thishaunting
desire
,
she
turned
not
merely
to
Marjory
Lee
and
Harry
Collett
,
but
instinctively
also
to
her
cousin
Dick
.
“
I
have
read
the
books
you
lent
me
to
take
into
the
country
,
”
she
said
,
giving
him
back
the
various
primers
and
pamphlets
on
economical
subjects
.
“
Thank
you
so
much
for
them
,
Dick
.
”
They
were
sitting
alone
in
the
drawing‐room
at
Hammersmith
.
Richard
Brown
had
called
only
once
before
,
ceremoniously
and
briefly
,
and
he
would
not
have
come
this
time
either
,
if
Anne
had
not
written
expressly
to
beg
him
to
fetch
back
the
books
.
He
looked
at
her
in
his
incredulous
,
contemptuous
way
.
“
Really
,
”
he
said
,
“
my
shabby
old
books
are
very
much
flattered
by
having
been
permitted
to
sojourn
so
long
among
such
an
assemblage
of
lovely
things
;
”
and
he
looked
round
the
room
at
the
pieces
of
embroidery
and
the
Eastern
carpets
,
the
pictures
and
drawings
,
the
quantities
of
Japanese
porcelain
and
lacquer
all
round
.
“
How
much
out
of
place
they
do
look
,
and
how
queer
they
must
have
felt
among
their
companions
!
Let
me
see
:
two
volumes
on
artistic
furniture
—
‘Ballads
of
Old
France’
—
‘Rossetti’
—
‘Contes
de
Gautier.’
I
see
—
”
“
Those
are
Mr
Hamlin’s
books
,
”
said
Anne
,
quickly
;
“
he
must
have
taken
them
out
of
the
library
,
or
brought
them
up
from
the
studio
.
I
am
not
reading
any
of
them
.
”
“
You
are
reading
nothing
but
sociology
and
political
economy
;
I
understand
,
”
went
on
Brown
,
with
his
placid
sneer
,
which
seemed
,
in
this
frightfully
masculine
man
,
to
condemn
in
Anne
her
mind
,
her
person
,
her
manner
,
her
character
,
and
even
her
sex
.
“
Ah
,
well
,
I
can
understand
that
;
it
must
be
refreshing
.
Who
is
it
—
Mr
Pater
,
or
some
such
great
gun
of
yours
—
who
says
that
the
object
of
the
wise
man
is
to
make
his
life
consist
in
as
many
moments
of
thrilling
impressions
as
possible
;
that
the
very
wise
people
get
them
out
of
art
and
song
,
and
the
less
wise
out
of
vice
or
out
of
philanthropy
?
You
must
know
the
passage
better
than
I
.
Well
,
I
suppose
you
have
got
as
many
impressions
out
of
art
and
song
as
possible
,
and
(
being
far
too
delicate
in
taste
to
try
vice
)
you
are
seeing
what
can
be
got
out
of
philanthropy
.
Is
that
it
?
”
Anne
frowned
.
“
Of
course
,
”
she
said
,
“
you
think
it
very
clever
to
snub
me
,
Dick
,
and
very
manly
;
just
to
treat
me
as
if
I
could
not
possibly
have
either
heart
or
brains
.
Maybe
;
but
it
is
a
very
cheap
sort
of
sarcasm
,
and
to
make
which
a
man
like
you
is
not
at
all
required
.
”
Richard
Brown
bit
his
black
beard
,
and
looked
at
Anne
from
beneath
his
beetle
brows
;
he
threw
himself
a
little
back
on
his
chair
,
and
with
his
head
on
one
side
,
he
said
,
with
affected
indifference
—
“
You
don’t
mean
to
tell
me
that
you
have
read
those
books
except
as
you
would
read
—
what
shall
I
say
?
—
the
‘History
of
Furniture
,
’
or
the
‘Contes
de
Gautier
,
’
Anne
?
”
“
Were
you
ever
ignorant
about
important
vital
subjects
,
Richard
—
ever
conscious
that
it
was
your
duty
as
a
rational
creature
to
know
something
about
them
,
and
then
snubbed
by
a
man
who
knew
all
about
them
,
and
to
whom
you
had
applied
to
help
you
?
”
Brown
was
silent
for
a
moment
.
“
I
was
a
poor
lad
,
working
in
a
factory
,
and
refusing
myself
food
and
coals
in
order
to
buy
books
and
papers
”
—
he
said
crushingly
—
“
and
I
never
had
an
opportunity
of
asking
any
one’s
assistance
.
”
“
I
don’t
see
why
there
should
be
salvation
only
for
people
who
have
gone
through
hardships
,
nor
why
only
you
and
those
who
have
acted
like
you
should
be
treated
sincerely
and
seriously
.
Do
you
think
that
because
I
am
a
woman
who
has
been
brought
up
among
Persian
rugs
and
Japanese
pots
and
Burne
Jones’s
pictures
,
—
because
I
have
gone
to
dinner‐parties
three
times
a‐week
,
and
read
Pater
and
Rossetti
and
Gautier
,
—
that
I
may
not
therefore
be
as
honestly
anxious
to
know
about
the
serious
things
of
the
world
as
you
were
when
you
worked
in
a
factory
,
and
went
without
dinner
and
without
coals
?
”
and
she
fixed
her
eyes
on
her
cousin’s
ugly
and
powerful
face
,
in
which
,
for
all
its
ugliness
,
one
might
have
fancied
one
saw
something
not
wholly
unlike
that
magnificent
sibyl‐like
face
which
pre‐Raphaelite
artists
had
immortalised
and
caricatured
.
“
Seriously
,
and
in
your
heart
,
”
she
went
on
,
as
Brown
made
no
reply
,
“
are
you
unable
to
understand
that
perhaps
it
may
require
more
real
determination
to
try
and
learn
such
things
when
one
is
brought
up
in
luxury
in
an
æsthetic
house
,
than
when
one
has
to
buy
books
at
the
price
of
food
and
fire
?
”
Richard
Brown
did
not
answer
.
He
was
a
frank
man
,
and
he
frankly
faced
Anne’s
look
,
and
in
return
looked
long
and
searchingly
at
her
;
and
as
the
habitual
look
of
bantering
contempt
had
given
way
to
a
serious
scrutiny
,
so
now
he
gradually
grew
more
gentle
and
earnest
.
“
Forgive
me
,
Anne
,
”
he
said
,
after
a
moment
;
“
I
think
I
may
have
been
doing
you
injustice
,
and
that
I
may
,
to
some
degree
,
have
been
disgracing
myself
.
But
,
you
see
,
I
am
a
plain
self‐made
man
,
and
it
is
difficult
for
me
to
understand
how
.
.
.
”
Brown
rarely
hesitated
for
the
end
of
his
sentence
,
but
this
time
he
did
.
“
To
understand
how
there
can
be
any
conscience
or
seriousness
in
a
woman
who
has
been
willing
to
owe
everything
to
the
generosity
of
an
æsthete
like
Mr
Hamlin
”
—
Anne
finished
his
sentence
bitterly
.
She
went
on
—
“
Well
,
I
know
you
could
not
believe
that
an
æsthete
could
be
generous
and
noble
and
chivalrous
;
and
now
you
cannot
understand
how
a
woman
who
has
accepted
his
generosity
can
be
anything
better
than
—
than
a
piece
artistic
embroidery
,
or
a
Japanese
cup
,
or
a
green
tree
,
”
and
Anne
pulled
the
long
pliable
leaves
of
a
palm
passionately
through
her
fingers
.
Brown’s
suspiciousness
had
tried
to
return
;
but
it
was
routed
by
Anne’s
firm
look
,
by
Anne’s
frank
words
.
“
It
is
terrible
to
think
how
prejudiced
,
how
inaccessible
to
truth
,
one
allows
one’s
self
to
become
,
”
answered
Brown
,
“
even
though
,
Heaven
knows
,
one
tries
to
be
fair
.
What
you
say
is
true
.
I
couldn’t
understand
your
not
being
a
mere
frivolous
girl
,
Anne
;
and
I
can’t
well
understand
it
yet
.
But
what
you
tell
me
I
will
believe
.
”
“
Thank
you
,
Dick
,
”
said
Anne
,
stretching
out
her
hand
.
“
I
don’t
think
we
are
made
to
like
each
other
much
:
you
are
too
prejudiced
,
and
haughty
,
and
contemptuous
;
and
I
am
too
proud
and
too
stiff‐necked
.
But
we
are
both
honest
,
so
we
might
as
well
deal
honestly
and
openly
with
each
other
,
and
try
and
understand
each
other’s
good
points
.
”
“
I
am
not
accustomed
to
deal
with
semi‐professional
beauties
,
to
do
the
Petrarch
to
æsthetic
Madonna
mias
,
”
said
Brown
—
that
sneer
of
conscious
masculinity
and
conscious
self‐madeness
coming
over
him
again
;
“
you
must
excuse
my
manner
,
Anne
.
”
But
he
met
Anne’s
glance
,
and
his
tone
changed
once
more
.
“
I
will
bring
you
some
more
books
when
I
return
,
”
he
said
.
“
By
the
way
,
have
you
ever
read
any
psychology
?
”
“
What
is
psychology
?
Is
it
metaphysics
?
I
have
read
Hegel
—
”
Anne
stopped
short
,
and
then
boldly
added
—
“
But
it
was
only
Hegel’s
æsthetics
,
you
know
.
”
Brown
smiled
.
“
Hegel’s
æsthetics
are
not
—
well
—
not
Posthlethwaite’s
æsthetics
,
”
he
said
;
“
this
is
not
much
more
difficult
.
It
is
Spencer’s
sociology
.
I
will
bring
it
you
.
Good‐bye
.
”
After
that
visit
,
Anne
began
to
see
more
of
her
cousin
.
He
came
sometimes
to
Hammersmith
,
and
he
met
her
frequently
at
the
Leighs
.
Anne
did
not
feel
that
she
completely
liked
him
.
He
was
pure‐minded
,
certainly
,
and
generous
,
a
man
devoted
to
progress
even
in
its
humblest
forms
;
he
had
a
powerful
intellect
and
a
more
powerful
will
.
But
,
somehow
,
there
was
in
him
an
indefinable
coarseness
of
fibre
,
a
want
of
appreciation
,
of
sympathy
with
other
people’s
ideals
,
a
tendency
to
despise
all
those
around
him
,
and
to
see
meanness
in
all
those
who
were
not
in
the
same
position
,
or
who
had
not
the
same
views
and
aims
as
himself
;
above
all
,
an
unconscious
desire
to
domineer
—
a
brutal
,
almost
animal
wish
for
supremacy
,
which
his
knowledge
of
his
own
purity
and
rectitude
and
self‐sacrificing
power
made
him
accept
and
cherish
as
if
it
were
a
kind
of
holy
spirit
dwelling
within
himself
,
and
not
merely
the
product
of
a
brutal
temperament
,
which
a
noble
intellect
and
a
generous
heart
had
severed
from
all
brutish
interests
,
but
which
remained
brutal
none
the
less
.
Anne’s
pride
,
her
consciousness
of
finer
fibre
than
her
cousin’s
,
made
her
shrink
from
seeking
in
Richard
Brown
for
assistance
in
her
arduous
task
of
freeing
her
spirit
from
the
slough
of
æsthetic
selfishness
;
his
suspiciousness
of
her
motives
,
his
sarcasms
,
his
blindness
to
her
purity
of
impulse
,
all
this
galled
her
;
but
she
submitted
to
be
galled
.
She
wished
her
soul
at
least
to
be
free
,
though
her
body
might
remain
,
as
it
were
,
in
bondage
,
and
Richard
stood
at
the
door
of
that
world
of
nobler
endeavour
which
she
longed
to
enter
;
moreover
,
her
stern
spirit
made
her
take
a
sort
of
pleasure
in
the
very
bitterness
which
she
had
to
taste
.
If
Richard
had
been
sympathising
,
if
he
had
met
her
half‐way
and
tried
to
help
her
on
,
she
would
have
felt
that
she
was
bound
to
him
,
that
she
was
battering
her
liberty
once
more
;
and
vaguely
Anne
knew
that
she
must
never
be
bound
to
any
one
save
Hamlin
—
that
little
as
he
could
understand
her
,
she
was
obliged
,
for
ever
,
to
try
and
understand
him
.
And
sometimes
even
,
though
the
sense
of
Hamlin’s
baseness
,
of
his
selfish
æstheticism
and
his
untruthful
morbidness
,
weighed
more
upon
her
day
by
day
,
Anne
would
elaborately
go
over
all
that
he
had
been
to
her
—
nay
,
all
that
,
to
the
best
of
his
power
,
he
still
was
:
she
would
sit
for
hours
reading
and
re‐reading
those
treasured‐up
letters
whose
arrival
had
made
her
so
strangely
happy
at
Coblenz
;
(
how
long
,
long
ago
it
seemed
,
and
how
little
that
schoolgirl
seemed
to
share
of
her
identity
!
)
and
Anne
,
reading
over
those
letters
,
carefully
collecting
together
all
the
stances
of
Hamlin’s
generosity
and
delicacy
and
gentleness
which
she
could
remember
—
nay
,
mere
looks
and
tones
which
had
brought
home
formerly
her
love
for
him
—
made
up
out
of
them
a
simulacrum
of
Hamlin
,
and
persuaded
herself
that
she
loved
it
,
and
that
it
was
Hamlin’s
real
reality
,
the
reality
which
had
become
spoilt
by
the
horrible
moral
atmosphere
,
distorted
,
warped
,
but
a
reality
nevertheless
.
Nay
,
sometimes
the
sense
of
Hamlin’s
weakness
would
come
home
to
her
,
and
with
a
pang
make
her
feel
how
much
she
was
bound
to
suffer
,
how
much
she
was
bound
to
do
for
him
.
CHAPTER
IV
.
HAMLIN
had
forgotten
all
about
the
business
of
Cold
Fremley
,
except
that
he
had
stopped
the
printing
of
his
book
,
and
set
to
work
remodelling
the
“
Ballad
of
the
Fens
,
”
to
the
immense
admiration
of
Chough
and
Dennistoun
,
who
were
quite
reconciled
to
realism
now
that
it
was
allied
with
horrid
sin
.
But
that
Anne
was
at
all
alienated
from
him
,
never
once
entered
his
mind
.
He
noticed
,
indeed
,
that
Anne
had
grown
much
more
serious
of
late
,
that
she
seemed
less
happy
than
some
months
before
;
but
for
that
he
had
his
explanation
.
He
believed
that
her
character
was
suddenly
maturing
(
for
he
never
guessed
that
Anne’s
nature
was
one
of
those
which
mature
rapidly
,
and
whose
maturity
means
responsibility
)
,
and
that
there
was
brewing
beneath
that
sombre
exterior
a
storm
of
passion
of
which
he
was
the
object
.
That
such
a
storm
would
come
had
been
his
persuasion
from
the
very
beginning
of
his
acquaintance
with
Anne
;
he
had
guessed
in
her
some
strange
latent
force
,
and
to
see
it
develop
had
been
his
wish
.
That
long
courtship
,
that
purely
Platonic
familiarity
,
giving
scope
to
so
much
poetic
devotion
,
poetic
gratitude
,
was
always
to
end
,
in
Hamlin’s
expectation
,
with
a
sudden
burst
of
passion
,
which
should
envelop
him
,
give
his
cold
nature
the
exquisite
sensation
of
being
fired
,
carried
off
by
a
more
powerful
temperament
than
his
own
.
Hamlin
had
had
many
love‐affairs
in
his
day
,
more
or
less
pure
or
base
;
he
had
,
once
or
twice
,
been
mastered
by
the
stronger
nature
of
a
woman
,
but
that
had
been
mere
brute
passion
,
and
what
he
desired
was
to
rouse
a
passion
terrifically
overwhelming
,
but
pure
,
intellectual
,
and
with
all
the
fearful
violence
of
merely
intellectual
passions
:
a
passion
like
that
,
which
he
always
admired
more
than
any
other
in
literature
,
of
Heathcliff
for
Catharine
in
‘Wuthering
Heights
,
’
—
a
passion
such
as
some
men
have
felt
for
a
dead
woman
.
This
he
had
always
hoped
from
Anne
,
and
in
the
expectation
of
this
he
had
been
confirmed
by
every
new
revelation
of
her
character
.
Sometimes
,
when
Anne
sat
listless
in
the
midst
of
their
guests
,
her
mind
for
away
,
her
tragic
face
more
sombre
for
the
blackness
that
was
in
the
world
around
her
and
in
her
own
soul
,
Hamlin
would
watch
her
,
and
feel
,
with
a
pang
of
satisfaction
,
that
he
had
not
been
mistaken
in
her
.
“
She
is
not
a
woman
,
she
is
a
mere
splendid
statue
!
”
Lewis
had
once
exclaimed
angrily
,
as
he
felt
how
utterly
all
that
kind
of
occult
sensual
fascination
,
which
his
pale
mysterious
face
,
his
vermilion
lips
,
his
cat‐like
green
eyes
,
his
low
droning
voice
,
his
sultan‐like
freedom
of
manner
,
his
sense
of
omniscience
and
omnipotence
,
his
own
nature
,
strangely
compounded
of
the
beast
and
of
the
dreamer
,
indubitably
exercised
over
many
women
,
how
utterly
it
trickled
off
Anne
—
“
She
is
not
a
woman
,
Hamlin
,
—
she
has
an
intellect
and
a
will
,
but
she
has
no
soul
;
and
one
day
you
will
discover
it
.
”
“
She
is
not
a
woman
in
the
sense
in
which
you
conceive
a
woman
,
”
answered
Hamlin
,
contemptuously
;
“
and
she
is
as
incapable
of
what
you
and
most
of
us
call
passion
,
as
is
a
statue
.
She
has
not
one
fibre
of
what
you
could
call
womanhood
in
her
—
not
one
shred
of
the
beast
which
lies
at
the
bottom
of
all
our
natures
has
entered
into
hers
;
she
is
a
woman
of
mere
stone
and
ice
and
snow
for
men
like
you
.
But
just
for
that
reason
has
she
got
a
capacity
for
passion
—
for
a
passion
which
you
can
never
understand
—
such
as
no
other
woman
ever
had
.
What
are
all
those
precious
women
—
Cleopatras
and
Mary
Stuarts
—
call
them
whatever
you
like
,
whom
we
think
so
poetical
?
Mere
common
harlots
,
decked
out
in
poetical
gewgaws
,
at
bottom
nothing
better
than
a
Madame
Bovary
,
not
so
much
as
a
Manon
Lescaut
.
Mere
filthy
clay
shaped
into
something
comely
.
What
is
it
to
be
loved
by
one
of
them
?
You
might
as
well
be
loved
by
a
barmaid
.
”
Edmund
Lewis’s
lip
curled
.
“
Certainly
Miss
Brown
suits
you
in
your
present
mood
,
Walter
;
I
don’t
say
not
.
But
you
will
find
out
later
what
it
is
to
be
in
love
with
a
woman
who
is
stone
and
ice
and
snow
for
men
like
me
.
Madonna
Laura
and
Beatrice
are
all
very
fine
;
but
your
ideal
lady
,
I
repeat
it
,
is
no
woman
at
all
,
but
a
mere
sexless
creature
,
something
like
Victor
Hugo’s
handsome
Enjolras
in
petticoats
.
Passion
for
humanity
,
for
fame
,
for
abstract
excellence‐oh
,
as
much
of
that
as
you
like
;
but
passion
for
so
humble
a
thing
as
a
living
man
!
Never
!
”
“
Please
leave
the
subject
alone
,
Lewis
,
”
said
Hamlin
.
“
I
don’t
care
to
have
slugs
creeping
,
even
only
in
imagination
,
over
my
lilies
.
Talk
about
your
women
,
other
men’s
women
,
as
much
as
you
choose
,
but
spare
me
your
remarks
about
Miss
Brown
.
”
Chough
had
been
listening
.
The
excitable
little
poet
of
womanhood
detested
Lewis
,
whose
arrogance
grated
upon
him
,
and
whose
impurity
of
nature
unconsciously
offended
the
real
innocence
which
underlay
all
his
grandiloquently
improper
verses
.
And
Chough
adored
Anne
;
she
was
,
he
often
said
,
a
quite
new
revelation
of
womanhood
;
and
he
believed
that
,
as
passion
was
the
one
noble
thing
in
the
world
,
and
as
Miss
Brown
was
the
noblest
woman
that
had
ever
lived
,
that
there
must
be
a
deal
of
passion
in
Anne
.
“
There
is
passion
of
all
sorts
,
”
said
Chough
,
pulling
his
long
black
whiskers
;
“
the
passion
of
the
pure
animal
,
the
passion
of
the
mere
human
creature
,
and
the
passion
of
divine
essences
:
the
first
is
like
a
lush
tropical
country
;
the
second
is
like
the
manifold
sea
;
the
third
is
like
the
high
Alps
,
the
highest
strata
of
air
,
the
purest
light
.
The
passion
of
divine
essences
is
more
terrible
than
any
other
,
exactly
because
of
its
external
nature
:
it
is
tragic
.
Miss
Brown
has
that
sort
of
passion
—
”
“
Idiot
,
”
muttered
Hamlin
;
and
yet
he
felt
pleased
at
Chough’s
mystical
corroboration
of
his
ideas
.
Meanwhile
there
was
one
subject
upon
which
Anne
sympathised
warmly
with
Hamlin
,
and
that
was
his
cousin
Sacha
.
For
all
her
evident
theatricalness
,
Anne
warmed
towards
Madame
Elaguine
.
She
saw
in
her
something
frank
and
fearless
which
appealed
to
her
,
and
a
pathetic
helpless
desire
,
as
of
a
child
which
has
been
naughty
but
wants
to
learn
how
to
be
good
,
to
retrieve
her
own
wasted
life
,
to
save
her
children
from
what
she
had
undergone
herself
;
above
all
,
a
wish
to
be
in
earnest
without
well
knowing
how
to
,
a
strain
to
be
a
serious
woman
in
the
midst
of
the
habits
of
a
spoilt
child
and
of
a
flirt
.
For
a
spoilt
child
,
unaccustomed
to
self‐control
,
impatient
of
small
sacrifices
,
avid
of
excitement
and
novelty
,
avid
of
constant
attention
and
admiration
,
Madame
Elaguine
certainly
was
;
and
a
flirt
as
certainly
also
.
She
flirted
with
every
one
,
with
Hamlin
,
with
as
many
of
his
friends
—
Chough
,
Lewis
,
and
Dennistoun
—
as
he
took
to
her
;
with
Anne
,
with
the
Leigh
girls
,
with
the
solemn
schoolmasters
and
schoolmistresses
,
whom
she
interviewed
for
the
benefit
of
her
children
;
she
flirted
—
you
saw
it
by
her
smile
and
her
little
childish
laugh
of
recognition
—
with
the
very
housemaid
who
opened
the
door
;
she
flirted
with
every
man
,
woman
,
and
child
,
with
every
dog
or
cat
that
she
came
across
.
“
What
a
flirt
that
woman
is
,
to
be
sure
!
”
cried
Hamlin
,
as
he
saw
every
one
of
his
and
Anne’s
friends
subjugated
in
an
hour’s
visit
by
Madame
Elaguine
.
And
to
be
a
flirt
was
no
recommendation
to
Hamlin
;
he
wanted
to
absorb
all
admiration
,
he
wanted
to
inspire
love
;
flirts
were
his
particular
aversion
.
“
What
harm
does
her
flirting
do
?
”
answered
Anne
;
“
it
merely
makes
her
and
those
about
her
a
little
happier
.
”
“
I
thought
you
cared
only
for
serious
,
for
intense
people
,
Miss
Brown
—
you
who
are
so
serious
and
intense
yourself
.
”
“
Perhaps
I
am
too
serious
”
—
and
poor
Anne
felt
at
the
moment
that
she
certainly
was
too
serious
to
be
very
happy
;
“
but
,
however
that
may
be
,
that
is
no
reason
why
your
cousin
should
not
be
a
flirt
.
As
long
as
a
person
can
feel
strongly
and
seriously
on
serious
subjects
,
why
quarrel
with
him
or
her
for
being
childish
about
childish
matters
?
”
For
experience
had
taught
Anne
the
bitter
truth
that
people
could
be
serious
—
heaven
knows
how
serious
!
—
like
the
odious
Lewis
and
like
Hamlin
himself
,
and
yet
have
no
fibre
of
sympathy
or
indignation
;
and
her
experience
of
flippant
little
Chough
,
with
his
tenderly
cared
for
wife
—
of
flirtatious
Marjory
Leigh
and
her
humanitarian
labours
—
had
made
her
hope
most
from
the
very
people
whose
light
nature
she
,
so
earnest
and
tragic
,
could
understand
least
.
And
to
this
category
she
added
Madame
Elaguine
.
“
Your
cousin
has
strong
sides
to
her
nature
,
I
am
quite
persuaded
,
”
she
said
.
Hamlin
shrugged
his
shoulders
;
but
nevertheless
,
though
he
highly
resented
Madame
Elaguine’s
all‐round
flirtatiousness
,
he
was
forced
to
admit
to
himself
that
the
little
woman
had
,
when
you
were
in
her
presence
,
a
sort
of
magnetic
fascination
.
What
moved
Anne
was
Madame
Elaguine’s
vehement
passion
for
her
children
,
the
long
schemes
which
,
to
Hamlin’s
ennui
,
she
would
enthusiastically
dilate
upon
for
their
future
;
and
somehow
,
from
words
which
she
used
to
drop
,
it
would
seem
that
she
had
been
in
danger
of
losing
those
children
—
that
she
was
still
exposed
to
having
them
taken
from
her
,
or
to
being
in
some
way
separated
from
them
.
Anne
did
not
absolutely
formulate
to
herself
a
hope
of
helping
Madame
Elaguine
;
but
she
felt
vaguely
that
perhaps
she
,
with
her
seriousness
and
determination
,
might
help
the
excitable
and
decidedly
vague‐minded
little
woman
to
persist
in
and
carry
out
her
ideas
;
that
here
she
had
at
last
a
chance
of
being
useful
.
The
first
thing
,
Anne
felt
,
was
to
bridge
over
the
gulf
of
past
animosity
which
still
separated
Hamlin
from
his
cousin
—
to
take
away
from
Sacha
Elaguine
the
demoralising
sense
of
being
an
only
half‐forgiven
intruder
.
The
great
difficulty
was
Mrs
Macgregor
.
The
old
lady
could
not
abate
one
tittle
of
her
hatred
for
the
Sacha
of
former
days
.
“
I
tell
you
she
is
a
bad
woman
,
and
you
will
find
it
out
some
day
to
your
cost
,
”
she
would
answer
Anne
.
“
The
woman
is
contained
in
the
child
:
or
rather
the
woman
is
only
the
child
altered
and
trimmed
up
to
pass
muster
—
dressirt
,
as
my
friend
Schopenhauer
says
.
”
“
But
,
Auntie
Claudia
,
”
persisted
Anne
,
“
if
a
person
can
alter
sufficiently
to
pass
muster
,
why
should
that
person
not
alter
also
in
obedience
to
her
awakened
reason
and
conscience
?
Why
should
one
not
be
able
to
shed
the
bad
qualities
of
one’s
childhood
,
for
quite
new
and
good
ones
?
”
“
Because
one
cannot
,
Anne
;
because
the
fox
remains
a
fox
,
and
the
cat
remains
a
cat
,
and
the
swine
remains
a
swine
.
”
And
Mrs
Macgregor
looked
with
cynical
compassion
at
Anne
.
“
I
might
have
remained
a
mere
soulless
servant
,
had
every
one
gone
on
your
theory
,
”
answered
Anne
.
“
No
,
I
cannot
agree
with
you
,
Aunt
Claudia
.
I
think
it
is
terrible
to
condemn
a
woman
because
she
was
a
good‐for‐nothing
child
;
I
think
it
is
terrible
to
shut
her
out
from
sympathy
which
might
be
a
comfort
and
an
encouragement
to
her
if
she
be
still
in
need
of
any
.
”
“
Ah
,
well
,
that
is
how
you
young
people
of
to‐day
always
talk
.
You
would
object
to
sending
criminals
to
the
docks
,
because
it
is
shutting
them
out
of
improving
society
.
”
“
I
don’t
see
that
the
cases
are
parallel
.
I
merely
ask
that
a
person
be
not
condemned
where
she
could
not
be
responsible
.
If
I
thought
that
any
one
were
really
and
hopelessly
vicious
,
a
mere
source
of
evil
,
I
think
I
should
do
my
best
to
crush
them
out
,
to
trample
upon
them
.
”
“
That
is
how
you
are
,
Anne
,
willing
to
be
a
moral
sick‐nurse
or
a
moral
executioner
.
In
a
world
where
every
one
has
some
horrid
moral
disease
or
is
some
horrid
moral
nuisance
,
you
will
soon
find
that
such
a
line
as
that
leaves
no
time
to
live
.
However
,
as
to
Sacha
Polozoff
—
Madame
Elaguine
,
I
suppose
I
ought
to
call
her
—
do
whatever
you
please
.
You
are
your
own
mistress
,
and
free
to
choose
your
own
friends
.
See
as
much
of
the
woman
as
you
please
,
as
long
as
you
don’t
expect
me
to
sympathise
with
you
in
your
admiration
,
love
,
and
awe
of
her
.
”
“
I
don’t
feel
any
admiration
or
love
or
awe
for
Madame
Elaguine
.
But
I
think
that
she
is
a
comparatively
young
woman
,
very
impulsive
and
rather
injudicious
,
all
alone
here
in
London
;
and
I
think
she
ought
not
to
be
shut
out
from
the
only
house
which
she
has
,
as
Mr
Hamlin’s
cousin
,
a
sort
of
right
to
enter
.
”
“
As
you
choose
,
Anne
.
Invite
her
,
give
up
the
house
to
her
;
do
what
you
please
.
But
remember
,
when
you
have
burnt
your
fingers
,
that
I
told
you
you
were
playing
with
fire
.
”
So
Anne
had
her
way
.
And
Madame
Elaguine
came
often
to
Hammersmith
.
Hamlin
and
Anne
did
their
best
to
prevent
her
meeting
Mrs
Macgregor
;
Madame
Elaguine
was
received
mainly
in
the
studio
,
where
,
little
by
little
,
and
at
first
seemingly
casually
,
Hamlin’s
friends
would
drop
in
to
meet
her
.
She
was
a
curiously
fascinating
little
woman
.
Education
,
in
any
regular
sense
,
she
seemed
never
to
have
had
;
she
was
grotesquely
ignorant
about
a
great
many
things
,
and
laughed
at
it
herself
.
“
I
am
teaching
myself
arithmetic
in
order
to
teach
my
boy
a
little
before
he
goes
to
school
,
”
she
would
say
—
or
spelling
,
or
grammar
,
or
something
similar
.
On
the
other
hand
,
she
had
a
lot
of
superficial
accomplishments
,
like
most
Russians
:
she
spoke
four
or
five
languages
with
tolerable
correctness
and
extraordinary
fluency
;
she
had
,
in
some
mysterious
manner
,
acquired
Greek
.
She
read
little
,
and
that
little
mainly
novels
and
poetry
;
but
,
with
her
Russian
rapidity
to
adapt
herself
to
a
new
position
,
she
had
scarcely
realised
that
she
had
been
accidentally
drafted
into
æsthetical
society
,
before
she
had
got
æsthetic
literature
,
æsthetic
gossip
,
and
æsthetic
modes
of
feeling
at
her
finger‐ends
.
She
immediately
understood
the
relative
positions
of
Hamlin
,
of
Chough
,
of
Dennistoun
,
of
Lewis
,
and
of
all
the
others
;
and
was
able
to
talk
to
each
as
he
best
liked
to
be
talked
to
.
She
began
with
a
passion
for
Alfred
de
Musset
,
for
Gautier
,
for
Catulle
Mendès
,
and
she
rapidly
became
an
enthusiast
for
Swinburne
,
for
Rossetti
,
for
Chough
,
and
,
above
all
,
“
for
that
genius
,
Monsieur
mon
cousin
.
”
She
let
herself
be
talked
to
about
æsthetic
dresses
,
gravely
listening
(
with
only
a
little
side‐look
of
amusement
at
Hamlin
or
Anne
)
to
Mrs
Spencer’s
strictures
on
modern
costumes
,
on
stays
,
and
heels
,
and
tight
waists
and
full
skirts
;
and
she
immediately
set
to
work
untrimming
her
frocks
and
making
them
up
into
wondrous
garments
,
not
at
all
like
what
any
æsthetic
woman
had
ever
worn
in
her
life
,
but
queer
,
fantastic
,
delightful
,
neither
Greek
nor
medieval
,
but
individual
and
quaint
and
fascinating
.
“
Dressmaking
,
as
long
as
only
pins
are
required
,
is
my
one
talent
,
my
one
accomplishment
,
”
she
would
say
,
when
any
one
admired
the
capricious
garments
,
in
which
she
looked
sometimes
like
a
schoolgirl
,
and
sometimes
like
a
page
in
woman’s
clothes
,
and
sometimes
almost
like
a
little
nun
.
But
this
was
not
the
case
.
Without
ever
having
learned
,
she
sang
with
wonderful
charm
:
a
small
,
childish
,
high
voice
,
which
trilled
out
Russian
and
Spanish
and
French
folk‐songs
,
and
which
had
a
strange
,
hot
,
passionate
power
of
singing
those
German
songs
which
poor
Anne
,
for
all
her
fine
voice
(
which
Chough
used
distressingly
to
compare
with
that
of
various
equivocal
singers
of
former
days
)
and
her
conscientious
learning
,
could
never
succeed
in
rendering
.
But
the
fact
was
that
Madame
Elaguine’s
personality
was
surrounded
by
a
vague
halo
and
shimmer
of
talents
:
she
had
never
learned
to
do
anything
,
yet
she
could
somehow
do
everything
;
she
could
write
fearfully
misspelt
but
fascinating
letters
and
bits
of
verse
and
prose
;
she
could
mimic
and
act
.
“
She
is
a
first‐rate
actress
,
”
was
one
of
the
first
things
which
Edmund
Lewis
,
who
seemed
at
once
singularly
attracted
and
puzzled
by
her
,
found
to
say
about
Madame
Elaguine
.
“
You
think
that
because
she
sometimes
looks
a
little
like
Sarah
Bernhardt
,
”
answered
Hamlin
,
who
never
cared
much
to
hear
his
cousin
praised
,
since
everything
which
was
praised
in
her
seemed
to
point
to
a
deficiency
in
Anne
.
“
I
think
she
is
an
actress
because
I
see
it
,
”
answered
Lewis
,
in
his
positive
way
.
“
For
my
part
,
I
don’t
think
any
of
you
half
appreciate
all
that
there
is
in
Madame
Elaguine
.
”
“
A
nice
little
kittenish
,
intelligent
flirt
;
just
the
same
as
a
hundred
Russian
women
one
has
known
,
”
said
Hamlin
.
Lewis
shook
his
head
.
“
That
woman
is
not
a
mere
ordinary
flirt
.
She
has
an
almost
unique
temperament
:
she
is
a
first‐rate
medium
;
I
feel
it
.
”
“
You
have
felt
so
many
people
to
be
first‐rate
mediums
,
Mr
Lewis
,
”
said
Anne
,
scornfully
.
“
Do
you
remember
,
you
thought
once
that
I
was
one
.
”
“
So
I
did
.
But
this
time
I’m
not
mistaken
;
”
and
he
gave
Anne
one
of
those
looks
of
fierce
aversion
which
,
loathing
him
as
she
did
,
she
rather
liked
from
the
little
painter
.
However
,
Lewis
proved
right
this
time
.
Madame
Elaguine
had
scarcely
ever
heard
about
spiritualism
,
but
she
threw
herself
into
it
with
all
her
Russian
ardour
,
and
in
a
very
short
time
,
under
Lewis’s
guidance
,
became
a
great
adept
.
Lewis
declared
that
he
had
never
met
so
gifted
a
medium
in
his
life
;
and
,
indeed
,
Madame
Elaguine
showed
a
perfectly
marvellous
power
of
going
off
into
trances
,
reading
thoughts
,
and
otherwise
communicating
with
spirit‐land
.
A
young
doctor
,
one
of
Marjory
Leigh’s
hygienic
demigods
,
whom
she
brought
to
call
on
Anne
,
once
met
Madame
Elaguine
at
Hammersmith
.
Anne
noticed
the
way
in
which
he
watched
her
face
and
manner
;
she
seemed
somehow
to
interest
him
as
a
problem
.
“
Why
were
you
staring
so
at
Mr
Hamlin’s
cousin
?
”
asked
Marjory
Leigh
when
the
Russian
had
left
.
“
Staring
at
her
?
”
answered
the
Professor
,
vaguely
.
“
She
is
a
very
pretty
woman
,
and
very
charming
,
”
said
Anne
;
“
I
think
that
is
sufficient
explanation
.
”
“
Well
,
”
said
the
young
doctor
,
a
rough
,
brusque
creature
,
“
that
wasn’t
exactly
the
reason
.
I
was
thinking
how
very
—
well
,
to
put
it
plainly
—
how
very
hysterical
a
subject
that
lady
looks
.
”
“
What
do
you
mean
by
hysterical
?
”
said
Anne
,
quickly
.
“
She
is
very
nervous
,
but
she
doesn’t
seem
to
me
to
be
at
all
subject
to
any
kind
of
fits
.
”
“
That’s
not
what
we
mean
by
hysteria
,
”
exclaimed
the
doctor
.
“
Hysteria
isn’t
a
fit
of
hysterics
;
it
is
a
condition
of
morbid
nervous
excitability
,
usually
accompanied
by
a
certain
loss
of
will‐power
.
Hysterical
subjects
are
a
kind
of
milder
mad
men
and
women
;
their
characters
undergo
curious
modifications
;
they
haven’t
the
same
responsibilities
as
others
.
I
wonder
whether
that
lady
is
not
a
spiritualist
,
—
she
looks
like
it
.
”
“
She
has
let
Mr
Lewis
,
who
has
gone
in
a
good
deal
for
that
sort
of
thing
,
mesmerise
her
once
or
twice
,
”
answered
Anne
.
“
I
don’t
believe
in
that
rubbish
myself
.
”
“
Nor
do
I
.
But
there
is
this
much
of
truth
in
it
,
that
some
sorts
of
temperaments
are
naturally
inclined
to
it
,
and
that
it
reacts
upon
them
.
And
I
should
think
it
would
be
the
case
with
that
lady
.
”
“
But
surely
,
”
hesitated
Anne
,
“
people
who
are
in
good
health
—
who
have
never
had
any
kind
of
nervous
illness
or
shock
—
don’t
get
into
that
state
.
”
“
Oh
yes
,
they
do
.
It
is
often
hereditary
;
one
or
two
,
or
even
sometimes
only
one
,
depraved
ancestor
will
do
it
for
you
.
”
The
recollection
of
all
she
had
heard
of
Sacha’s
horrible
profligate
old
Russian
father
,
of
her
violent
and
weak
and
constantly
ailing
mother
,
flashed
across
Anne
.
And
then
came
also
the
remembrance
of
those
portraits
at
Wotton
Hall
—
of
those
generations
of
weak
and
depraved
planters
,
who
had
been
the
grandfathers
and
granduncles
of
Sacha
as
well
as
of
Hamlin
.
And
any
remaining
ill‐will
which
Mrs
Macgregor’s
stories
had
left
was
swept
away
.
Anne
did
not
like
Madame
Elaguine
,
in
the
same
way
that
she
liked
the
Leighs
or
even
Mrs
Spencer
;
but
she
felt
a
sudden
strong
compassion
for
her
.
Perhaps
,
she
thought
,
there
is
more
goodness
in
the
world
than
I
guessed
.
And
it
seemed
to
her
that
this
giddy
little
woman
,
with
her
passionate
desire
for
the
welfare
of
her
children
,
this
woman
who
had
struggled
through
the
disadvantages
of
hereditary
weakness
and
corrupt
training
,
was
a
sort
of
a
hero
.
CHAPTER
V.
AUTUMN
turned
to
winter
,
and
at
last
Hamlin’s
long‐expected
,
much‐talked‐of
book
of
new
poems
made
its
appearance
.
In
her
gradual
estrangement
from
Hamlin
,
in
the
gradual
replacing
of
the
ideal
creature
whom
she
had
so
fervently
loved
by
a
reality
by
which
she
was
beginning
to
be
repelled
,
Anne
had
hung
some
of
her
last
hopes
to
Hamlin’s
poetry
.
She
would
often
say
to
herself
that
,
after
all
,
Hamlin
made
no
pretence
to
being
anything
more
than
an
artistic
nature
;
that
he
was
a
great
artist
,
born
to
give
the
world
a
certain
amount
of
pleasure
,
and
that
she
had
no
right
to
ask
of
him
to
be
anything
else
.
What
could
she
,
willing
as
she
was
to
sympathise
and
to
work
,
—
what
could
a
man
like
Richard
Brown
,
with
all
his
self‐sacrificing
energy
and
ability
,
do
for
mankind
that
might
compare
with
what
had
been
done
by
Leonardo
,
by
Mozart
,
by
Keats
—
men
as
solely
artistic
as
Hamlin
?
and
Hamlin
was
a
great
poet
,
and
would
become
a
greater
one
—
of
that
Anne
felt
persuaded
,
for
his
work
was
steadily
improving
,
and
there
were
things
in
this
book
which
she
recognised
as
having
the
highest
merit
.
So
she
clung
to
Hamlin’s
poetry
as
to
an
anchor
for
his
nobility
and
for
her
affection
.
At
length
the
volume
was
published
.
Hamlin
arrived
at
Hammersmith
one
morning
and
placed
a
copy
of
it
by
the
side
of
Anne’s
plate
at
breakfast
.
“
It
is
the
first
copy
,
”
he
said
,
“
and
as
such
,
belongs
to
you
.
”
“
Thank
you
,
”
said
Anne
,
flushing
with
pleasure
;
for
,
opening
the
book
,
she
found
on
the
fly‐leaf
a
little
poem
,
imitated
from
the
love‐songs
of
the
Tuscan
peasants
,
in
which
Hamlin
dedicated
the
volume
to
her
;
it
was
beautiful
and
simple
and
almost
solemn
—
the
very
flower
of
that
distant
and
poetic
love
which
he
professed
towards
her
.
“
You
have
put
in
the
‘Ballad
of
the
Fens’
after
all
!
Oh
,
thank
you
so
much
,
Mr
Hamlin
!
You
know
I
always
thought
it
the
best
thing
you
have
ever
done
,
”
she
exclaimed
.
Hamlin
did
not
answer
;
perhaps
because
he
was
aware
that
this
“
Ballad
of
the
Fens
,
”
rewritten
under
the
influence
of
Dennistoun
,
was
not
the
same
as
the
one
which
he
had
torn
up
three
months
before
.
Anne
soon
discovered
it
:
reading
through
the
still
uncut
sheets
,
she
found
that
instead
of
the
story
of
married
love
,
which
had
called
down
the
wrath
of
the
whole
school
,
Hamlin
had
set
in
his
beautiful
descriptions
a
ghastly
tale
which
she
scarcely
required
more
than
to
glance
at
.
So
this
was
all
that
had
come
of
her
having
mentioned
Cold
Fremley
to
him
!
“
I
think
I
have
made
the
story
more
tragic
and
more
in
harmony
with
the
surrounding
nature
.
I
always
felt
that
I
needed
some
more
powerful
and
terrible
situation
.
Like
this
,
I
think
the
effect
is
sufficiently
worked
out
,
don’t
you
think
?
”
“
Yes
,
”
said
Anne
,
icily
.
There
was
the
description
of
the
sunset
on
the
fens
,
of
the
broad
slow
river
flowing
between
low
green
banks
,
its
clotted
masses
reflecting
the
red
sunset
embers
;
the
description
of
the
whole
scene
as
they
had
witnessed
it
;
and
then
a
description
of
the
people
of
Cold
Fremley
,
of
their
lives
and
sins
,
in
which
she
could
almost
recognise
her
own
words
in
which
she
had
vainly
pleaded
for
them
that
memorable
afternoon
in
his
studio
.
A
cold
terror
prevented
Anne
from
turning
at
once
to
the
sonnets
.
But
after
all
,
had
he
not
,
as
it
were
,
promised
to
abide
by
her
choice
?
had
he
not
submitted
,
however
reluctantly
,
to
the
condemnation
of
those
twelve
sonnets
?
Anne
felt
ashamed
of
her
own
suspicions
and
fears
;
she
boldly
turned
to
the
end
of
the
book
,
peeped
between
the
leaves
—
“
Desire
—
XII
.
Sonnets
.
”
Anne
did
not
know
what
was
the
feeling
which
filled
her
.
She
had
never
felt
it
before
.
It
was
too
cold
to
be
indignation
,
too
self‐possessed
to
be
horror
:
she
seemed
surrounded
by
an
icy
atmosphere
,
through
which
she
saw
Hamlin
as
through
a
mist
.
He
had
broken
his
word
,
and
for
what
?
To
attribute
to
himself
vicious
thoughts
and
feelings
which
he
had
never
had
.
Anne
said
not
a
word
;
the
man
who
was
capable
of
acting
thus
could
not
understand
if
he
were
chidden
for
it
.
Breakfast
passed
gloomily
,
talking
little
,
or
of
indifferent
things
.
Hamlin
was
evidently
ruffled
by
this
reception
of
his
book
.
“
Are
you
going
to
sit
to
me
this
morning
,
Miss
Brown
?
”
he
asked
with
some
irritation
,
as
he
rose
from
table
.
“
I
will
,
if
you
wish
me
to
.
”
Anne’s
voice
smote
him
as
if
he
had
opened
the
window
to
a
snowstorm
.
“
Have
you
anything
else
to
do
?
”
“
I
always
have
plenty
to
do
,
you
know
.
If
you
don’t
want
me
,
I
shall
go
out
with
Marjory
Leigh
.
”
“
So
much
the
better
.
I
don’t
feel
as
if
I
could
work
successfully
this
morning
,
and
I
should
be
sorry
to
detain
you
for
nothing
at
all
.
I
will
go
and
ask
my
cousin
whether
she
would
care
to
see
Lewis’s
studio
.
This
weather
is
very
depressing
.
”
“
Very
,
”
answered
Anne
.
Anne
went
out
with
Marjory
Leigh
,
who
was
on
a
round
of
visiting
poor
people
at
Lainbeth
.
They
were
joined
by
Harry
Collett
.
He
stood
in
great
awe
of
his
future
bride’s
superior
wisdom
and
dogmatic
manner
;
but
it
was
touching
to
see
how
completely
these
two
creatures
—
the
shy
and
mystical
curate
,
and
the
masterful
and
rationalistic
young
woman
,
who
was
wont
to
tell
him
that
some
day
he
should
be
persuaded
that
only
secular
work
was
really
useful
,
and
the
Church
ought
to
be
disestablished
—
understood
each
other
,
and
sympathised
in
their
best
endeavours
.
“
Hamlin
has
brought
out
a
new
book
,
”
said
Collett
to
Anne
.
“
How
proud
you
must
be
,
Miss
Brown
!
he
has
been
quite
another
man
,
twice
as
cheerful
and
devoted
to
his
art
,
since
he
has
known
you
.
For
a
poet
like
him
,
so
sensitive
and
easily
depressed
,
it
must
be
a
great
thing
to
have
a
noble
woman
to
encourage
him
.
”
Anne
did
not
answer
.
She
felt
alone
—
alone
as
in
a
desert
,
without
an
ear
to
hear
her
,
or
a
hand
to
touch
hers
.
Often
did
that
sensation
recur
to
her
now
;
a
sensation
as
of
dragging
wearily
and
alone
along
an
ice‐bound
road
,
under
a
grey
wintry
sky
,
weary
and
solitary
,
but
with
the
knowledge
that
the
more
solitary
and
weary
she
felt
,
the
more
was
she
bound
to
plod
on
.
Things
that
happened
seemed
spectral
.
Here
in
London
she
saw
less
of
Hamlin
than
in
the
country
;
he
was
going
about
with
his
friends
,
he
was
at
his
cousin’s
.
She
did
not
know
or
care
where
.
People
talked
a
great
deal
about
the
new
book
;
and
only
Anne
was
silent
.
“
You
don’t
like
Hamlin’s
new
book
,
”
said
Richard
Brown
to
her
one
evening
,
fixing
his
eyes
upon
her
in
his
ruthless
way
.
He
came
often
now
;
he
had
apparently
got
to
believe
in
her
,
and
he
even
held
out
a
possibility
to
her
,
if
she
continued
to
work
steadily
,
reading
and
attending
lectures
,
that
she
might
by
the
summer‐time
be
able
to
offer
herself
to
teach
the
elements
of
political
economy
at
the
Working
Women’s
Club
.
“
You
don’t
like
Hamlin’s
new
book
.
”
It
was
not
a
question
,
but
an
assertion
,
and
Anne
felt
it
as
a
taunt
.
“
I
like
some
things
in
it
extremely
,
”
she
answered
boldly
;
“
but
I
dislike
and
disapprove
of
some
others
.
”
Brown
made
a
characteristic
upward
movement
with
one
of
his
big
black
eyebrows
.
“
I
thought
that
you
æsthetic
folk
never
disapproved
of
anything
—
that
it
was
against
the
canons
of
art
to
disapprove
.
”
“
I
am
not
an
æsthete
,
Richard
.
If
I
were
,
I
should
not
be
trying
to
learn
the
things
in
which
you
take
interest
.
”
“
True
.
And
does
Hamlin
know
that
you
dislike
and
disapprove
of
some
of
his
poems
?
”
For
a
moment
Anne
did
not
answer
.
Brown’s
question
was
like
an
insolent
attempt
to
see
into
her
heart
.
Yet
what
right
had
she
to
hide
anything
?
“
He
knows
exactly
what
I
think
about
all
his
poems
;
but
he
does
not
,
naturally
,
agree
with
me
in
all
my
views
.
”
She
was
determined
to
keep
her
cousin
at
a
distance
.
He
had
hated
her
ever
becoming
connected
with
æsthetic
society
,
and
he
tried
to
force
her
to
admit
that
she
regretted
it
.
But
Brown
had
an
inveterate
hatred
which
he
could
not
put
aside
.
“
Have
you
seen
the
review
in
the
‘Saturday
Gazette’
?
”
he
asked
.
The
review
was
one
of
the
few
bad
ones
which
Hamlin’s
book
had
had
,
among
a
chorus
of
good
ones
.
But
it
was
written
by
a
rabid
enemy
of
pre‐Raphaelite
poetry
;
and
who
had
taken
the
occasion
of
this
book
to
show
up
what
he
considered
the
pestilent
moral
condition
of
the
whole
school
.
“
Yes
;
I
have
.
It
is
a
very
unjust
and
violent
attack
,
and
quite
indiscriminating
.
”
“
So
I
thought
.
Still
,
what
it
quoted
from
the
sonnets
called
Desire
seemed
,
so
far
,
to
bear
out
its
statements
.
What
do
you
think
?
”
“
I
think
,
”
answered
Anne
slowly
,
and
choking
her
pride
and
emotion
,
“
that
all
he
says
about
those
sonnets
is
quite
correct
.
I
think
it
is
most
regrettable
that
they
should
have
been
published
.
But
I
think
that
in
writing
them
Mr
Hamlin
was
merely
following
the
vicious
traditions
of
his
school
;
and
I
know
that
he
is
,
in
reality
,
a
perfectly
pure‐minded
man
.
And
,
”
she
added
,
as
if
to
put
an
end
to
the
conversation
,
“
he
is
the
man
to
whom
I
owe
more
gratitude
than
any
woman
ever
owed
to
any
man
.
”
Brown
did
not
press
the
conversation
.
He
understood
.
He
had
of
late
been
getting
to
comprehend
Anne’s
character
;
he
recognised
her
serious
unselfishness
,
her
indomitable
desire
for
good
;
he
saw
in
her
a
strange
straining
dissatisfaction
—
a
something
which
was
as
the
beating
of
a
bird’s
wings
against
its
cage
.
And
now
he
understood
whence
it
came
.
“
She
has
made
her
choice
and
must
abide
by
it
,
”
he
said
sternly
to
himself
,
remembering
that
scene
when
he
had
tried
vainly
to
dissuade
her
from
accepting
Hamlin’s
offer
,
and
she
had
answered
,
“
I
love
him
!
”
“
She
has
sold
her
soul
into
bondage
,
and
must
accept
the
isolation
and
silence
and
uselessness
of
a
slave
.
”
But
then
,
as
he
said
good
night
and
looked
at
that
noble
face
,
whose
tragic
intensity
of
rectitude
was
now
revealed
to
him
,
Richard
Brown
could
not
help
feeling
a
pang
.
“
Poor
child
!
”
he
said
to
himself
;
and
wished
he
had
proved
less
of
a
prophet
than
he
believed
himself
to
have
done
.
He
began
,
in
consequence
,
to
feel
a
little
ashamed
of
himself
,
and
came
oftener
to
see
Anne
.
He
was
a
brilliant
man
when
you
got
him
on
his
own
subjects
,
warm‐hearted
,
self‐sacrificing
,
ambitious
,
eloquent
;
and
he
had
always
a
number
of
practical
schemes
at
heart
.
Originally
a
hand
at
a
foundry
,
he
had
for
some
time
,
like
Anne’s
father
,
been
smitten
with
communistic
theories
;
but
instead
of
being
tempted
into
becoming
a
socialistic
demagogue
,
he
had
,
when
he
was
about
twenty‐five
,
given
up
the
little
workman’s
newspaper
,
of
which
he
was
editor
and
chief
author
,
and
deliberately
set
to
work
studying
economical
and
social
questions
in
the
intervals
of
his
work
,
carefully
suspending
his
judgment
during
the
while
.
To
a
man
as
impetuous
and
ambitious
as
Brown
,
to
whom
the
easy
and
tempting
path
of
party
leader
lay
open
,
such
a
course
must
have
meant
a
terrible
and
long‐sustained
effort
of
self‐control
.
But
his
indomitable
conscience
and
will
had
carried
him
through
it
;
and
now
he
was
reaping
the
unexpected
reward
of
his
forbearance
.
While
slowly
working
his
way
in
business
and
studying
the
subjects
which
were
dearest
to
him
,
he
had
managed
also
to
cultivate
a
mechanical
genius
,
which
seemed
in
some
way
hereditary
in
the
family
of
Anne’s
father
,
who
,
in
happier
circumstances
,
might
perhaps
have
been
a
brilliant
inventor
instead
of
a
starving
expatriated
workman
.
He
had
made
valuable
improvements
in
the
foundry
of
which
he
had
become
the
foreman
,
and
had
now
,
for
the
last
two
years
,
been
the
chief
partner
and
virtual
director
of
the
business
,
with
a
fair
livelihood
in
the
present
,
and
a
large
fortune
and
great
influence
in
the
immediate
future
.
But
money
and
influence
were
nothing
to
Richard
Brown
;
or
rather
,
influence
to
him
meant
merely
the
triumph
of
his
own
philanthropical
schemes
.
Selfish
he
undoubtedly
was
,
but
his
selfishness
,
his
vanity
,
his
pride
,
his
ambition
,
were
drafted
off
into
the
service
of
others
.
Anne
listened
with
enthusiasm
,
but
not
unmixed
with
sadness
,
to
her
cousin’s
projects
for
educating
the
lower
classes
,
for
bringing
home
to
the
upper
classes
their
own
responsibilities
;
they
had
the
charm
of
dreams
,
but
of
the
dreams
of
a
man
who
seemed
able
to
make
what
he
desired
into
reality
.
Even
in
this
æsthetic
society
,
which
had
looked
upon
him
with
suspicion
and
loathing
,
Richard
Brown
got
a
certain
importance
.
He
would
spend
hours
with
old
Saunders
the
painter
,
and
his
daughter
,
the
enthusiastic
Mrs
Spencer
,
discussing
the
way
of
introducing
more
beautiful
patterns
into
trade
,
and
of
getting
up
schools
of
design
and
loan
exhibitions
for
the
poorer
classes
.
“
He
is
a
man
of
the
middle
ages
!
”
Mrs
Spencer
would
enthusiastically
exclaim
;
“
if
only
we
had
a
few
more
like
him
,
we
should
soon
build
cathedrals
and
town‐halls
like
those
of
the
fourteenth
century
.
”
“
He
is
a
canny
Radical
,
”
answered
her
father
,
“
but
a
gude
sort
of
man
.
For
my
part
,
I
don’t
much
believe
in
educating
the
lower
classes
up
to
art
,
but
there’s
no
harm
in
trying
,
and
,
at
least
,
we
shall
get
better‐made
chairs
and
tables
for
our
money
.
”
Chough
was
equally
enthusiastic
.
Richard
Brown
was
anxious
to
get
up
some
concerts
at
a
kind
of
workman’s
union
at
which
he
presided
;
and
Chough
—
yes
,
the
great
Chough
himself
,
who
hinted
mysteriously
that
his
father
(
who
was
an
apothecary
at
Limerick
)
was
a
duke
,
but
that
he
would
rather
die
than
succeed
to
the
title
—
was
prevailed
upon
to
take
the
musical
direction
upon
himself
.
While
these
schemes
were
going
on
,
Madame
Elaguine
met
Richard
Brown
.
There
was
something
in
this
big
,
burly
,
rather
brutal
man
,
which
immediately
fascinated
the
nervous
little
Russian
woman
:
she
sat
at
Brown’s
feet
,
she
listened
with
rapture
to
his
theories
,
she
threw
herself
headlong
into
the
plan
of
the
concerts
;
she
offered
to
perform
,
to
teach
,
to
do
whatever
Brown
might
wish
.
Hamlin
was
thoroughly
disgusted
with
his
cousin
Sacha
,
who
had
hitherto
known
no
divinity
save
him
and
pure
beauty
,
when
he
saw
her
devoting
herself
to
humanitarianism
,
personified
in
what
he
called
“
that
shoddy
philanthropical
black
brute
.
”
He
became
vehemently
devoted
to
Anne
.
He
seemed
to
repent
of
his
book
.
He
declared
himself
sick
of
London
and
of
æsthetic
society
.
“
I
must
turn
over
a
new
leaf
,
”
he
said
.
“
I
feel
I
must
,
or
sink
into
being
no
better
than
Chough
or
Dennistoun
.
But
I
am
too
weak
to
turn
it
over
alone
.
Will
you
help
me
,
Miss
Brown
?
”
—
and
he
looked
at
her
with
his
slow
,
beautiful
glance
of
Platonic
love
.
Anne
smiled
sadly
.
“
No
one
can
help
any
one
,
I
am
beginning
to
fear
;
and
I
least
of
all
.
”
She
had
got
so
accustomed
to
these
sudden
returns
of
Hamlin’s
,
to
these
false
starts
,
these
longings
after
a
healthier
moral
and
intellectual
atmosphere
,
which
came
to
nothing
.
She
saw
so
plainly
the
hopeless
weakness
and
thinness
of
his
nature
;
and
yet
in
such
moments
she
could
not
help
feeling
some
of
that
old
love
for
this
beautiful
,
delicate
,
idealistic
,
chivalrous
creature
whom
she
knew
to
be
mere
selfishness
and
vanity
.
If
only
he
would
remain
thus
at
least
.
“
Perhaps
you
are
right
,
”
answered
Hamlin
,
leaning
over
the
piano
at
which
she
was
seated
;
“
but
I
feel
myself
sick
of
this
life
,
this
poetry
.
All
is
false
,
false
,
hollow
,
and
empty
.
My
verses
are
untrue
,
my
pictures
are
mere
Christmas
cards
;
even
with
you
as
a
model
,
I
feel
I
am
always
repeating
the
same
wearisome
insipid
trick
of
eyes
,
and
mouth
,
and
neck
.
Oh
,
I
don’t
know
what
to
do
!
”
It
was
but
too
true
.
That
school
of
mere
beautiful
suggestion
,
which
scorned
reality
and
mechanical
skill
as
a
bird
scorns
the
ground
,
was
fast
sinking
into
nullity
.
Anne
had
often
remarked
it
in
comparing
the
works
of
various
masters
;
she
had
noticed
the
stray
sentences
,
not
meant
for
her
,
dropped
by
painters
of
other
schools
.
“
Go
to
Paris
and
study
for
a
year
or
so
under
Bastien‐Lepage
,
or
Henner
,
or
Duran
,
”
she
said
,
with
a
smile
at
the
vanity
of
her
own
words
.
Hamlin
could
not
even
conceive
that
she
was
in
earnest
,
that
any
one
could
dream
of
seeing
anything
in
modern
French
painting
,
that
any
one
could
be
so
mad
as
to
think
of
his
studying
.
“
Yes
,
”
he
cried
,
“
that
is
the
only
art
that
can
live
in
our
day
!
Ours
is
a
mere
phantom
;
our
poetry
is
a
phantom
;
they
come
round
us
imploring
us
to
give
them
life
,
like
the
ghosts
round
Odysseus’s
trench
.
But
who
shall
give
them
life
?
Where
shall
we
get
the
life‐blood
of
passion
whereon
to
feed
and
revivify
them
?
”
And
he
suddenly
turned
round
and
looked
at
her
with
great
yearning
eyes
.
Hamlin
was
genuinely
unhappy
,
though
he
did
not
guess
that
his
unhappiness
was
due
to
vacuity
,
to
slighted
vanity
,
to
the
sudden
infatuation
of
Madame
Elaguine
for
a
shoddy
philanthropist
.
He
longed
for
passion
as
,
in
hot
climates
,
after
months
of
faint
sultriness
,
one
longs
for
rain
and
wind
;
and
he
looked
at
Anne
as
one
might
watch
the
dark
clouds
hanging
on
the
hills
,
the
dark
clouds
which
hold
the
storm
for
which
one
is
thirsting
.
Oh
for
a
strong
passion
!
—
it
would
revive
him
,
revive
his
art
.
Hamlin
did
not
say
it
to
himself
in
so
many
words
,
but
he
felt
it
.
He
talked
long
and
vehemently
about
the
necessity
of
going
outside
one’s
self
,
of
transmuting
one’s
consciousness
into
that
of
another
,
of
having
something
beyond
one’s
self
to
live
for
.
He
told
Anne
,
always
with
those
yearning
eyes
fixed
upon
her
,
that
what
was
wanted
to
revive
the
world
and
art
(
and
by
the
world
he
meant
himself
)
was
passion
;
but
not
the
mere
sultry
passion
which
his
school
had
sung
about
,
which
merely
enervated
and
sent
to
sleep
,
but
the
clear
cold
air
,
the
whirlwinds
and
thunderstorms
of
ideal
love
—
of
love
such
as
Dante
had
felt
for
Beatrice
,
and
Heathcliff
for
Cathey
.
It
was
very
eloquent
and
beautiful
what
he
said
about
this
love
,
which
was
something
vague
and
quite
unselfish
and
outside
one’s
self
,
—
a
sort
of
act
of
adoration
and
