim
,
on
issuing
out
on
the
little
red-tiled
terrace
,
finds
the
whole
strength
of
the
hotel
gathered
upon
it
.
Even
the
worst
invalids
,
who
have
not
shown
their
noses
outside
their
rooms
for
a
fortnight
,
are
sunning
themselves
,
wrapped
in
apparently
unnecessary
furs
.
The
Arabs
and
Turks
have
spread
their
gay
rugs
and
carpets
,
and
displayed
their
bits
of
stuff
,
their
brasswork
,
and
their
embroidery
.
They
make
a
charming
garden
of
colour
under
the
blue
.
One
is
lying
beside
his
wares
,
in
an
azure
jacket
and
a
rose-red
sash
,
twanging
a
"
gunébri
,
"
or
little
Arab
mandolin
.
Apart
from
the
rest
of
the
company
,
at
the
extreme
end
of
the
terrace
,
in
a
place
which
is
evidently
hers
by
prescriptive
right
,
close
to
the
balustrade
,
upon
whose
blue
and
white
tiled
top
her
books
are
lying
,
Elizabeth
is
sitting
—
and
sitting
alone
,
neither
truculent
father
not
frightened
mother
barring
approach
to
her
.
He
makes
his
way
at
once
to
her
.
"
You
were
not
at
dinner
last
night
?
"
"
No.
"
"
I
hope
that
did
not
mean
that
you
were
ill
?
"
Her
eyes
are
not
lifted
to
his
—
resting
rather
on
the
balustrade
,
through
whose
pierced
brickwork
little
boughs
of
Bougainvillia
are
pushing
.
"
No
,
I
was
not
ill
,
"
she
replies
slowly
;
"
but
I
had
made
such
a
figure
of
myself
by
crying
that
mammy
thought
I
had
better
stay
away
.
When
I
looked
in
the
glass
,
"
she
adds
humorously
,
"
I
thought
so
myself
.
"
"
There
was
not
much
sign
of
tears
about
you
when
we
parted
at
Notre
Dame
d'Afrique
,
"
he
says
brusquely
.
"
No
,
but
"
—
with
a
sudden
lifting
of
her
pretty
lashes
—
"
you
know
there
is
never
any
medium
in
me
;
I
am
always
either
laughing
or
crying
;
and
,
of
course
,
seeing
you
again
brought
—
brought
things
back
to
me
.
"
She
looks
wistfully
at
him
as
she
makes
this
leading
remark
.
He
can
no
longer
have
any
doubt
as
to
her
wish
to
embark
upon
the
subject
which
,
even
in
the
three
minutes
of
their
meeting
on
the
previous
day
,
she
had
sought
to
approach
.
If
he
is
kind
,
he
will
enter
into
her
wish
,
he
will
make
her
path
easier
for
her
;
but
for
the
moment
he
does
not
feel
kind
—
angry
,
rather
,
and
rebellious
.
Is
his
intercourse
with
her
to
be
a
mere
repetition
of
that
which
,
although
now
seven
months
ago
,
makes
him
still
writhe
,
in
the
recollection
of
his
latter
intercourse
with
Byng
?
Is
he
again
to
be
spitted
upon
the
skewer
of
reminiscences
of
the
Vallombrosan
wood
?
Never
!
He
looks
obstinately
away
from
her
—
towards
where
first
an
ivied
bank
rises
,
with
red
gladioli
flowering
upon
it
;
then
a
little
space
of
bare
ground
,
then
a
row
of
orange-trees
;
then
some
young
stone-pines
,
holding
their
heads
against
the
blue
to
show
what
an
exquisite
contrast
they
make
to
it
;
then
,
topping
,
or
seeming
to
top
the
hill
,
a
white
villa
,
with
little
blue
jewels
of
sky
,
seen
through
the
interstices
of
the
balustrade
on
its
roof
,
its
whitewash
making
the
solid
wall
of
sapphire
behind
it
look
even
more
desperately
and
unnameably
blue
than
elsewhere
.
What
a
blue
!
sapphire
!
turquoise
!
lapis
!
To
what
poor
shifts
are
we
driven
to
express
it
!
How
could
we
describe
its
glory
to
a
blind
person
?
If
to
such
a
one
the
colour
of
scarlet
is
represented
by
the
sound
of
a
trumpet
,
surely
this
divine
tint
above
us
can
be
best
conveyed
by
the
whole
heavenly
hierarchy
of
burning
seraphs
and
winged
angels
,
harping
and
quiring
together
.
"
I
always
think
,
"
says
Elizabeth
,
following
the
direction
of
his
eyes
—
"
perhaps
it
may
be
fancy
—
that
this
particular
corner
of
the
sky
is
much
bluer
than
any
other
.
"
There
is
a
shade
of
disappointment
in
her
tone
at
his
failure
to
take
up
her
challenge
,
but
she
is
far
too
gentle
to
make
any
further
effort
in
a
direction
which
,
for
some
reason
,
is
disagreeable
to
him
;
and
since
he
will
not
follow
her
inclination
,
she
is
pliantly
willing
to
follow
his
.
The
Arabs
have
come
up
in
might
to-day
,
and
,
no
longer
fearing
rain
,
have
carpeted
almost
the
whole
terrace
with
their
wares
.
They
hang
over
the
low
wall
,
and
cover
the
red
tiles
;
blue
and
purple
,
and
Moslem
green
,
and
Venetian
red
;
dazzling
white
haiks
,
blinding
in
the
blinding
sunshine
;
carpets
,
embroidered
jackets
,
flashing
back
gold
in
the
gold
light
.
A
pert
English
miss
is
standing
over
them
,
and
saying
disparagingly
about
each
:
"
You
can
get
this
7-1
/
2d
.
cheaper
at
Whiteley
's
.
I
saw
a
much
better
one
than
this
for
half
the
price
at
Marshall
's
,
"
etc.
,
etc.
One
longs
to
ask
the
"
miss
"
whether
she
saw
the
sunlight
,
and
the
cobalt
sea
,
and
the
glorified
whitewash
,
with
its
amethyst
shadows
,
for
7-1
/
2d
.
at
Whiteley
's
too
,
and
,
if
so
,
why
she
did
not
stay
there
?
Burgoyne
's
friend
in
the
red
shirt
is
beating
down
a
one-eyed
Kabyle
,
and
having
a
happy
haggle
with
him
over
a
Mozambique
coat
.
"
She
does
not
get
on
with
her
own
family
at
home
,
and
she
has
quarrelled
with
all
her
travelling
companions
!
"
says
Elizabeth
,
in
a
delighted
explanatory
whisper
.
Wistfulness
and
disappointment
have
alike
vanished
out
of
her
small
face
,
which
is
one
ripple
of
mischief
.
"
The
fat
widow
in
the
weepers
,
who
is
preening
herself
like
a
great
pouter
pigeon
,
is
trying
to
marry
the
wizened
old
gentleman
in
the
bamboo
chair
.
Sometimes
we
think
she
will
succeed
;
sometimes
we
think
she
will
not
:
it
is
so
interesting
!
"
Jim
looks
down
at
her
with
an
astonishment
bordering
on
indignation
.
Is
this
the
woman
who
cried
herself
sick
last
night
over
memories
of
the
so
recent
past
?
In
this
mobile
nature
,
is
there
nothing
that
one
can
lay
hold
of
?
"
Mammy
and
I
get
an
infinity
of
amusement
out
of
them
,
"
continues
she
,
still
playfully
,
but
faltering
a
little
under
the
severity
of
his
look
;
"
oh
,
we
know
a
great
deal
about
them
all
;
and
those
that
we
do
not
know
about
we
make
stories
for
!
"
"
Indeed
!
"
His
tone
is
so
curt
that
the
stream
of
her
gaiety
dries
up
under
it
,
and
she
relapses
into
silence
,
looking
towards
the
flashing
sea
,
and
the
ficus-tree
,
that
is
casting
its
now
grateful
shade
.
CHAPTER
IV
.
"
You
said
just
now
that
seeing
me
brought
things
back
to
you
.
"
It
is
partly
remorse
at
having
snubbed
her
,
and
partly
perversity
,
which
dictates
this
sentence
on
Jim
's
part
.
The
perversity
is
,
perhaps
,
the
predominating
element
in
his
motive
—
a
perversity
which
,
having
chilled
her
away
from
the
subject
when
she
was
eagerly
seeking
an
opening
to
it
,
now
forces
her
to
return
to
it
.
She
starts
a
little
.
"
Yes
—
yes
,
"
she
answers
;
"
but
'
brought
things
back
'
is
not
quite
the
right
phrase
;
they
"
—
her
voice
growing
low
and
tremulous
—
"
had
not
very
far
to
come
.
"
The
quiver
in
her
voice
annoys
him
almost
as
much
as
Byng
's
tears
used
to
do
.
"
If
you
would
like
to
ask
me
any
questions
,
"
he
says
stiffly
,
"
I
am
ready
to
answer
them
.
"
"
Are
you
?
"
she
cries
hungrily
;
"
oh
,
that
is
kind
of
you
!
but
,
then
,
you
always
were
kind
;
but
not
here
"
—
looking
apprehensively
round
—
"
I
could
not
trust
myself
to
talk
about
—
about
him
here
;
I
—
I
should
break
down
,
and
nothing
"
—
with
a
smile
that
,
though
watery
,
is
still
humorous
—
"
would
induce
me
to
make
a
fool
of
myself
before
the
widow
Wadman
.
"
Then
,
seeing
him
look
at
a
loss
:
"
Come
indoors
!
"
she
says
impulsively
,
standing
up
,
and
half
stretching
out
her
hand
as
if
to
draw
him
after
her
.
"
Come
into
our
salon
—
no
,
you
need
not
be
afraid
;
we
shall
have
it
all
to
ourselves
;
father
and
mother
have
gone
out
for
their
usual
constitutional
on
the
Boulevard
Mustapha
.
"
He
follows
her
silently
,
and
neither
speaks
till
they
find
themselves
tête-à-tête
in
the
private
apartment
of
the
Le
Marchants
.
It
is
on
the
rez-de-chaussée
,
a
suite
of
three
little
whitewashed
rooms
,
transmogrified
from
their
original
hotel
nakedness
by
flowers
and
brocade
bits
.
Three
large
green
jars
on
the
chimney-piece
,
full
of
generous
rose-branches
,
and
boughs
of
salvia
and
iris
,
and
stalwart
yellow
jessamine
,
make
the
air
sweetly
and
lightly
perfumed
.
On
the
table
is
a
litter
of
Tauchnitz
novels
,
disastrously
old
English
papers
,
the
little
scurrilous
Algerian
sheet
,
and
,
lastly
,
Elizabeth
's
workbasket
—
the
big
workbasket
which
Jim
had
last
seen
standing
on
the
floor
in
the
entresol
,
at
the
Piazza
d'Azeglio
,
with
its
contents
strewn
all
over
his
friend
's
prostrate
body
.
At
the
sight
a
bitter
smile
breaks
over
his
face
.
"
An
old
acquaintance
!
"
he
says
,
making
a
mock
salutation
to
it
;
"
it
is
in
better
order
than
when
last
I
had
the
pleasure
of
seeing
it
.
"
"
Do
you
mean
in
Florence
?
"
she
asks
,
very
slowly
.
"
Yes
"
—
still
with
that
acrid
smile
—
"
after
you
were
gone
,
I
had
the
honour
of
helping
to
pack
it
to
send
after
you
.
I
am
afraid
I
was
rather
clumsy
over
it
;
but
,
at
any
rate
,
I
managed
better
than
he
.
By-the-bye
,
did
you
find
any
rust
on
your
scissors
and
thimble
when
next
you
had
occasion
to
use
them
?
Poor
boy
!
he
cried
enough
over
them
to
take
all
the
polish
off
!
"
She
has
sunk
down
upon
the
sofa
,
over
which
a
great
woollen
haik
,
dyed
with
harmonious
dull
tints
,
is
thrown
.
"
Do
not
sneer
at
me
!
"
she
says
faintly
.
"
You
would
not
if
you
knew
how
you
hurt
me
.
Is
he
—
is
he
—
how
is
he
?
"
"
He
is
not
ill.
"
The
answer
ought
to
be
reassuring
;
but
there
is
something
in
the
manner
in
which
it
is
uttered
that
tells
her
that
it
neither
is
,
nor
is
meant
to
be
so
.
It
is
so
ominous
that
her
lips
,
after
a
feeble
effort
or
two
,
give
up
the
endeavour
to
frame
any
query
.
All
her
power
of
interrogation
has
passed
into
those
eyes
,
out
of
which
her
companion
has
been
so
brilliantly
successful
in
chasing
their
transient
morning
mirth
.
"
When
a
man
,
"
says
Jim
gravely
,
"
at
the
outset
of
his
life
,
gets
such
a
facer
as
he
did
,
if
he
has
not
a
very
strong
character
,
it
is
apt
to
drive
him
off
the
rails
,
to
give
him
a
shove
downwards
.
"
"
I
see
;
and
you
think
I
have
given
him
a
shove
downwards
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
There
is
a
pause
.
Jim
's
eyes
are
resolutely
turned
away
from
the
face
of
Elizabeth
,
upon
whose
small
white
area
twitches
of
pain
are
making
cruel
disfigurement
.
He
does
not
want
to
have
his
heart
softened
towards
her
,
so
he
stares
persistently
over
her
head
at
a
Mussulman
praying-carpet
,
which
,
old
and
still
rich-toned
,
despite
the
wearing
of
pious
knees
,
hangs
on
the
wall
.
At
length
she
speaks
,
in
a
key
as
low
as
—
were
not
the
room
so
entirely
still
—
would
be
inaudible
.
"
If
I
had
married
him
,
I
should
have
given
him
a
much
worse
shove
down
.
"
Jim
holds
his
breath
.
Is
he
about
to
hear
from
her
own
lips
that
secret
which
he
has
magnanimously
resisted
all
opportunities
of
hearing
from
other
sources
?
But
the
words
that
,
after
a
pause
,
follow
this
almost
whispered
statement
are
not
a
confession
.
They
are
only
an
appeal
.
"
You
would
be
doing
the
kindest
thing
that
you
ever
did
in
your
life
,
if
you
could
bring
yourself
to
say
that
you
thought
I
did
it
for
the
best
.
"
He
feels
that
if
he
submits
his
eyes
to
hers
,
his
will
must
go
with
them
;
he
will
have
no
power
left
of
dissent
from
any
request
she
may
choose
to
make
;
so
he
still
stares
over
her
head
at
a
screen
which
hides
the
doorless
entrance
to
the
third
room
of
the
little
suite
.
One
leaf
,
folded
back
,
gives
a
peep
through
the
little
chamber
,
through
its
deep-arched
window
to
where
a
date-palm
stands
up
straight
against
the
sea
.
"
I
could
not
possibly
say
that
unless
I
knew
the
circumstances
of
the
case
,
"
he
answers
judicially
.
He
hears
a
low
sigh
,
not
of
impatience
,
but
of
melancholy
acquiescence
.
"
Then
you
must
go
on
thinking
ill
of
me
.
"
There
is
such
a
depth
of
dejection
,
as
well
as
such
an
unalterable
sweetness
,
in
her
voice
,
that
the
words
of
little
Prince
Arthur
,
addressed
to
Hubert
,
flash
upon
his
mind
:
"
If
Heaven
be
pleased
that
you
should
use
me
ill
,
Why
,
then
you
must
!
"
After
all
,
what
power
in
earth
or
sky
has
appointed
him
her
executioner
?
"
I
do
not
wish
to
think
ill
of
you
,
"
he
answers
sadly
.
"
Good
heavens
!
do
I
need
to
tell
you
that
?
I
have
tried
all
along
to
keep
myself
from
judging
you
;
but
I
should
not
be
human
—
you
must
know
that
I
should
not
be
human
—
if
I
did
not
ask
myself
why
you
did
it
.
"
"
Why
I
left
Florence
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
She
sits
stock-still
for
a
moment
,
the
very
little
colour
that
there
ever
was
in
it
retreating
out
of
her
face
.
"
If
I
told
you
that
,
I
should
be
telling
you
everything
.
"
He
is
looking
at
her
now
;
after
all
,
he
cannot
keep
his
gaze
pinned
to
the
screen
for
ever
,
and
,
as
he
looks
,
he
sees
an
emotion
of
so
transcendently
painful
a
nature
set
her
little
sad
features
working
,
that
the
one
impulse
that
dominates
him
is
to
ease
her
suffering
.
Poor
little
docile
creature
!
She
is
going
to
tell
him
her
secret
,
since
he
exacts
it
,
though
it
is
only
with
a
rending
asunder
of
soul
and
body
that
it
can
be
revealed
.
He
puts
out
his
hand
hurriedly
,
with
a
gesture
as
of
prohibition
.
"
Then
do
not
tell
me
.
"
She
sinks
back
upon
her
haik
with
a
movement
of
relief
,
and
puts
up
her
fine
handkerchief
to
her
pale
lips
.
There
is
a
perfect
silence
between
them
for
awhile
.
At
his
elbow
is
a
great
un-English
,
unwintry
nosegay
of
asphodel
and
iris
.
He
passes
his
fingers
absently
over
the
freakish
spikes
.
"
How
did
he
take
it
?
how
did
he
take
it
at
first
?
"
Her
voice
,
though
now
tolerably
distinct
,
is
stamped
with
that
character
of
awe
which
fills
us
all
at
approaching
a
great
calamity
.
"
He
would
not
believe
it
at
first
;
and
then
he
cried
a
great
deal
—
oh
,
an
immense
deal
!
"
—
with
an
accent
of
astonishment
,
even
at
the
recollection
of
his
friend
's
tear-power
—
"
and
then
—
oh
,
then
,
he
thought
of
putting
an
end
to
himself
!
"
Jim
had
meant
to
have
made
this
relation
in
a
tone
of
dispassionate
narrative
,
but
against
his
will
and
intention
,
as
his
memory
recalls
what
seem
to
him
the
unworthy
antics
played
by
Byng
's
grief
,
his
voice
takes
a
sarcastic
inflection
.
The
horror
written
on
his
auditor
's
face
as
he
utters
the
latest
clause
of
his
sentence
recalls
him
to
himself
.
"
Do
not
be
afraid
!
"
he
says
,
in
a
tone
which
has
no
longer
anything
akin
to
a
sneer
in
it
,
though
it
is
not
devoid
of
bitterness
;
"
the
impulse
was
a
short-lived
one
;
he
is
not
thinking
of
putting
an
end
to
himself
now
,
I
can
assure
you
of
that
;
he
is
only
thinking
of
how
he
can
best
amuse
himself
.
Whether
he
is
much
more
successful
in
that
than
he
was
in
the
former
,
I
am
not
so
sure
.
"
Her
eyes
have
dropped
to
her
own
fragile
,
ringless
hands
as
they
lie
on
her
lap
.
"
Poor
boy
!
poor
boy
!
"
she
says
over
softly
twice
,
moving
her
head
up
and
down
with
a
little
compassionate
movement
.
At
the
pity
expressed
by
her
gesture
,
an
unjust
and
unjustifiable
hard
anger
takes
harsh
possession
of
him
.
"
It
was
a
pity
you
let
it
go
so
far
,
"
he
says
austerely
;
"
you
must
allow
me
to
say
that
much
;
but
I
suppose
,
in
point
of
fact
,
the
ball
once
set
rolling
,
it
was
past
your
power
to
stop
it
.
"
She
listens
to
his
philippic
,
with
her
head
meekly
bent
.
"
I
did
not
try
,
"
she
answers
,
in
a
half·whisper
;
then
,
after
a
pause
,
raising
her
down-dropped
eyes
,
lit
with
a
blue
fire
of
excitement
,
almost
inspiration
,
to
his
,
"
I
said
to
myself
,
'
If
I
have
any
luck
,
I
shall
die
before
the
smash
comes
;
'
and
I
just
lived
on
from
day
to
day
.
I
had
not
the
heart
to
stop
it
;
I
knew
it
would
stop
of
itself
before
long
;
I
had
never
—
hardly
ever
"
—
correcting
herself
,
as
it
seems
,
with
a
modifying
afterthought
—
"
in
my
life
before
known
what
happiness
meant
;
and
oh
!
oh
!
OH
!
"
—
with
a
groan
of
deepening
intensity
at
each
repeated
interjection
—
"
what
a
big
word
it
is
!
"
Never
—
hardly
ever
—
known
what
happiness
meant
before
!
Why
,
surely
she
was
happy
at
the
Moat
!
and
before
his
mind
's
eye
there
rises
an
image
of
her
in
her
riotous
rosy
gaiety
;
but
even
as
it
does
,
there
flashes
upon
him
a
comprehension
of
her
speech
.
It
is
not
the
careless
merriment
of
childhood
to
which
she
is
alluding
;
it
is
to
the
happiness
,
par
excellence
,
of
life
.
If
this
is
the
case
,
why
did
she
correct
herself
and
modify
her
negative
with
a
"
hardly
"
?
A
jealous
feeling
of
someone
else
—
someone
beside
Byng
;
a
jealousy
none
the
less
keen
for
being
vague
—
for
not
knowing
on
what
object
it
can
lay
hold
—
sharpens
his
tone
as
he
repeats
aloud
,
and
with
an
accent
of
interrogation
,
her
qualifying
adverb
:
"
Hardly
ever
,
that
implies
—
—
"
But
she
breaks
in
hurriedly
,
as
if
dreading
—
and
at
the
same
time
doubting
her
own
power
of
baffling
—
cross-examination
upon
that
subject
on
whose
borders
they
are
continually
hovering
.
"
Talking
of
happiness
makes
one
think
of
unhappiness
,
does
not
it
?
We
both
know
something
about
that
,
do
not
we
?
"
She
pauses
,
and
he
sees
that
she
is
alluding
to
his
own
sorrow
,
and
that
her
eye
is
sounding
his
to
see
whether
he
would
wish
her
to
approach
it
more
nearly
.
His
eye
,
in
answer
,
must
give
but
a
dubious
beam
,
since
he
himself
is
quite
unsure
of
what
his
wishes
on
the
subject
are
;
and
she
goes
on
with
the
haste
and
yet
unsteadiness
of
one
who
is
treading
on
swampy
ground
,
that
gives
beneath
his
feet
.
"
We
saw
it
in
the
papers
;
I
could
not
believe
it
at
first
.
It
was
the
last
thing
I
ever
expected
to
happen
.
I
thought
of
writing
to
you
,
but
I
did
not
.
"
She
looks
at
him
rather
wistfully
,
and
although
but
two
minutes
ago
she
had
been
confessing
to
him
her
passion
for
another
man
,
he
sees
that
she
is
anxious
he
should
tell
her
that
her
sympathy
would
have
been
precious
to
him
.
He
feels
the
same
sensation
as
before
of
mixed
anger
and
fascination
at
the
ductility
of
her
nature
.
What
business
has
she
to
care
whether
he
would
have
liked
to
hear
from
her
or
not
?
"
It
seemed
such
a
pity
that
it
was
she
,
and
not
I
!
"
Again
her
eye
interrogates
his
,
as
if
asking
for
acquiescence
in
this
suggestion
,
but
he
cannot
give
it
.
With
a
shock
of
surprise
—
nay
,
horror
—
at
himself
,
he
finds
that
he
is
unable
to
echo
the
wish
that
Elizabeth
had
died
and
Amelia
lived
.
"
I
said
so
to
mammy
at
the
time
.
Ah
,
here
is
mammy
!
"
And
,
indeed
,
as
she
speaks
the
door
opens
,
and
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
enters
in
her
walking-dress
.
At
the
sight
of
Jim
,
a
look
,
which
certainly
does
not
betoken
pleasure
,
though
good
breeding
prevents
its
representing
the
opposite
emotion
,
crosses
her
handsome
,
worn
face
.
"
I
brought
Mr.
Burgoyne
in
here
,
"
says
Elizabeth
,
in
what
seems
rather
precipitate
explanation
,
"
because
we
could
not
talk
comfortably
out
on
the
terrace
;
they
listen
to
everything
we
say
:
they
have
such
long
ears
—
the
Widow
Wadman
and
Miss
Strutt
!
"
"
I
do
not
know
what
State
secrets
you
and
Mr.
Burgoyne
can
have
to
discuss
,
"
replies
the
mother
,
with
a
smile
that
,
though
courteous
,
but
ill
disguises
the
underlying
anxiety
.
"
Yes
,
dear
child
,
I
shall
be
very
much
obliged
if
you
will
take
my
bonnet
upstairs
for
me
"
—
this
in
answer
to
little
tender
overtures
from
Elizabeth
,
overtures
that
remind
Jim
of
12
bis
,
Piazza
d
'
Azeglio
.
"
I
do
not
know
whether
you
have
yet
found
it
so
"
(
to
Jim
)
;
"
but
this
is
a
slack
place
.
"
No
sooner
has
the
door
closed
upon
her
daughter
than
her
tone
changes
.
"
What
have
you
been
talking
about
to
her
,
"
she
inquires
rapidly
;
"
not
,
I
hope
,
about
him
?
"
"
I
could
not
help
it
;
she
asked
me
.
"
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
strikes
her
hands
together
,
and
gives
utterance
to
that
short
and
shapeless
monosyllable
which
has
a
prescriptive
right
to
express
vexation
.
"
Th
!
th
!
"
A
moment
later
,
"
I
am
sure
you
will
understand
that
I
do
not
mean
to
imply
any
ill-will
to
you
;
but
it
is
unlucky
that
we
should
have
happened
to
meet
you
here
;
it
has
brought
it
all
back
to
her
,
and
she
was
just
beginning
to
pluck
up
her
spirits
a
little
.
"
"
Did
she
—
did
she
take
it
so
much
to
heart
?
"
inquires
Jim
,
in
a
tone
of
almost
as
awed
concern
as
Elizabeth
had
employed
but
a
quarter
of
an
hour
before
in
putting
nearly
the
same
question
with
regard
to
Byng
.
"
Did
she
take
it
to
heart
!
"
repeats
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
,
with
the
irritation
of
one
to
whom
a
perfectly
senseless
and
superfluous
inquiry
is
put
;
"
why
,
of
course
she
did
!
I
thought
at
one
time
that
she
would
have
gone
out
of
her
mind
!
"
No
one
can
feel
less
merry
than
Jim
;
and
yet
his
lips
at
this
juncture
cannot
resist
the
impulse
to
frame
themselves
into
a
gloomy
smile
.
"
And
I
thought
that
he
would
have
gone
out
of
his
mind
,
"
he
rejoins
.
As
he
speaks
,
it
flashes
upon
his
memory
that
one
of
the
hypotheses
that
have
formerly
occurred
to
him
to
account
for
the
mystery
that
hangs
over
Elizabeth
's
past
was
that
she
had
been
mad
;
and
though
he
had
long
abandoned
the
idea
,
her
losing
her
wits
now
recurs
to
him
with
a
shock
as
a
possibility
.
Might
not
that
changeful
,
mobile
,
emotional
mind
lose
its
balance
under
the
blow
either
of
a
sudden
calamity
or
of
a
long
wearing
sorrow
?
It
has
escaped
—
evidently
but
barely
escaped
the
first
.
Will
it
escape
the
second
too
?
His
heart
goes
out
in
a
great
yearning
to
her
at
the
thought
of
what
a
touching
little
lunatic
she
would
make
;
and
,
with
an
oblivion
of
his
own
personal
feelings
,
which
is
generous
,
if
not
very
lasting
,
he
says
compassionately
:
"
It
seems
a
pity
—
a
great
pity
!
"
"
A
pity
!
"
repeats
the
mother
,
with
a
sort
of
wrath
,
down
which
he
detects
a
broad
stripe
of
agony
running
;
"
I
should
think
it
was
a
pity
!
Pity
is
a
weak
word
!
The
whole
thing
is
piteous
!
her
whole
history
!
If
you
only
knew
—
—
"
She
breaks
off
.
He
is
silent
,
waiting
to
see
whether
that
impulse
towards
confidence
in
him
will
go
any
further
;
but
it
does
not
.
She
has
evidently
gone
beyond
her
intention
,
and
is
passionately
vexed
with
herself
for
having
done
so
.
"
They
were
so
well
suited
to
each
other
,
"
continues
Jim
slowly
,
but
still
generously
.
Possibly
his
generosity
becomes
more
easy
as
he
sees
how
hopeless
is
the
plea
upon
which
he
employs
it
.
"
Is
it
—
I
do
not
wish
to
intrude
upon
your
confidence
,
but
in
the
interests
of
my
friend
you
will
allow
me
to
say
that
much
—
is
it
quite
out
of
the
question
?
"
"
Quite
!
quite
!
"
replies
the
mother
,
in
painful
excitement
;
"
what
,
poor
soul
,
is
not
out
of
the
question
for
her
that
has
any
good
or
happiness
in
it
?
and
that
—
that
more
than
anything
!
If
you
have
any
mercy
in
you
,
do
not
put
it
into
her
head
that
it
is
not
!
"
"
If
it
is
not
in
her
head
already
,
I
could
not
put
it
there
,
"
replies
Jim
gravely
;
"
but
I
will
not
—
I
promise
you
I
will
not
.
"
As
he
speaks
,
a
slight
smile
touches
the
corners
of
his
serious
mouth
as
he
reflects
how
entirely
easy
it
is
to
comply
with
a
request
not
to
urge
Byng
's
suit
upon
its
object
,
and
how
cheaply
a
character
for
magnanimity
may
sometimes
be
bought
.
"
That
is
very
kind
of
you
!
"
replies
the
poor
woman
gratefully
;
"
and
I
am
sure
when
you
say
a
thing
I
can
depend
upon
you
for
it
;
and
though
,
of
course
,
it
was
unlucky
our
happening
to
meet
you
,
yet
you
need
not
see
much
of
her
.
Although
it
is
not
in
the
least
'
out
of
sight
,
out
of
mind
'
with
her
"
—
sighing
—
"
yet
she
is
very
much
influenced
by
the
objects
around
her
;
and
when
you
are
gone
—
I
dare
say
you
do
not
mean
to
make
a
long
stay
;
this
is
not
a
place
where
there
is
much
for
a
man
to
do
—
for
a
man
like
you
—
—
"
She
breaks
off
,
and
her
imploring
eye
invites
him
to
reassure
her
by
naming
a
speedy
day
for
his
own
departure
.
But
magnanimity
may
have
calls
made
upon
it
that
exceed
its
power
to
answer
,
and
Jim
's
silence
sufficiently
proves
that
he
is
not
going
to
allow
himself
to
be
seduced
into
a
promise
to
go
.
CHAPTER
V.
The
next
morning
proves
the
truth
of
Miss
Strutt
's
words
that
"
we
are
not
so
green
here
in
Algiers
for
nothing
.
"
The
weather
changes
some
time
after
dark
has
fallen
.
A
mighty
wind
arises
.
Jim
's
slumbers
are
broken
by
the
fact
that
somebody
's
outside
shutters
bang
,
loose
and
noisy
all
night
.
The
great
sign
at
the
top
of
the
hotel
swings
and
creaks
and
groans
.
In
the
morning
,
as
far
as
can
be
seen
through
blurred
panes
,
the
trees
—
eucalyptus
,
ilex
,
stone-pine
—
are
all
cowering
and
stooping
before
the
wind
's
lash
.
The
fan
palm
before
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
's
window
,
with
its
fans
all
pinched
and
bent
,
is
staggering
before
the
gale
.
One
cannot
conceive
what
that
unlucky
tropical
product
can
be
doing
in
this
galley
,
and
it
requires
a
strong
effort
of
reason
and
will
to
resist
the
conviction
that
the
oranges
and
lemons
are
tied
upon
the
shivering
trees
instead
of
growing
naturally
there
.
"
And
this
is
'
Afric
's
burning
strand
'
!
"
says
Jim
to
himself
,
over
his
breakfast
in
the
salle
à
manger
,
through
whose
shut
windows
the
mad
rain
forces
itself
;
and
the
blast
,
coming
to
his
wet
sister
's
aid
,
bursts
them
open
now
and
again
.
The
day
seems
enormously
long
.
He
gets
through
the
morning
tolerably
well
with
letter-writing
,
and
after
the
twelve
o'clock
déjeûner
he
faces
the
gale
in
a
determined
walk
down
into
the
town
.
Seldom
in
the
course
of
his
wide
wanderings
has
he
felt
the
furious
scourge
of
more
tremendous
rain
.
The
side-path
is
whitened
with
big
hailstones
;
red
torrents
tear
with
ferocious
speed
and
violence
down
the
steep
incline
.
The
great
acanthus-leaves
,
and
all
the
plentiful
undergrowth
,
are
dripping
and
rejoicing
.
Through
the
blinding
white
deluge
he
gets
forlorn
peeps
of
the
villas
that
had
shone
yesterday
with
the
white
splendour
one
associates
with
the
city
of
the
saints
of
God
;
and
instead
of
,
as
yesterday
,
"
laced
with
heaven
's
own
tinct
,
"
the
Mediterranean
is
whitening
the
bay
's
rounded
curve
with
its
angry
breakers
,
and
the
snow
is
sprinkling
the
Atlas
crests
.
A
few
Arabs
are
sitting
on
the
ground
under
the
Pont
d'Isly
,
packed
up
into
whitish
woollen
parcels
,
knees
to
nose
,
and
arms
and
hands
all
withdrawn
into
the
protection
of
the
sheltering
burnous
.
But
no
one
else
,
who
can
help
it
,
is
abroad
.
It
seems
to
Jim
as
if
his
disagreeable
tussle
with
the
elements
had
lasted
a
long
time
,
and
yet
,
on
his
return
to
the
hotel
,
he
finds
that
it
is
only
half-past
two
.
He
thinks
at
first
that
the
clocks
must
have
stopped
,
but
finds
,
on
examination
,
that
they
are
all
ticking
,
and
all
unanimous
.
His
drenched
condition
is
at
least
a
resource
,
necessitating
an
entire
and
fundamental
change
of
raiment
;
but
even
this
expedient
,
though
dragged
out
to
its
utmost
possible
limit
,
does
not
carry
him
further
than
three
.
How
is
he
to
dispose
of
the
seven
or
eight
hours
that
must
elapse
before
he
can
seek
refuge
in
bed
?
He
has
exhausted
his
correspondence
,
which
is
never
a
large
one
,
and
he
has
seldom
in
his
life
been
so
short
of
books
.
He
makes
his
way
through
the
hall
,
which
is
crammed
with
young
people
playing
battledore
,
and
noisily
counting
;
with
elder
persons
,
dreadfully
short
of
a
job
,
looking
on
and
applauding
;
to
the
salon
,
in
hopes
of
there
finding
a
Tauchnitz
novel
,
or
even
a
superannuated
Pall
Mall
or
World
.
But
half
a
dozen
other
weather-bound
sufferers
have
been
before
him
,
and
the
tables
are
swept
clean
of
all
literature
save
a
three-months-old
Court
Journal
.
Miss
Strutt
and
the
pert
votary
of
Whiteley
are
sitting
shawled
,
and
with
their
heads
close
together
.
By
their
titters
,
and
the
fragments
he
catches
of
their
talk
,
they
seem
to
be
concocting
a
practical
joke
of
some
kind
.
The
widow
Wadman
,
shawled
too
,
and
her
valetudinarian
in
a
comforter
,
are
stopping
over
a
wood-fire
,
which
refuses
to
burn
,
the
souches
being
wringing
wet
.
Jim
rather
injudiciously
approaches
them
,
and
offers
his
assistance
in
piling
the
damp
logs
;
but
he
is
so
evidently
de
trop
,
that
he
retires
discomfited
.
On
the
other
hand
,
the
invitation
in
Miss
Strutt
's
and
her
coadjutor
's
eye
is
so
apparent
that
he
beats
a
hasty
retreat
out
of
the
room
,
in
dread
lest
he
should
be
drawn
into
their
mysterious
pleasantry
.
He
never
is
quite
clear
afterwards
how
he
gets
over
the
hours
that
intervene
before
dinner
—
whether
sleep
comes
to
his
aid
,
or
whether
he
is
after
all
reduced
to
perusing
in
the
Court
Journal
the
narrative
of
which
direction
the
Queen
and
Princess
Henry
of
Battenburg
took
their
walk
in
,
in
October
.
But
at
length
the
welcome
bell
rings
,
drowning
even
,
for
two
minutes
,
the
banging
of
the
wind
;
and
the
whole
hotel
,
unwontedly
punctual
,
rushes
in
answer
to
its
summons
.
People
who
have
hitherto
scarcely
exchanged
words
,
have
eyed
each
other
with
hardly
veiled
distrust
,
now
show
a
feverish
desire
to
enter
into
conversation
,
to
detain
one
another
after
dinner
on
the
steps
of
the
salle
à
manger
.
As
the
evening
advances
,
Jim
sees
an
intention
among
the
younger
portion
of
the
company
to
launch
out
into
noisy
,
romping
games
,
to
institute
a
Dumb
Crambo
.
He
feels
it
is
far
from
impossible
that
he
himself
may
fall
so
low
as
to
be
drawn
into
it
.
Miss
Strutt
's
eye
is
on
him
,
but
before
he
succumbs
he
will
make
one
effort
on
his
own
behalf
.
He
embraces
a
desperate
resolution
.
He
has
seen
the
Le
Marchants
eating
their
dinner
near
,
and
yet
hopelessly
far
from
him
.
Elizabeth
had
given
him
one
furtive
smile
,
and
her
mother
a
hurried
bow
;
this
is
,
to
tell
the
truth
,
all
the
encouragement
he
has
to
go
upon
—
all
that
he
can
find
to
keep
his
courage
up
as
he
knocks
at
their
door
,
telling
himself
that
his
excuse
—
that
of
asking
them
to
lend
him
a
book
—
is
a
quite
sufficient
and
legitimate
one
.
He
knocks
,
and
Elizabeth
's
voice
at
once
answers
:
"
Herein
!
"
It
is
clear
that
she
takes
him
for
the
German
waiter
,
Fritz
.
She
remains
in
this
belief
even
after
he
has
opened
the
door
,
since
she
does
not
at
first
look
up
.
She
is
alone
—
not
in
the
pretty
flowered
room
in
which
she
had
yesterday
received
him
,
but
in
the
first
and
less
adorned
of
the
little
series
—
one
that
he
had
,
on
his
former
visit
,
cursorily
supposed
to
be
chiefly
used
as
an
ante-room
—
sitting
alone
at
a
table
,
and
before
her
are
spread
writing-materials
,
over
which
she
is
stooping
.
An
odious
and
ridiculous
thought
darts
,
with
a
prick
,
across
his
mind
.
Is
she
sitting
here
,
all
alone
,
in
order
to
write
to
Byng
?
"
I
came
—
—
"
he
begins
;
and
at
the
unexpected
voice
she
looks
up
with
a
start
:
"
Oh
,
it
is
you
!
"
she
says
,
in
a
low
key
,
glancing
rather
apprehensively
at
the
closed
door
,
which
separates
them
from
the
inner
room
,
in
a
manner
which
tells
him
that
her
parents
are
within
.
"
I
came
"
—
his
voice
almost
unconsciously
sinking
to
the
level
hers
has
indicated
to
him
—
"
to
ask
you
to
lend
me
a
book
.
"
"
A
book
!
"
she
repeats
doubtfully
,
with
another
and
still
more
nervous
glance
at
the
shut
door
;
"
I
am
afraid
that
they
are
all
in
there
.
"
"
Oh
,
it
is
of
no
consequence
!
"
rejoins
Burgoyne
hastily
,
unwittingly
quoting
the
words
of
the
immortal
Mr.
Toots
;
"
it
does
not
matter
in
the
least
.
"
As
he
speaks
,
he
begins
to
retreat
towards
the
door
,
but
so
slowly
as
to
give
her
plenty
of
time
to
recall
him
had
she
so
wished
.
But
she
does
not
.
She
only
stands
looking
uncertain
and
distressed
.
He
cannot
take
such
a
melancholy
impression
of
her
little
face
away
for
the
whole
night
with
him
—
it
would
give
him
the
blues
too
seriously
after
this
dismal
day
—
so
he
takes
a
step
or
two
forward
again
.
"
Are
not
you
rather
lonely
?
"
he
asks
,
with
an
expressive
look
round
.
She
gives
a
small
,
uncomplaining
smile
.
"
Oh
no
;
I
do
very
well
.
I
am
generally
alone
at
this
time
of
day
;
they
like
to
have
their
evenings
to
themselves
—
at
least
,
father
likes
to
have
mammy
to
himself
;
I
am
sure
it
is
quite
natural
.
"
There
is
not
the
slightest
trace
of
any
sense
of
being
aggrieved
in
either
words
or
tone
.
Again
that
picture
of
the
adored
Elizabeth
of
former
days
,
of
whose
prattle
her
father
was
never
weary
,
whose
jokes
were
always
considered
so
unequalled
,
and
whose
pre-eminence
in
favour
was
so
allowed
that
her
intercession
and
influence
were
always
employed
by
the
others
as
certain
in
their
efficacy
,
rises
before
Jim
's
eyes
.
"
They
are
like
lovers
still
,
"
continues
Elizabeth
softly
;
"
it
is
very
pretty
when
people
are
lovers
still
after
nearly
thirty
years
.
"
"
And
you
—
you
write
letters
?
"
"
No
,
I
do
not
;
I
have
not
anyone
to
write
to
.
"
A
pang
of
shame
at
his
unworthy
suspicion
,
coupled
with
a
sense
of
astonishment
at
her
simple
confession
of
friendlessness
,
prevent
his
speaking
;
and
it
is
she
who
goes
on
:
"
I
was
writing
an
Italian
exercise
;
I
began
to
learn
Italian
in
Florence
"
—
with
the
inevitable
low
sigh
that
always
accompanies
her
mention
of
that
name
—
"
and
to-day
,
for
something
to
do
,
I
took
it
up
again
.
It
has
been
a
long
day
,
has
not
it
?
Oh
,
what
a
long
day
!
"
"
Long
!
"
repeats
Jim
emphatically
;
"
it
might
choose
to
call
itself
a
day
;
but
many
a
century
has
been
shorter
.
"
"
Someone
was
playing
battledore
and
shuttlecock
in
the
hall
.
I
wonder
to
what
number
they
kept
it
up
?
how
many
years
it
is
since
I
have
played
battledore
and
shuttlecock
!
"
There
is
a
suppressed
envy
in
her
tone
,
which
tells
how
far
from
disagreeable
the
innocent
noisy
pastime
to
which
she
alludes
would
be
to
her
even
now
.
She
has
sat
down
again
on
the
straight-backed
chair
from
whose
elevation
she
had
commanded
her
Italian
studies
;
a
large
grayish
cloak
,
lined
and
heavily
collared
,
and
bordered
with
fur
,
hangs
,
unfastened
at
the
throat
,
about
her
.
Out
of
the
dark
beaver
her
delicate
neck
and
head
rise
,
like
a
pale
primrose
from
out
of
piled
dead
oak-leaves
in
a
yet
wintry
wood
.
Through
the
door
,
which
he
has
left
open
behind
him
,
come
bursts
of
maniac
mirth
from
the
votaries
of
Dumb
Crambo
.
"
What
a
noise
they
are
making
!
"
"
I
should
think
they
were
!
"
"
I
wonder
what
they
are
doing
?
"
"
I
can
inform
you
on
that
point
;
they
are
playing
Dumb
Crambo
.
"
She
repeats
the
words
after
him
with
a
lingering
intonation
,
in
which
there
again
is
,
or
,
at
least
,
he
thinks
that
he
detects
it
,
a
tinge
of
envy
.
"
Dumb
Crambo
!
"
"
Would
you
like
to
join
them
?
"
"
No
"
—
slowly
—
"
not
quite
that
;
but
—
it
sounds
ridiculous
—
but
I
should
like
to
play
Dumb
Crambo
again
.
We
used
"
—
in
an
affectionate
,
lingering
tone
—
"
to
play
it
when
we
were
children
.
"
It
is
the
first
time
that
she
has
ever
voluntarily
alluded
to
the
Moat
,
and
he
calls
to
mind
her
earnest
prohibition
addressed
to
him
at
Florence
against
any
mention
of
it
.
"
I
know
you
did
;
once
or
twice
I
played
with
you
.
"
"
You
?
"
She
starts
.
It
is
evident
that
the
unimportant
fact
of
his
having
taken
part
in
their
games
has
quite
escaped
her
;
but
,
a
moment
later
,
her
soft
and
courteous
nature
evidently
making
her
fear
that
he
will
look
upon
her
obliviousness
as
unkind
—
"
Oh
yes
,
to
be
sure
!
"
Then
again
lapsing
into
reminiscence
,
"
What
odd
words
we
used
to
choose
sometimes
—
words
that
nobody
could
guess
!
I
wonder
what
words
they
have
chosen
?
"
He
thinks
of
saying
jocosely
,
"
Shall
I
go
and
ask
them
?
"
but
refrains
,
because
he
fears
it
would
put
it
into
her
head
to
send
him
away
.
A
sort
of
piercing
squeal
makes
itself
heard
from
the
salon
.
"
Do
you
think
that
that
can
be
meant
for
a
pig
?
"
asks
Elizabeth
,
her
line
ears
pricked
in
unaffected
interest
.
"
Oh
!
"
—
with
a
return
of
uneasiness
—
"
I
wish
that
they
would
not
make
so
much
noise
;
father
does
so
dislike
noise
.
They
might
as
well
have
put
it
off
till
to-morrow
.
"
"
Why
would
to-morrow
's
noise
be
more
endurable
than
to-night
's
?
"
"
It
would
not
have
mattered
to-morrow
;
father
will
not
be
here
;
he
is
going
to
Hammam
Rhira
.
"
Burgoyne
's
jaw
drops
.
Is
this
the
alternative
course
decided
upon
by
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
?
Having
failed
to
dislodge
him
from
Algiers
,
is
she
going
to
remove
herself
and
her
daughter
out
of
his
reach
?
"
Do
you
mean
—
are
you
all
going
to
Hammam
Rhira
to-morrow
?
—
all
going
away
?
"
Is
it
some
effect
of
light
from
the
rose-shaded
lamp
that
makes
it
seem
to
him
as
if
a
tiny
smile
,
and
a
yet
smaller
blush
,
swept
over
Elizabeth
's
face
at
the
aghastness
of
his
tone
—
an
aghastness
much
more
marked
than
he
had
intended
it
should
be
.
"
Not
to-morrow
;
not
all
of
us
.
Father
and
mammy
are
going
there
for
a
couple
of
nights
to
see
what
the
place
is
like
—
one
hears
such
contradictory
accounts
;
and
if
they
are
pleased
with
it
—
"
"
Yes
?
"
"
If
they
are
pleased
with
it
we
shall
all
probably
move
on
there
in
a
day
or
two
.
"
He
would
like
to
be
sure
that
this
sentence
ends
with
a
sigh
,
but
a
prodigious
storm
of
hand-clapping
from
the
extempore
theatre
prevents
his
hearing
whether
it
has
that
regretful
finish
.
"
And
they
are
going
to
leave
you
behind
?
"
"
Why
not
?
there
would
not
be
much
use
in
taking
me
;
and
,
as
I
tell
you
,
they
love
being
tête-à-tête
.
"
"
And
you
love
being
alone
?
"
The
moment
that
the
question
is
out
of
his
mouth
,
he
realizes
its
full
unkindness
.
He
is
perfectly
aware
that
she
does
not
like
being
alone
;
that
she
is
naturally
a
most
sociable
little
being
;
that
,
even
now
,
these
frightened
five
minutes
of
unsatisfactory
broken
talk
with
himself
have
made
her
look
less
chilled
,
less
wobegone
,
less
white
.
Her
answer
,
if
it
can
be
looked
upon
as
one
,
must
be
taken
by
him
as
a
rebuke
.
It
is
only
that
she
says
nervously
:
"
One
certainly
does
hear
dreadfully
plainly
here
with
the
door
open
.
"
Her
tone
is
of
the
gentlest
,
her
look
no
angrier
than
a
dove
's
,
and
yet
he
would
be
obtuser
than
he
is
if
he
did
not
at
once
comprehend
that
her
remark
implies
a
wish
that
he
should
presently
shut
that
door
behind
him
on
the
outside
.
He
complies
.
With
that
newly-gained
knowledge
as
to
to-morrow
's
Hammam
Rhira
,
he
can
afford
to
comply
.
The
next
morning
's
light
reveals
that
the
weather
,
pleased
with
having
so
indisputably
proved
its
power
of
being
odious
,
has
recovered
its
good-humour
.
Beyond
the
tree-tops
a
radiant
sea
is
seen
laughing
far
below
;
and
the
wet
red
tiles
on
the
little
terrace
shine
like
jewels
.
A
sea
even
more
wonderful
than
radiant
;
no
servile
copy
of
the
sky
and
clouds
to-day
,
but
with
astonishing
colours
of
its
own
—
a
faint
yet
glorious
green
for
a
part
of
its
watery
breadth
;
then
what
our
poverty
compels
us
to
call
blue
;
and
then
a
great
tablecloth
of
inky
purple
,
which
looks
so
solid
that
the
tiny
white
boats
that
are
crossing
it
seem
to
be
sailing
on
dry
land
.
From
amongst
the
glossy
green
of
the
wooded
hill
,
mosque
and
campagne
start
out
,
dazzling
,
in
their
recovered
lustre
;
one
cool
entrancing
villa
in
especial
,
backed
with
a
broken
line
of
dusky
stone-pines
,
stands
,
snowy-arcaded
,
enthroned
high
up
among
the
verdure
.
Jim
is
very
anxious
to
be
out
of
the
way
at
the
hour
of
the
Le
Marchants
'
departure
.
He
has
a
panic
fear
of
being
waylaid
by
the
mother
,
and
having
some
earnest
supplication
addressed
to
him
to
abstain
,
during
her
absence
,
from
any
converse
with
Elizabeth
.
He
is
not
quite
clear
at
what
time
they
will
set
off
,
so
,
to
insure
himself
against
mistakes
,
he
resolves
to
spend
the
morning
and
lunch
at
the
Villa
Wilson
.
Arrived
there
,
he
is
shown
by
an
Arab
man-servant
into
the
court
,
and
,
finding
it
empty
,
sinks
down
into
a
cane
chair
,
and
lets
his
eyes
wander
round
to
the
fountain
,
lullingly
dripping
into
its
basin
;
to
the
tiles
,
the
white-arched
doorways
,
carved
in
low
relief
,
and
themselves
so
low
that
it
must
be
a
humble-statured
person
who
enters
them
without
stooping
.
What
a
home
for
love
in
idleness
!
Who
can
picture
any
of
the
vulgar
work
of
the
world
done
in
such
a
house
?
any
harder
labour
ever
entered
upon
than
a
listening
to
some
lady
singing
"
with
ravishing
division
to
her
lute
"
?
The
lady
who
presently
joins
Jim
appears
,
by
her
ruffled
air
,
to
have
been
engaged
upon
no
such
soothing
occupation
as
luting
to
a
recumbent
lover
.
"
You
will
not
mind
staying
here
?
"
asks
Cecilia
;
"
Dr.
Crump
is
in
the
drawing-room
with
Sybilla
;
I
am
sure
that
you
do
not
want
to
see
Dr.
Crump
!
"
"
I
cannot
express
how
little
I
wish
it
.
"
"
I
cannot
think
what
has
happened
to
Sybilla
"
—
wrinkling
up
her
forehead
into
annoyed
furrows
—
"
but
she
is
so
dreadfully
sprightly
when
he
is
there
;
she
never
was
sprightly
with
Dr.
Coldstream
,
and
he
is
such
an
impossible
man
!
—
the
sort
of
man
who
,
when
first
he
comes
in
,
always
says
,
'
Well
,
how
are
we
this
morning
?
'
Do
not
you
think
that
it
stamps
a
man
to
say
'
How
are
we
?
'
"
"
I
think
it
does
.
"
"
He
talks
such
nonsense
to
her
!
"
—
with
irritation
—
"
he
tells
her
that
he
,
too
,
is
a
bundle
of
nerves
!
if
you
could
only
see
him
!
And
one
day
he
told
her
that
when
first
he
came
here
he
had
seen
the
Angel
of
Death
waving
his
fans
above
her
head
!
and
she
swallows
it
all
!
"
"
I
am
not
at
all
surprised
.
"
"
It
makes
me
sick
!
"
cries
she
energetically
;
"
let
us
go
into
the
garden
.
"
So
into
the
garden
they
go
;
both
the
new
one
,
whose
luxuriant
growth
of
verdure
is
the
outcome
of
but
eight
or
nine
years
;
and
the
old
one
,
along
whose
straight
walks
the
feet
of
the
Moorish
ladies
used
to
patter
under
the
orange-trees
.
Beneath
them
now
there
are
no
white
bundles
of
muslin
;
only
on
the
ground
the
oranges
lie
thick
,
no
one
in
this
plenteous
land
thinking
it
worth
while
to
pick
them
up
.
Jim
and
his
companion
pace
rather
silently
to
a
pretty
Moorish
summer-house
,
dug
,
a
few
years
ago
,
by
the
English
architect
out
of
a
farm-house
,
into
which
it
had
been
built
.
It
is
dainty
and
cool
,
with
a
little
dome
and
lovely
green
and
blue
tiles
;
and
an
odd
small
spring
,
which
is
taught
to
wander
by
tiny
snaky
channels
into
a
little
basin
.
They
go
into
the
summer-house
and
sit
down
.
"
Yes
,
it
is
pretty
,
"
says
the
girl
absently
!
but
her
mind
is
evidently
preoccupied
by
some
other
subject
than
the
beauty
of
the
giant
bignonia
which
is
expanding
the
multitude
of
its
orange-red
clusters
all
over
a
low
wall
,
making
it
into
one
burning
hedge
,
and
has
called
forth
an
exclamation
of
delight
from
Burgoyne
.
What
that
subject
is
immediately
appears
.
"
Do
you
know
who
is
in
Algiers
—
whom
I
saw
driving
through
the
Place
Bressant
on
Sunday
afternoon
?
"
"
Who
?
"
"
The
Le
Marchants
.
Ah
,
you
are
not
surprised
!
"
—
rather
suspiciously
.
"
You
knew
already
!
"
Jim
hesitates
a
second
;
then
,
reflecting
that
,
whether
or
not
he
acknowledges
the
fact
now
,
Cecilia
is
certain
to
learn
it
in
a
day
or
two
at
latest
,
he
answers
with
a
slight
laugh
:
"
It
would
be
odd
if
I
did
not
,
seeing
that
they
are
staying
at
my
hotel
.
"
"
You
knew
that
when
you
went
there
?
"
—
very
quickly
.
"
Of
course
not
!
"
—
with
a
movement
of
impatience
.
A
pause
.
"
I
suppose
,
"
says
Cecilia
,
rather
cautiously
,
as
if
aware
that
she
is
treading
on
dangerous
ground
,
"
that
you
have
not
found
out
why
they
stampeded
from
Florence
in
that
extraordinary
way
?
Oh
no
,
of
course
not
!
"
—
as
this
suggestion
is
received
with
a
still
more
accented
writhe
than
her
former
one
.
"
It
is
not
a
thing
upon
which
you
could
question
them
;
and
,
after
all
,
it
was
their
own
affair
;
it
was
no
business
of
ours
,
was
it
?
"
"
Not
the
slightest
.
"
"
I
always
used
to
like
them
,
"
continues
Cecilia
pensively
;
"
at
least
"
—
becoming
aware
of
an
involuntary
movement
of
surprise
at
this
statement
on
the
part
of
her
neighbour
—
"
at
least
,
they
never
gave
me
the
chance
of
liking
them
;
but
I
always
admired
them
.
I
wonder
are
they
more
accessible
than
they
were
in
Florence
?
There
are
so
few
nice
English
here
this
year
;
everybody
says
that
there
never
was
a
year
when
there
were
so
few
nice
English
!
"
The
tentative
towards
sociability
implied
in
this
last
speech
is
received
by
Jim
in
a
discouraging
silence
.
He
has
not
the
slightest
desire
to
promote
any
overture
on
the
part
of
Cecilia
towards
intimacy
with
Elizabeth
.
He
knows
that
they
would
be
unsuccessful
;
and
,
moreover
,
he
is
conscious
that
he
would
be
annoyed
if
they
were
not
.
"
I
can
fancy
that
this
would
be
a
very
pleasant
place
if
one
had
someone
to
go
about
with
,
"
continues
she
;
"
but
father
grows
less
and
less
inclined
to
move
.
Poor
dear
!
he
is
not
so
young
as
he
was
,
and
I
am
not
quite
old
enough
yet
,
