wounded.
The
next
day
Hamlin
made
an
effort
over
himself
:
he
seemed
anxious
to
be
as
kind
as
possible
to
Perry
;
but
somehow
it
did
not
succeed
.
Melton
Perry
would
have
liked
,
as
he
said
,
to
have
Walter
all
to
himself
,
to
sit
with
him
by
the
hour
together
,
or
walk
out
alone
with
him
,
talking
of
old
times
;
but
Hamlin
seemed
possessed
by
a
nervous
dread
of
a
tête‐à‐tête
.
He
could
not
sit
in
the
studio
with
Perry
for
more
than
half
an
hour
without
,
on
some
excuse
or
other
,
calling
his
aunt
or
Miss
Brown
.
He
seemed
to
have
invited
a
lot
of
people
to
drop
in
at
all
hours
,
as
if
to
protect
him
from
his
old
friend
.
“
It’s
awfully
good
of
old
Hamlin
to
wish
me
to
know
all
these
grand
swell
painters
and
newspaper
writers
,
”
said
Perry
to
Anne
,
in
the
tone
of
a
disappointed
child
;
“
and
I
suppose
it
is
very
useful
to
me
.
But
still
,
I
wish
I
could
get
him
to
understand
that
what
I
want
at
present
is
to
see
just
him
and
you
;
that
all
these
confounded
influential
people
will
keep
;
and
that
I’d
rather
have
a
good
talk
over
a
pipe
with
him
alone
,
as
in
old
days
.
”
Anne
did
not
answer
.
It
seemed
to
her
that
she
understood
so
well
why
Hamlin
dreaded
a
tête‐à‐tête
with
Melton
Perry
;
a
tête‐à‐t
;
ête
which
would
be
,
largely
,
a
talk
about
the
past
and
the
future
,
about
her
,
Anne
Brown
.
But
Anne
could
not
think
about
poor
Perry
and
his
disappointed
friendliness
;
her
whole
nature
seemed
to
be
staggering
and
reeling
,
and
the
concerns
of
other
folk
were
as
distant
,
as
unattainable
,
as
they
might
be
to
a
person
tossed
for
hours
on
a
stormy
sea
,
paralysed
,
removed
as
it
were
from
the
world
by
an
unspeakable
sense
of
nausea
.
The
days
seemed
to
reel
past
,
and
yet
not
a
week
was
gone
since
the
arrival
of
Melton
Perry
.
One
afternoon
,
they
were
seated
—
Hamlin
,
Perry
,
and
she
—
with
Mrs
Macgregor
at
tea
in
the
dim
,
shuttered
drawing‐room
,
with
the
heavy
scent
of
flowers
,
when
Richard
Brown
was
announced
.
If
a
ghost
had
appeared
on
the
threshold
,
Anne
could
not
have
turned
paler
,
and
trembled
harder
in
all
her
limbs
—
this
man
,
whom
she
had
seen
but
a
week
ago
,
seemed
indeed
a
spectre
out
of
the
past
,
the
long
dead
past
,
with
which
all
connection
was
severed
.
It
was
an
immense
relief
to
her
not
to
be
alone
;
she
had
an
instinct
that
Richard
had
come
to
ask
her
whether
,
at
last
,
she
had
settled
matters
with
Hamlin
;
she
thought
she
could
see
his
eyes
going
from
Hamlin’s
face
to
her
own
inquiringly
.
The
conversation
was
languid
and
indifferent
.
Richard
Brown
wished
for
an
explanation
from
her
;
Melton
Perry
hoped
for
an
explanation
from
Richard
Brown
;
Hamlin
looked
on
passively
,
with
that
half‐stupefied
look
which
she
had
noticed
in
him
lately
.
Hamlin
was
more
than
merely
depressed
,
he
was
very
sad
;
his
face
,
so
handsome
and
still
so
young
,
so
perfectly
unmarked
in
feature
,
contrasted
strikingly
with
the
pleased
,
happy‐go‐lucky
,
kindly
face
of
Perry
;
with
the
strong
,
eager
,
contemptuous
face
of
Brown
.
For
a
moment
Anne
wondered
what
this
sadness
meant
;
whether
there
was
in
him
any
recollection
of
what
he
was
,
of
what
he
might
be
;
whether
the
poet
,
the
dreamer
,
the
chivalrous
Hamlin
of
former
days
,
still
existed
and
suffered
within
this
weak
and
degraded
Hamlin
of
the
present
;
and
then
,
suddenly
,
this
thought
came
in
violent
contact
with
the
remembrance
of
Perry’s
story
of
Constantine
Bulzo
.
Had
Constantine
Bulzo
looked
like
that
?
Richard
Brown
,
obviously
disappointed
in
his
visit
,
rose
.
“
Why
are
you
going
so
soon
,
Brown
?
”
asked
Hamlin
,
rising
and
making
an
effort
over
himself
;
“
you
never
give
me
a
chance
of
seeing
you
.
Won’t
you
stay
to
dinner
?
It
is
very
impertinent
of
me
to
invite
people
in
a
house
that
isn’t
mine
;
but
I
feel
sure
Miss
Brown
is
disappointed
in
not
having
had
any
talk
with
you
.
Chough
is
coming
to
see
Perry
this
evening
,
so
you
and
your
cousin
might
have
a
chat
after
dinner
.
”
He
spoke
simply
,
in
his
quiet
,
subdued
,
melancholy
voice
.
Richard
Brown
looked
at
him
rapidly
from
head
to
foot
;
what
was
the
meaning
of
this
?
And
Anne
felt
herself
growing
very
red
.
Had
Hamlin
guessed
what
she
scarcely
herself
knew
?
“
Thank
you
,
”
answered
Richard
;
“
I
am
dining
with
some
of
my
would‐be
constituents
to‐night
.
You
know
,
”
he
said
to
Anne
,
“
I
am
going
into
Parliament
,
I
believe
.
I
will
return
soon
;
many
thanks
,
Mr
Hamlin
.
”
“
I
have
a
good
many
things
to
tell
you
,
Nan
,
”
he
said
,
as
Miss
Brown
accompanied
him
to
the
room‐door
.
“
I
have
heard
of
a
scholarship
which
I
am
sure
you
could
take
if
you
would
cram
for
six
months
;
and
I
want
to
ask
you
a
lot
of
things
also
.
I
will
come
back
in
two
or
three
days
.
Good‐bye
.
”
He
squeezed
her
hand
;
and
Anne
felt
her
heart
thump
at
that
hand‐squeeze
,
so
frank
and
affectionate
.
“
Good‐bye
,
Cousin
Dick
,
”
she
said
.
Her
voice
and
eyes
and
hand
lingered
in
that
farewell
,
in
a
way
quite
unusual
to
her
reserved
and
decided
nature
.
She
was
saying
goodbye
she
knew
not
exactly
to
what
,
but
she
felt
that
the
farewell
was
the
last
,
and
that
it
meant
farewell
to
her
happiness
.
Chough
came
to
dinner
and
stayed
during
the
evening
.
When
he
and
Hamlin
had
taken
their
departure
,
Perry
remained
for
a
few
moments
standing
by
the
open
window
,
looking
vacantly
at
the
trees
,
the
outlines
of
the
craft
moored
opposite
,
the
long
trails
of
moonlight
on
the
water
.
Then
he
came
back
into
the
room
,
and
began
fiddling
with
some
roses
in
a
glass
.
“
Beautiful
roses
,
”
he
said
,
in
an
awkward
drawl
;
“
we
have
none
like
them
in
Italy
.
Why
don’t
Italians
cultivate
flowers
?
What
do
you
call
this
?
Is
it
a
La
France
?
I
never
knew
a
turnip
from
a
jasmine
.
”
“
I
think
it
is
a
La
France
;
I
don’t
know
,
”
answered
Anne
,
taking
a
candlestick
off
the
dining‐room
mantelpiece
.
“
I
think
I
must
leave
you
now
.
You
will
find
a
box
of
cigarettes
on
the
sideboard
.
Forgive
me
,
I
feel
so
tired
and
stupid
.
”
“
One
moment
!
”
cried
Perry
.
“
It’s
a
very
disagreeable
thing
I
have
to
say
,
Annie
;
but
I
think
I
ought
to
say
it
.
I
guessed
it
the
second
time
I
saw
him
already
;
but
now
I
am
quite
sure
of
it
—
Hamlin
drinks
.
”
Anne
did
not
answer
.
“
I
don’t
mean
to
say
that
he
gets
drunk
.
But
he
drinks
—
spirits
;
I’ve
seen
him
to‐night
after
dinner
,
and
I’m
sure
he’s
going
to
take
more
at
home
.
There’s
no
mistaking
the
look
.
It
isn’t
that
he
takes
much
,
not
more
than
I
or
most
men
might
take
;
but
it
is
that
he
oughtn’t
to
take
any
.
He
used
,
you
know
,
never
even
to
take
wine
,
except
with
gallons
of
water
.
He
can’t
take
anything
of
the
sort
.
I
remember
already
when
we
were
at
college
together
,
Watty
was
a
teetotaller
.
It
appears
some
people
are
like
that
;
I’ve
heard
doctors
say
that
it’s
not
unusual
in
families
where
there
has
been
much
drinking
:
it’s
a
sort
of
diseased
sensitiveness
to
alcohol
—
it
becomes
a
kind
of
poison
.
You
know
that
Hamlin’s
father
drank
,
and
one
of
his
uncles
died
of
drink
,
and
his
brother
is
either
dead
or
dying
,
somewhere
in
a
maison
de
santé
,
of
a
sort
of
mixed
delirium
tremens
and
craziness
.
It’s
a
thing
,
”
went
on
Perry
,
keeping
his
eyes
fixed
on
the
pattern
of
the
Persian
rug
under
his
feet
,
“
which
grieves
and
alarms
me
horribly
;
and
in
which
I
feel
that
you
are
probably
the
only
person
who
could
have
any
influence
with
him
.
It’s
useless
my
speaking
.
He
must
have
got
in
among
a
bad
lot
.
That
little
Chough
seems
harmless
enough
;
but
I
hear
that
he
was
very
close
with
a
nasty
fellow
called
Lewis
—
a
spiritualist
,
opium‐eater
,
haschisch‐eater
,
and
heaven
knows
what
.
Does
he
see
much
of
him
now
?
”
“
He
has
quarrelled
with
Edmund
Lewis
,
I
fancy
.
”
“
Ah
—
so
much
the
better
.
Then
this
would
evidently
be
the
moment
to
act
.
Of
course
I
know
it
will
be
awfully
difficult
and
horrible
for
you
;
because
he’ll
feel
so
miserably
ashamed
before
you
,
and
,
of
course
,
you
will
feel
it
almost
as
badly
as
he
.
But
still
,
you
are
the
only
person
that
can
influence
him
.
You
see
he
loves
you
,
worships
you
,
all
that
sort
of
thing
.
And
I
am
sure
you
will
have
the
courage
to
get
over
your
repugnance
to
a
disagreeable
half‐hour
,
won’t
you
,
Annie
,
for
your
own
sake
as
well
as
his
?
”
“
I
will
do
my
best
,
”
said
Miss
Brown
.
CHAPTER
IX
.
MISS
BROWN
went
up
to
her
room
slowly
,
and
slowly
proceeded
to
undress
.
“
You
look
very
tired
,
miss
,
”
said
her
maid
;
“
haven’t
you
perhaps
been
overtiring
yourself
so
soon
after
your
illness
?
and
don’t
you
think
you
had
better
let
me
brush
your
hair
for
you
?
”
Anne
shook
her
head
;
she
had
never
consented
to
let
any
one
wait
upon
her
except
when
ill
,
with
that
odd
feeling
that
she
,
a
servant
,
had
no
right
to
have
a
servant
;
and
the
maid
whom
Hamlin
considered
as
a
sort
of
necessary
institution
for
a
woman
in
Miss
Brown’s
position
,
had
been
virtually
put
at
the
disposal
of
Mrs
Macgregor
,
whose
constant
fidgeting
over
her
clothes
,
and
tea
,
and
coffee
,
and
food
,
according
to
hygienic
theories
of
thirty
years
back
,
might
have
afforded
occupation
not
to
two
but
to
twenty
maids
.
Anne
really
did
look
very
worn
out
;
more
so
than
she
had
seemed
these
several
weeks
,
thought
the
maid
.
“
No
,
thank
you
,
Laura
,
”
said
Miss
Brown
.
She
really
did
not
feel
at
all
as
if
she
could
sleep
;
she
felt
the
blood
rushing
through
every
artery
of
her
body
,
and
a
hot
faintness
overtake
her
.
“
It
won’t
do
to
make
myself
ill
again
,
”
she
said
to
herself
.
The
doctor
had
said
that
for
the
present
she
must
try
and
get
as
much
sleep
as
possible
;
and
she
was
a
practical
,
methodical
person
.
She
brushed
her
hair
,
still
in
short
wavy
masses
since
it
was
cut
during
the
fever
,
carefully
,
slowly
.
It
seemed
to
her
as
if
,
in
the
half
light
,
it
looked
more
grey
than
black
.
She
pulled
out
a
few
white
hairs
:
they
come
early
in
hair
as
dark
and
wiry
as
hers
.
She
folded
her
clothes
methodically
,
as
she
used
to
fold
the
clothes
of
the
little
Perrys
,
put
out
her
light
and
lay
down
.
“
It
won’t
do
to
make
myself
ill
again
,
”
she
said
;
and
,
closing
her
eyes
,
determined
to
sleep
.
She
remained
stretched
out
rigidly
,
like
a
dead
woman
,
her
head
straight
on
her
pillows
,
and
trying
to
keep
her
mind
as
rigid
as
her
body
.
But
it
was
of
no
use
.
She
could
not
sleep
;
her
blood
and
her
thoughts
seemed
to
throb
furiously
within
her
.
Anne’s
mind
had
been
made
up
,
quietly
,
methodically
,
much
in
the
same
way
as
her
hair
had
been
brushed
and
her
clothes
folded
,
already
a
good
hour
ago
,
when
talking
to
Melton
Perry
;
she
had
seen
the
necessity
of
a
decision
coming
,
had
waited
for
the
moment
when
the
decision
should
be
made
,
ever
since
she
had
heard
that
story
of
Madame
Elaguine
and
Constantine
Bulzo
.
There
had
been
,
it
seemed
to
her
,
no
alternative
;
and
there
seemed
to
her
that
there
was
no
alternative
now
,
either
.
But
as
she
lay
motionless
in
her
bed
,
and
stared
into
the
darkness
with
wide‐opened
eyes
,
she
began
,
once
more
,
to
go
over
slowly
and
repeatedly
the
steps
of
the
argument
,
which
had
,
three
or
four
days
ago
,
become
manifest
to
her
as
might
the
mechanism
of
a
broken
watch
to
a
watchmaker
,
of
any
very
inevitable
and
obvious
thing
.
Hamlin
had
done
everything
for
her
;
he
had
turned
what
she
looked
back
upon
with
horror
,
as
a
kind
of
intellectual
and
moral
death
,
into
life
.
He
had
bought
her
soul
free
,
had
nourished
and
nurtured
it
,
as
a
man
might
have
redeemed
,
nourished
,
and
nurtured
the
body
of
some
slave
child
,
doomed
to
be
a
cripple
in
a
crippling
occupation
;
he
had
done
,
she
felt
assured
,
what
no
other
man
had
ever
done
for
a
woman
,
since
no
other
woman
,
she
thought
,
could
have
escaped
from
such
a
state
of
utter
soul
stagnation
as
had
already
begun
,
those
five
years
ago
,
in
her
slow
,
sullen
nature
.
It
was
more
than
had
ever
been
done
for
another
woman
,
and
Anne
felt
its
value
more
than
any
other
;
for
despite
the
modesty
and
frankness
which
often
took
others
aback
,
the
very
stuff
of
her
soul
,
like
the
very
mould
of
her
features
,
was
pride
.
She
knew
herself
to
be
nobler
than
the
majority
of
men
and
women
;
not
more
intelligent
,
nor
more
honest
,
nor
more
kindly
,
nor
any
one
particular
quality
,
but
more
homogeneous
of
nature
;
not
alloyed
in
any
portion
,
whatever
she
might
be
;
upright
,
sincere
,
practical
,
harsh
even
,
through
and
through
:
a
reality
,
where
they
seemed
but
half
reality
and
half
make‐up
.
And
that
she
should
be
this
she
owed
to
Hamlin
;
without
him
she
would
have
been
equally
homogeneous
of
soul
,
but
it
would
have
been
with
the
uniformity
,
the
rigidity
of
spiritual
death
.
What
Hamlin
had
done
,
he
had
done
from
no
base
motives
,
and
without
the
smallest
taint
of
baseness
in
the
doing
:
he
had
not
actually
wanted
her
,
he
had
wanted
merely
to
perfect
a
thing
that
seemed
to
him
good
of
its
sort
,
to
make
her
a
soul
that
should
suit
her
body
;
he
had
done
it
deliberately
,
consistently
,
unwearyingly
,
with
a
gentleness
,
a
generous
tact
,
which
had
themselves
been
a
benefit
.
That
Hamlin
had
acted
from
an
imaginative
whim
,
that
he
had
carried
out
an
exotic
artistic
caprice
,
played
a
sublimated
game
of
artistic
skill
,
Anne
could
not
at
this
moment
take
into
account
.
She
knew
,
and
only
too
well
,
that
Hamlin
was
selfish
,
whimsical
,
fantastic
,
vain
,
a
seeker
after
new
poses
and
new
sensations
;
but
she
knew
all
this
analytically
,
piecemeal
as
the
result
of
thought
;
and
she
was
in
a
sense
too
dull
,
too
unable
to
comprehend
others
,
and
,
above
all
,
too
utterly
devoid
of
all
vanity
,
whimsicalness
,
and
theatricality
,
too
completely
of
a
piece
,
a
mass
of
granite
,
as
she
often
felt
,
to
conceive
these
analytically
recognised
peculiarities
as
absolutely
organic
and
active
forces
.
She
had
conceived
Hamlin
to
be
that
which
to
her
was
the
easiest
conception
—
generous
;
and
nothing
could
make
her
conceive
his
behaviour
towards
her
in
any
any
other
light
.
Moreover
,
there
remained
in
this
frank
and
fearless
nature
,
shrinking
from
no
disillusions
,
one
delusion
which
was
the
safer
for
her
very
consciousness
of
uncompromising
hatred
of
all
delusions
.
She
clung
,
without
knowing
it
,
to
the
belief
that
in
one
thing
at
least
Hamlin
had
been
perfectly
noble
,
that
no
subsequently
discovered
weakness
and
baseness
could
ever
alter
that
;
she
treasured
up
a
shred
of
her
old
ideal
,
the
belief
that
whatever
Hamlin
might
be
towards
others
and
towards
himself
,
towards
her
he
had
been
the
real
Hamlin
whom
she
had
loved
and
worshipped
.
And
now
this
Hamlin
,
this
man
to
whom
she
owed
all
,
and
whose
past
she
still
loved
,
was
gradually
being
alienated
from
all
the
nobler
things
for
which
he
was
fit
—
gradually
being
separated
from
his
nobler
self
,
and
dragged
,
stripped
of
all
his
better
qualities
,
into
a
moral
quagmire
,
a
charnel
,
a
cloaca
,
to
stick
and
rot
inchwise
.
And
this
,
Anne
said
to
herself
,
to
some
degree
by
her
own
fault
;
for
had
she
not
let
her
antipathy
for
the
tendencies
which
she
had
gradually
discovered
in
him
,
and
her
loathing
for
the
tendencies
of
the
men
who
surrounded
him
,
smother
her
gratitude
,
her
sympathy
,
turn
her
away
in
sullen
scorn
and
isolation
,
from
the
man
whom
she
was
bound
to
help
,
and
the
men
whom
she
was
bound
to
combat
?
She
forgot
for
the
moment
the
many
abortive
attempts
she
had
made
to
awaken
the
better
qualities
of
Hamlin
;
or
rather
,
she
could
no
longer
conceive
that
those
attempts
had
been
sufficiently
strenuous
and
determined
;
it
seemed
to
her
,
forgetful
of
the
dead‐weight
of
opposition
,
that
she
must
have
been
very
feeble
and
half‐hearted
.
Instead
of
thinking
of
him
,
she
had
thought
only
of
herself
,
of
preserving
her
own
soul
from
infection
,
of
keeping
her
own
soul
strong
and
active
;
she
had
selfishly
thought
of
the
world’s
miseries
,
which
she
could
not
prevent
,
instead
of
thinking
of
Hamlin
,
whom
she
might
have
saved
;
and
finally
,
she
had
let
herself
indulge
in
dreams
of
liberty
,
that
is
to
say
,
of
desertion
of
her
duty
.
Those
monks
and
nuns
of
former
days
,
for
whom
she
felt
such
unutterable
contempt
,
had
they
acted
differently
from
her
when
they
left
their
fellow‐men
to
perish
in
sin
,
in
order
that
they
might
enjoy
the
luxury
of
virtue
in
a
convent
or
a
desert
?
She
loathed
æsthetes
like
Hamlin
;
and
yet
,
what
had
she
herself
been
,
save
an
æsthete
of
another
sort
,
selfishly
preoccupied
with
spiritual
comfort
,
and
worse
than
any
of
them
for
the
very
moral
consciousness
which
lay
at
the
root
of
this
immorality
?
Why
had
she
not
driven
away
Edmund
Lewis
,
opposing
herself
to
him
with
all
her
might
?
Why
had
she
not
driven
away
Sacha
Elaguine
?
Now
that
she
had
learned
from
Melton
Perry
what
this
woman
really
was
,
every
single
circumstance
of
their
former
intercourse
,
every
single
fact
and
suggestion
that
had
come
to
her
,
from
Mrs
Macgregor’s
warnings
to
Edmund
Lewis’s
cowardly
accusation
,
—
all
the
hundred
little
impressions
which
she
herself
had
received
,
grouped
themselves
together
,
and
made
it
obvious
that
Sacha
must
be
,
could
only
have
been
,
the
horrible
walking
depravity
which
she
had
been
revealed
.
Essentially
unanalytic
of
mind
,
Miss
Brown
could
now
no
longer
conceive
how
it
was
that
she
had
not
understood
Madame
Elaguine
at
once
;
in
that
massive
horror
with
which
the
Russian
woman
had
filled
her
,
it
was
impossible
to
remember
all
the
deluding
little
circumstances
which
had
closed
her
heart
to
suspicion
—
nay
,
all
the
purity
of
her
own
nature
,
the
charity
,
the
desire
to
be
equitable
,
which
had
made
this
now
so
overpowering
mass
of
abomination
not
merely
impossible
to
realise
,
but
impossible
to
conceive
.
It
seemed
to
her
as
if
Sacha
must
always
have
shown
herself
what
she
was
;
and
that
she
,
Anne
Brown
,
must
have
wilfully
closed
her
eyes
.
She
had
never
asked
herself
whether
it
was
not
her
duty
towards
Hamlin
to
come
to
some
conclusion
about
his
cousin
;
she
had
let
their
connection
drift
on
;
she
had
seen
in
the
ruin
of
the
man
to
whom
she
owed
all
,
only
a
means
to
her
own
deliverance
from
a
life
which
she
hated
,
from
a
duty
which
she
shirked
.
Anne
remembered
how
she
had
watched
with
terror
that
look
of
weariness
and
shame
on
Hamlin’s
face
,
which
ought
to
have
told
her
that
this
poor
,
weak
,
sick
soul
might
still
be
saved
;
she
remembered
the
joy
with
which
she
had
heard
of
Hamlin’s
departure
for
Paris
—
that
is
to
say
,
of
the
crowning
act
of
weakness
and
folly
which
had
made
him
the
chattel
of
his
cousin
.
Anne
loathed
herself
as
a
woman
might
loathe
herself
,
who
recognised
that
she
had
let
some
living
creature
die
of
hunger
and
want
of
nursing
.
Shame
she
did
not
feel
,
nor
yet
remorse
;
she
cared
too
little
for
herself
to
care
for
her
own
ideals
;
she
did
not
once
think
that
she
had
been
mistaken
,
that
she
had
been
base
,
ungrateful
,
that
she
was
dishonoured
in
her
own
eyes
;
she
merely
thought
that
Hamlin
was
on
the
brink
of
ruin
,
ruin
of
all
his
nobler
self
and
of
his
happiness
—
that
she
had
done
it
,
and
that
she
was
there
,
alone
,
to
save
him
.
In
those
long
hours
,
lying
motionless
in
the
dark
,
the
face
of
Hamlin
,
as
she
had
recently
seen
it
,
that
weak
,
profoundly
depressed
,
half‐degraded
face
,
was
constantly
before
her
eyes
;
and
surrounding
it
,
vague
and
threatening
,
the
faces
—
so
strangely
like
it
and
transfigured
in
a
kind
of
tragic
degradation
,
of
the
portraits
at
Wotton
Hall
—
of
Hamlin’s
half‐crazy
,
disgraced
brother
;
of
his
odious
,
passion‐stained
father
;
of
his
drunken
uncles
;
above
all
,
that
beautiful
woman’s
face
,
with
the
curled
hair
and
loose
collar
—
that
face
so
curiously
compounded
of
effeminacy
,
whimsicalness
,
and
cynical
self‐abandonment
;
of
his
great‐uncle
Mordaunt
,
whose
portrait
had
been
exiled
to
the
lumber‐room
,
whose
name
banished
from
the
memory
of
his
relatives
;
and
along
with
them
,
and
resembling
them
like
a
brother
,
the
confused
,
imaginary
image
of
that
miserable
Greek
lad
whom
Sacha
Elaguine
had
ruined
.
Was
it
still
time
?
Could
Hamlin
still
be
saved
?
was
he
already
hopelessly
bound
for
life
to
Madame
Elaguine
?
Had
Anne
waked
up
too
late
?
She
did
not
know
.
She
only
knew
that
there
was
not
an
hour
,
not
a
moment
to
lose
;
and
that
there
was
but
one
thing
to
be
done
.
Hamlin
must
not
,
should
not
,
marry
Sacha
.
And
the
only
way
to
prevent
it
was
that
he
should
marry
Anne
Brown
.
He
might
,
as
Lewis
said
,
and
as
she
believed
,
already
be
the
lover
of
Madame
Elaguine
;
but
he
was
not
yet
the
husband
,
and
most
probably
not
yet
the
betrothed
.
And
was
he
not
bound
,
by
that
paper
which
the
ignoble
suspiciousness
of
Richard
Brown
had
required
of
him
in
that
distant
past
in
Florence
,
to
marry
Anne
Brown
at
whatever
time
she
rnight
call
upon
him
to
do
so
?
“
I
must
become
his
wife
,
”
said
Anne
to
herself
;
and
she
said
it
as
she
might
have
said
“
the
sun
must
rise
in
so
many
hours
.
”
There
was
no
room
for
hesitation
on
her
part
;
the
choice
,
the
act
of
volition
,
was
so
decided
,
that
there
ceased
to
be
either
choice
or
volition
;
to
become
Hamlin’s
wife
seemed
to
Anne
as
an
inevitable
necessity
coming
from
without
.
But
little
by
little
:
as
she
lay
there
broad
awake
,
yet
with
somewhat
of
that
tendency
,
as
of
an
opium‐dreamer
,
to
see
things
exaggerated
which
comes
to
us
in
darkness
,
she
began
to
realise
the
meaning
of
this
formula
—
to
become
Hamlin’s
wife
.
The
whole
past
rushed
into
her
mind
,
and
became
,
as
it
were
,
the
mirage
of
the
future
,
and
that
mirage
was
horrible
.
To
be
Hamlin’s
wife
meant
to
relinquish
the
liberty
which
had
,
for
the
last
two
or
three
months
,
been
safe
within
her
grasp
,
the
liberty
of
being
herself
.
Anne
was
one
of
those
natures
which
,
though
able
,
by
moments
,
to
enjoy
themselves
like
children
,
do
not
believe
much
in
happiness
;
to
whom
,
singled
out
,
as
it
were
,
to
achieve
self‐sacrifice
or
endure
martyrdom
,
happiness
is
a
mere
name
,
a
negative
thing
—
but
to
whom
unhappiness
is
a
positive
reality
,
the
thing
which
they
expect
,
with
which
their
soul
seems
,
in
some
pre‐natal
condition
,
to
have
become
familiar
as
the
one
great
certainty
.
The
happiness
,
therefore
,
which
she
was
losing
—
the
independence
,
the
activity
,
the
serenity
,
the
possibility
of
a
life
of
noble
companionship
with
Richard
Brown
—
all
this
was
only
a
distant
and
unsubstantial
thing
;
she
had
never
experienced
it
,
and
it
could
not
well
be
realised
.
But
she
knew
by
experience
,
familiar
with
its
every
detail
,
the
unhappiness
which
lay
in
the
future
as
Hamlin’s
wife
,
for
this
future
would
be
but
a
return
to
the
past
;
and
she
felt
as
might
a
person
lost
in
a
catacomb
,
and
who
,
having
got
to
a
chink
,
having
seen
the
light
and
breathed
the
air
,
should
be
condemned
to
wander
again
,
to
rethread
for
ever
the
black
and
choking
corridors
leading
nowhere
.
That
Hamlin
was
lost
if
he
married
Sacha
,
she
knew
as
she
knew
that
two
and
two
make
four
;
but
she
did
not
in
the
least
flatter
herself
that
her
own
influence
would
be
as
potent
for
good
,
as
Madame
Elaguine’s
must
be
potent
for
evil
.
She
knew
Hamlin
too
well
for
that
,
and
herself
also
.
If
Hamlin
had
remained
weak
,
cold
,
vain
,
and
mean
under
her
influence
hitherto
,
he
must
remain
so
for
ever
;
he
was
born
all
these
things
.
She
could
prevent
his
growing
worse
,
she
could
not
make
him
grow
better
;
her
position
would
be
as
that
of
a
woman
who
devoted
herself
to
nurse
a
person
sick
of
an
incurable
disease
:
there
would
be
none
of
the
excitement
of
a
possible
cure
,
only
the
routine
,
the
anxiety
peculiar
to
a
case
where
the
patient
is
for
ever
on
the
brink
of
getting
worse
.
To
be
understood
,
to
be
sympathised
with
,
to
be
loved
really
and
really
to
love
—
none
of
these
things
would
be
for
her
.
But
,
after
all
,
what
right
had
she
to
any
of
them
?
Anne
was
,
in
all
matters
concerning
herself
,
a
born
fatalist
and
pessimist
;
the
words
of
Goethe
,
“
Entbehren
sollst
du
,
sollst
entbehren
,
”
were
to
her
not
an
admonition
,
but
a
mere
statement
of
fact
.
She
had
,
for
a
time
,
fancied
that
she
clutched
happiness
;
if
it
had
turned
out
,
like
the
goddess
clutched
by
Ixion
,
a
mere
mist
,
why
,
that
was
quite
natural
;
there
was
nothing
to
complain
of
in
that
.
But
suddenly
there
came
a
sense
not
any
longer
of
the
loss
of
happiness
,
but
of
a
sickened
revolt
from
all
the
things
which
this
sacrifice
of
happiness
implied
.
Not
to
love
,
not
to
be
loved
.
Well
,
that
was
natural
;
but
to
submit
to
becoming
the
property
of
a
man
whom
she
did
not
love
,
and
who
could
not
,
in
her
eyes
,
ever
love
her
,
that
was
another
thing
.
Edmund
Lewis
and
Madame
Elaguine
,
learned
in
such
matters
,
had
been
perfectly
correct
when
they
declared
that
Anne
was
,
in
their
sense
of
the
word
,
passionless
,
cold
.
To
this
woman
,
consumed
by
intellectual
and
moral
passion
,
her
womanhood
meant
merely
the
instincts
of
superior
chastity
,
of
superior
soul
cleanness
,
which
seem
the
birthright
of
women
,
as
the
instincts
of
superior
generosity
,
of
superior
soul
energy
,
seem
the
birthright
of
men
;
and
this
,
to
her
the
only
result
of
womanhood
,
merely
added
a
positive
element
of
repulsion
to
the
disdain
for
what
the
world
is
pleased
to
call
love
already
existing
in
her
.
Anne
Brown
,
born
of
the
people
,
grown
up
as
a
servant
,
left
to
take
care
of
herself
when
scarcely
more
than
a
child
,
and
then
thrust
into
the
midst
of
a
demoralised
school
of
literature
which
gloried
in
moral
indifference
,
—
Anne
Brown
had
none
of
those
misty
notions
of
marriage
so
easily
transfigured
into
poetry
,
and
which
make
(
and
perhaps
fortunately
)
many
clean‐souled
and
disdainful
girls
enter
unconsciously
and
unabashed
upon
a
life
frequently
neither
very
noble
nor
very
clean
.
Without
formulating
it
to
herself
—
for
she
never
formulated
anything
—
Miss
Brown
had
a
very
strong
sense
that
marriage
without
love
was
a
mere
legalised
form
of
prostitution
.
To
become
,
therefore
,
the
wife
of
Hamlin
,
was
an
intolerable
self‐degradation
—
nay
,
a
pollution
;
for
it
seemed
to
her
,
and
the
idea
sickened
her
whole
soul
,
that
the
moral
pollution
of
Sacha
Elaguine
would
be
communicated
to
her
.
To
become
the
wife
of
Sacha’s
lover
!
Her
limbs
seemed
to
give
way
,
to
dissolve
;
a
horrible
warm
clamminess
overtook
her
;
she
could
not
breathe
,
or
breathed
only
horror
.
Anne
rose
from
her
bed
,
and
wrapping
herself
in
her
dressing‐gown
,
sat
down
by
the
window
,
partly
ajar
.
She
threw
it
wide
open
,
pulled
up
the
blinds
,
and
,
gasping
,
looked
out
into
the
darkness
.
The
sky
was
covered
,
not
a
ray
of
light
;
it
was
raining
—
she
heard
the
drops
fall
heavily
on
the
leaves
under
the
window
;
a
warm
damp
gust
of
air
blew
in
her
face
.
Anne
did
not
know
what
it
was
to
faint
,
and
her
limbs
did
not
give
way
beneath
her
;
but
she
felt
as
if
her
mind
,
her
soul
,
were
fainting
,
growing
clammy
—
slipping
,
slipping
away
,
dissolving
into
nothingness
.
To
be
the
wife
of
Sacha’s
lover
!
With
the
scornful
aversion
which
a
woman
of
actively
chaste
nature
(
for
the
virtue
exists
in
most
women
only
in
a
negative
,
passive
condition
)
experiences
for
the
more
abstract
idea
of
weakness
and
unchastity
,
was
mingled
—
perhaps
not
very
clearly
to
herself
—
somewhat
already
of
the
wrath
of
the
outraged
wife
.
Under
her
very
eyes
,
before
all
the
world
,
Hamlin
had
deceived
her
—
had
been
another
woman’s
lover
—
and
had
let
her
associate
with
his
mistress
!
the
kind
of
resentment
which
the
world
sometimes
mistakes
for
jealousy
,
but
into
which
there
enters
no
love
,
—
the
sense
not
of
being
neglected
as
an
individual
,
but
being
insulted
as
a
woman
.
To
be
the
wife
of
Sacha’s
lover
!
Anne’s
imagination
—
slow
in
all
things
,
and
slowest
where
any
ignoble
or
impure
thing
was
concerned
—
was
trailed
as
by
an
inexplicable
force
along
a
dim
tract
of
foulness
.
No
;
she
could
not
marry
this
man
.
She
had
no
right
to
forego
her
just
resentment
,
to
stifle
her
just
disgust
,
no
right
to
degrade
her
soul
in
order
to
save
his
.
If
he
was
weak
,
vain
,
foredoomed
to
baseness
,
let
him
run
his
career
—
fulfil
his
destiny
.
Some
sacrifices
are
sins
.
Without
identifying
the
case
,
Anne’s
thoughts
reverted
to
the
story
,
to
the
words
of
Isabella
in
‘Measure
for
Measure’
;
and
the
pride
that
lay
at
the
bottom
of
her
soul
—
the
pride
of
purity
and
strength
—
rose
like
a
great
wind
within
her
.
No
;
she
would
not
pollute
her
cleanness
,
prostitute
her
nobility
,
for
this
man
.
Anne
folded
her
dressing‐gown
close
about
her
,
and
extended
her
strong
fingers
tight
over
the
arms
of
her
chair
—
a
movement
like
that
of
a
judge
about
to
pronounce
a
sentence
.
Any
one
who
could
have
seen
her
sitting
thus
by
the
window
—
who
could
have
seen
that
pale
stern
face
,
those
wide‐opened
onyx‐grey
eyes
looking
steadfastly
into
the
darkness
—
would
have
said
that
this
magnificent
young
woman
with
the
tragic
features
was
capable
of
cold
cruelty
.
But
though
in
some
measure
right
,
since
there
is
a
destructive
element
in
all
strong
souls
,
the
person
who
should
have
thought
like
this
would
yet
have
been
mistaken
.
Anne’s
ruthlessness
,
her
cruelty
,
could
exist
only
against
herself
;
the
sacrifice
,
which
seemed
to
her
no
very
great
matter
,
was
the
sacrifice
of
herself
.
Anne
remained
seated
for
a
few
minutes
by
the
window
,
that
storm
of
pride
and
contempt
rushing
in
great
gusts
through
her
whole
nature
.
But
then
suddenly
the
storm
dropped
.
Here
was
Hamlin
,
to
whom
she
owed
everything
,
owed
this
very
soul
which
seemed
too
good
to
be
wasted
upon
him
,
in
danger
of
being
degraded
for
ever
by
this
loathsome
woman
,
this
incarnation
of
all
his
own
vices
,
this
moral
disease
become
a
human
creature
.
This
fate
must
be
averted
,
Hamlin
must
be
saved
,
for
his
own
sake
and
for
the
sake
of
the
world
—
of
all
those
nobler
things
that
he
might
still
do
;
he
must
be
saved
,
and
only
one
thing
could
save
him
—
hence
that
one
thing
must
be
done
.
Anne
rose
from
the
window
.
This
darkness
unnerved
her
.
She
struck
a
light
and
lit
the
candles
on
the
mantelpiece
;
they
were
in
clustered
candlesticks
,
and
the
room
was
brilliantly
illuminated
.
Anne
looked
round
her
.
There
was
a
heap
of
books
and
papers
on
her
table
,
—
she
had
been
interrupted
in
tidying
them
the
previous
day
.
She
began
to
put
them
to
rights
.
Some
of
the
books
were
the
manuals
of
political
economy
and
works
on
philosophy
which
she
was
studying
with
a
view
to
Girton
.
The
sight
of
them
made
a
knot
rise
in
her
throat
and
the
tears
come
into
her
eyes
.
She
felt
that
she
would
never
read
them
again
.
She
took
them
in
her
arms
,
and
opening
the
lowest
drawer
of
her
writing‐table
,
locked
them
up
.
“
I
will
give
them
to
Marjory’s
women’s
club
,
”
she
thought
.
Then
she
opened
another
drawer
,
and
got
out
all
her
note‐books
and
copy‐books
,
—
her
many
months’
work
,
ever
since
Richard
Brown
had
first
lent
her
his
primer
.
She
turned
over
a
few
pages
slowly
.
The
sentences
seemed
to
have
no
meaning
;
her
brain
refused
to
act
.
She
took
the
papers
one
by
one
and
tore
them
into
small
shreds
,
and
threw
them
into
the
waste‐paper
basket
.
“
There
is
an
end
of
that
,
”
she
said
to
herself
quietly
.
Anne
looked
round
the
room
once
more
,
—
at
the
spruce
Queen
Anne
furniture
which
had
surprised
her
so
much
,
at
the
blue
and
white
vases
,
the
shimmering
plates
,
the
pieces
of
embroidery
on
the
wall
—
all
the
things
which
Hamlin
had
put
there
to
please
her
.
Was
there
anything
more
—
anything
more
to
be
done
?
On
the
mantelpiece
stood
a
photograph
of
Richard
Brown
,
unframed
,
which
he
had
recently
given
her
:
she
had
asked
him
for
a
photograph
during
Hamlin’s
absence
with
Sacha
.
She
took
the
photograph
and
held
it
over
one
of
the
candles
;
it
curled
up
,
charred
,
only
the
rim
which
she
held
remaining
to
show
what
it
had
been
;
she
turned
it
round
and
round
over
the
flame
,
and
then
threw
the
crumpled
piece
of
charred
pasteboard
into
the
grate
.
The
first
pale
light
of
dawn
was
beginning
to
mingle
with
the
light
of
the
candles
,
making
them
burn
yellow
,
and
surrounded
by
a
sort
of
halo
,
like
the
tapers
round
a
catafalque
.
Outside
she
saw
the
chilly
grey
streaks
of
light
,
the
faint
cold
rose
veinings
of
sunrise
.
But
the
sunrise
itself
did
not
come
;
the
sky
gradually
appeared
,
clotted
with
red
and
purplish
reflections
;
then
the
colour
died
away
,
and
there
remained
instead
a
pale
,
suffused
,
grey
heaven
.
It
began
to
drizzle
.
Anne
left
the
window
.
The
room
was
light
now
with
daylight
—
the
candle‐flames
mere
yellow
specks
.
Anne
put
them
out
;
she
pulled
down
the
blinds
and
got
into
bed
,
and
again
stretched
herself
out
in
that
stiff
way
,
her
head
propped
up
on
the
pillows
,
trying
not
to
think
.
In
a
few
minutes
she
was
asleep
.
When
the
maid
came
in
,
she
did
not
wake
up
as
usual
,
and
the
girl
was
half‐frightened
and
very
much
awed
by
seeing
Miss
Brown
lying
straight
and
motionless
;
her
face
,
surrounded
by
a
sort
of
wreath
of
short
,
curling
,
iron‐black
locks
,
stiff
on
the
pillow
,
looking
,
in
the
grey
morning
light
which
came
through
the
pale‐blue
blinds
,
like
a
dead
woman
.
Anne
opened
her
eyes
and
looked
round
slowly
,
as
if
trying
to
collect
her
thoughts
.
“
Ah
,
”
she
said
,
half
audibly
,
“
I
remember
.
”
CHAPTER
X
.
BY
an
effort
of
manœuvring
which
was
not
very
natural
to
her
,
Miss
Brown
induced
Melton
Perry
to
take
himself
off
after
breakfast
and
go
and
see
some
studios
,
an
expedition
which
would
keep
him
out
of
the
way
till
lunch
.
She
would
have
Hamlin
all
to
herself
.
When
Perry
was
gone
,
Anne
sat
down
to
write
to
Mary
Leigh
,
who
was
in
the
country
.
There
was
absolutely
no
reason
why
she
should
write
to
Mary
,
nor
had
she
anything
whatever
to
tell
her
;
but
she
was
devoured
by
a
restlessness
—
by
a
vague
desire
to
talk
to
some
one
who
cared
for
her
.
She
told
Mary
Leigh
nothing
of
what
was
passing
through
her
mind
,
nor
of
the
event
which
was
pending
:
there
was
not
,
in
her
letter
,
a
word
to
suggest
anything
of
the
sort
;
but
there
was
in
it
the
expression
,
vague
and
without
motives
,
of
the
great
emotion
which
occupied
her
soul
.
“
I
want
to
tell
you
,
dear
Mary
,
”
wrote
Anne
,
“
how
grateful
I
am
for
the
affection
which
you
and
Marjory
have
shown
towards
me
lately
.
If
I
had
died
of
that
illness
,
it
would
have
been
a
great
consolation
to
know
that
you
cared
for
me
so
much
.
”
She
did
not
know
why
,
the
tone
of
the
whole
letter
,
with
all
these
expressions
of
gratitude
,
had
the
solemnity
of
a
farewell
,
as
if
written
by
a
woman
who
expected
to
die
soon
.
And
Anne
really
felt
as
if
her
life
were
coming
to
an
end
.
When
she
had
finished
writing
,
she
went
down
to
Hamlin’s
studio
.
He
would
come
soon
,
and
she
would
wait
for
him
here
.
It
was
still
drizzling
,
and
the
room
opening
on
to
the
garden
,
with
its
silk
blinds
drawn
down
,
was
full
of
a
kind
of
twilight
.
Anne
walked
up
and
down
for
a
minute
or
two
,
looking
vaguely
round
her
.
A
drowsy
scent
of
faded
flowers
,
of
cigarette‐smoke
,
of
she
knew
not
what
scent
,
made
her
feel
weak
and
dreamy
,
and
reminded
her
,
with
a
movement
of
disgust
,
of
Sacha
Elaguine’s
rooms
.
She
had
not
been
in
the
studio
of
late
,
except
for
a
few
minutes
at
a
time
.
Everything
seemed
to
her
untidy
and
dusty
—
easels
and
boards
thrown
about
in
a
way
which
was
not
usual
with
Hamlin
.
She
looked
vaguely
at
the
various
things
,
—
at
the
drawings
by
Rossetti
and
Burne
Jones
on
the
walls
,
the
books
in
cases
,
the
terra
cottas
and
bits
of
carving
on
brackets
,
the
piano
with
the
brocade
cover
thrown
back
,
and
the
score
of
Wagner’s
Tristram
still
on
the
desk
.
She
looked
at
the
score
and
played
a
few
notes
,
but
stopped
.
She
loathed
that
music
which
Hamlin
and
Sacha
so
admired
—
that
music
,
with
its
strange
,
insidious
faintings
and
sobbings
,
its
hot
,
enervating
gusts
of
passion
.
On
the
mantelpiece
,
among
the
Japanese
jars
,
the
bronze
lamps
,
and
other
similar
properties
,
her
eye
caught
a
small
bottle
of
blue
glass
.
She
took
it
up
:
it
was
not
labelled
,
or
the
label
was
removed
,
but
it
left
a
sort
of
sickly‐smelling
stickiness
on
her
fingers
.
So
Perry
was
right
;
Hamlin
had
returned
to
his
old
practice
of
taking
opium
.
She
put
the
bottle
back
,
and
walked
up
and
down
once
more
.
Then
her
eye
fell
upon
an
unfinished
portrait
of
herself
,
or
what
was
intended
to
be
herself
,
which
stood
in
the
shadow
.
A
solemn
sombre
woman
in
green
,
with
very
blue
peaks
and
glaciers
in
the
distance
,
twisting
the
faded
green
leaves
of
a
palm‐branch
.
It
was
the
picture
which
Hamlin
had
begun
long
,
long
ago
in
Florence
;
and
her
mind
went
back
to
that
other
rainy
day
,
as
gloomy
as
this
one
,
seemingly
centuries
ago
,
when
she
had
stood
in
the
tower
studio
,
about
to
take
leave
of
Hamlin
,
as
she
thought
,
for
the
last
time
.
Was
she
really
as
sombre
as
that
picture
?
thought
Anne
.
On
a
table
,
gritty
with
dust
,
lay
an
open
sketch‐book
;
Anne
took
it
up
listlessly
.
The
sheet
was
scrawled
with
several
versions
of
an
allegorical
design
,
feebly
drawn
,
scarcely
more
than
outlined
,
and
,
as
it
seemed
,
in
a
moment
of
weariness
.
A
beautiful
naked
youth
was
clutched
by
a
huge
,
haggard
woman
,
her
torn
dress
licking
his
body
like
flames
,
her
lips
greedily
advancing
to
his
delicate
face
,
which
shrank
back
,
like
a
flower
withering
in
the
heat
of
a
furnace
.
There
were
several
versions
,
crossing
and
recrossing
each
other
oddly
,
but
always
the
same
flower‐like
winged
boy
writhing
in
the
terrible
breath
of
this
embrace
,
always
that
fainting
beautiful
face
,
and
those
burning
lips
with
the
suction
of
flame
.
Beneath
one
of
the
versions
was
scrawled
,
“
Amor
a
Libidine
interfectus
,
”
and
a
few
lines
,
half
scratched
out
,
of
a
sonnet
.
Anne
did
not
read
them
;
she
put
down
the
sketch‐book
.
She
knew
the
sense
of
that
allegory
,
even
before
her
eye
caught
the
words
,
“
and
thus
my
soul
,
”
which
formed
one
of
the
lines
of
the
rough‐scrawled
sonnet
.
Anne
shuddered
.
Steps
came
along
the
corridor
—
Hamlin’s
steps
.
She
sat
down
near
the
window
,
for
she
expected
her
heart
would
have
begun
beating
even
to
bursting
.
But
it
was
not
so
;
Miss
Brown
felt
wonderfully
calm
.
“
I
want
to
talk
to
you
about
something
,
Mr
Hamlin
,
”
she
said
,
when
he
had
recovered
from
the
surprise
of
finding
her
in
the
studio
.
“
You
have
nothing
very
pressing
to
do
just
now
,
I
hope
?
”
“
Nothing
,
”
answered
Hamlin
;
“
I
am
at
your
disposal
.
”
He
sat
down
opposite
to
her
,
and
began
to
fidget
with
the
pencils
and
pen‐knives
lying
on
the
table
.
He
was
very
pale
,
haggard
,
and
looked
tired
and
worried
.
“
You
don’t
seem
well
,
”
said
Anne
,
mechanically
.
“
I
am
horribly
nervous
,
that’s
all
,
”
he
answered
,
passing
his
hand
through
his
hair
.
“
I
suppose
it’s
this
damp
heat
.
Will
it
annoy
you
if
I
smoke
a
cigarette
?
I
feel
my
brain
spinning
.
”
Anne
nodded
,
and
waited
in
silence
till
he
had
taken
two
or
three
puffs
.
“
Mr
Hamlin
,
”
she
suddenly
began
,
in
a
low
,
steady
voice
,
rather
like
a
person
reciting
a
lesson
,
“
it
is
going
on
three
years
since
I
left
Coblenz
and
came
into
this
house
.
I
am
over
twenty‐four
,
and
I
don’t
think
it
is
possible
to
continue
much
longer
on
the
theory
that
I
am
your
ward
.
It
is
time
that
something
should
be
decided
about
my
future
.
”
Hamlin
listened
quietly
,
with
a
certain
listless
and
helpless
look
that
was
very
painful
.
“
I
quite
agree
with
you
,
”
he
answered
,
“
and
I
fully
see
how
greatly
I
am
to
blame
in
not
having
forestalled
you
.
You
must
not
suppose
that
I
have
not
thought
more
than
once
about
this
matter
.
I
have
done
so
,
I
assure
you
.
But
somehow
,
things
have
always
come
in
the
way
;
and
then
,
you
know
,
I
—
I
did
not
wish
to
put
any
pressure
upon
you
.
In
short
,
I
am
unable
to
say
how
it
is
that
I
have
placed
myself
in
what
may
appear
to
be
the
wrong
in
this
matter
.
”
Again
he
passed
his
hand
across
his
head
.
“
Forgive
me
,
”
he
said
,
“
for
being
so
feeble
this
morning
.
I
really
have
a
wretched
headache
.
”
“
I
am
very
sorry
for
you
,
”
answered
Anne
,
but
adding
with
the
same
deliberate
resolution
,
“
but
all
the
same
,
I
feel
that
I
can
no
longer
delay
,
and
that
I
must
avail
myself
of
this
opportunity
to
ask
you
a
question
.
Have
you
any
intention
of
marrying
me
?
”
Hamlin
,
who
had
been
sitting
with
his
head
resting
on
his
hand
,
vacantly
watching
the
wreathing
smoke
of
his
cigarette
,
suddenly
looked
up
at
Anne
.
She
was
seated
very
erect
in
a
high‐backed
chair
opposite
,
looking
taller
,
calmer
than
ever
,
less
girlish
than
ever
also
,
although
he
had
never
thought
of
her
,
even
years
ago
,
as
a
girl
.
He
looked
at
her
for
a
moment
in
silence
;
a
long
,
lingering
,
and
very
melancholy
look
.
“
Miss
Brown
,
”
he
answered
,
and
his
voice
became
tremulous
towards
the
end
of
his
speech
,
“
you
have
,
if
you
remember
the
terms
of
our
reciprocal
engagement
,
always
been
free
;
and
you
are
free
.
It
is
rather
sad
for
me
to
reflect
—
and
perhaps
a
little
sad
for
you
also
—
how
very
differently
things
have
turned
out
from
what
I
believe
both
of
us
anticipated
.
And
it
is
,
as
you
may
understand
,
not
a
little
sad
to
part
with
what
has
been
the
best
thing
in
my
life
—
to
end
my
best
episode
.
But
you
must
remember
that
I
never
wished
you
to
be
otherwise
than
perfectly
independent
;
it
has
been
a
great
matter
in
a
useless
life
like
mine
to
have
contributed
to
reinstate
you
,
as
it
were
,
in
your
birthright
;
it
will
be
something
to
think
of
later
,
that
I
have
been
conducive
in
making
you
what
you
are
;
and
”
—
Hamlin
had
risen
from
his
chair
and
stretched
out
his
hand
—
“
will
you
believe
me
also
when
I
say
that
I
am
very
,
very
happy
that
you
have
found
a
man
whom
you
can
love
and
respect
,
and
who
can
make
you
happy
?
”
Hamlin’s
mouth
,
that
delicate
mouth
with
the
uncertain
lines
,
began
to
quiver
.
Anne
turned
very
red
,
and
then
,
suddenly
,
very
white
.
She
did
not
take
his
hand
;
she
did
not
look
at
him
as
he
stood
before
her
;
her
eyes
seemed
fixed
in
space
,
as
she
answered
in
a
voice
which
became
steadier
and
louder
as
she
went
on
—
“
You
don’t
understand
me
.
I
was
not
alluding
to
any
notion
of
marrying
my
cousin
.
I
don’t
want
to
marry
Richard
.
What
I
want
to
ask
you
is
this
:
Will
you
marry
me
,
Mr
Hamlin
?
”
Anne
,
spoke
very
slowly
,
gravely
,
and
calmly
;
but
as
she
spoke
,
she
felt
her
heart
tighten
.
There
remained
still
one
chance
,
one
shred
of
hope
,
and
in
another
moment
that
might
be
gone
.
A
sudden
convulsion
passed
over
Hamlin’s
face
;
he
caught
at
the
back
of
a
chair
,
for
he
seemed
trembling
and
reeling
,
his
eyes
closed
for
a
moment
as
if
he
were
choking
,
and
he
made
a
vague
helpless
movement
with
one
hand
,
as
a
man
who
cannot
speak
.
Then
,
suddenly
,
he
flung
himself
down
before
Miss
Brown’s
chair
,
seized
both
her
hands
,
and
covered
his
face
with
them
.
“
Anne
—
Anne
!
”
he
cried
.
They
remained
thus
for
a
moment
;
she
seated
upright
in
the
chair
,
he
on
his
knees
,
her
hands
pressed
to
his
face
.
“
Anne
—
you
love
me
,
”
he
murmured
.
Miss
Brown
did
not
answer
.
She
looked
straight
before
her
into
space
,
fixedly
,
vaguely
,
taking
in
nothing
,
with
her
solemn
,
tearless
,
grey
eyes
.
She
felt
as
if
she
were
waiting
she
knew
not
for
what
,
counting
the
tickings
of
an
unheard
clock
.
“
You
love
me
,
Anne
;
you
love
me
!
”
cried
Hamlin
,
louder
;
and
pressing
closer
to
her
,
he
put
out
his
arms
,
and
drew
down
her
face
to
his
,
and
kissed
her
,
twice
,
thrice
,
a
long
kiss
on
the
mouth
.
It
seemed
to
Anne
as
if
she
felt
again
the
throttling
arms
of
Sacha
Elaguine
about
her
neck
,
her
convulsive
kiss
on
her
face
,
the
cloud
of
her
drowsily
scented
hair
stifling
her
.
She
drew
back
,
and
loosened
his
grasp
with
her
strong
hands
.
Hamlin
sprang
up
.
His
face
was
changed
:
he
was
radiant
.
He
took
her
hand
in
both
his
,
and
looked
long
into
her
eyes
.
“
Forgive
me
,
”
he
whispered
;
“
forgive
me
—
oh
,
forgive
me
,
Anne
.
That
all
this
time
I
should
have
been
so
blind
—
thought
you
indifferent
and
contemptuous
.
Oh
,
forgive
me
for
all
my
wickedness
,
my
folly
;
forgive
me
,
my
darling
,
for
not
having
understood
that
I
belonged
to
you
,
that
you
loved
me
.
”
Anne
nodded
without
speaking
.
She
could
not
tell
a
lie
,
even
now
;
and
she
knew
she
must
not
tell
the
truth
.
Yet
never
perhaps
had
she
loathed
Hamlin
as
she
loathed
him
—
vain
,
fatuously
happy
—
at
this
moment
that
he
believed
she
had
confessed
that
she
loved
him
.
“
Well
,
then
,
”
she
said
quickly
,
“
perhaps
you
can
understand
that
—
after
what
has
passed
,
you
understand
—
I
am
anxious
that
we
should
get
married
at
once
.
Perry
was
asking
me
,
only
the
other
day
,
why
things
had
dragged
on
so
long
;
and
then
also
there
is
.
.
.
”
“
I
understand
,
”
interrupted
Hamlin
.
“
Oh
,
forgive
me
,
dearest
.
I
never
,
never
really
loved
that
woman
:
I
could
not
have
loved
her
.
I
have
never
loved
but
you
.
Will
you
believe
it
?
”
“
You
will
never
see
her
again
?
—
I
mean
,
never
except
in
my
presence
?
”
went
on
Anne
.
“
Will
you
promise
that
?
And
will
you
promise
to
leave
London
in
a
day
or
two
—
to
go
to
Italy
,
anywhere
where
she
is
not
—
and
wait
till
I
can
join
you
with
Aunt
Claudia
?
”
“
I
promise
;
I
will
do
anything
.
Oh
,
Anne
,
if
only
you
will
forget
all
that
;
if
you
will
believe
me
when
I
tell
you
that
I
never
loved
that
woman
—
that
I
felt
the
whole
time
that
she
was
debasing
,
humiliating
me
,
making
me
forfeit
all
my
honour
and
my
happiness
.
.
.
”
Anne
paid
no
attention
to
these
assurances
.
So
he
was
shifting
all
the
shame
of
his
weakness
and
baseness
and
sensuality
on
to
another
,
—
washing
his
hands
of
the
woman
who
had
given
herself
to
him
.
How
like
him
!
How
well
,
how
terribly
well
,
Anne
knew
him
!
“
You
have
promised
,
remember
,
”
she
repeated
,
—
“
you
will
leave
to‐morrow
,
the
day
after
—
as
soon
as
you
can
.
You
won’t
tell
her
where
you
are
going
—
do
you
understand
?
You
will
write
to‐day
,
and
tell
her
of
our
marriage
,
and
that
you
have
promised
never
to
see
her
again
.
”
Hamlin
kissed
her
hand
with
passion
.
“
And
listen
,
”
went
on
Miss
Brown
;
“
this
evening
there
is
a
big
party
at
the
Argiropoulos
.
I
did
not
intend
going
;
but
I
wish
to
go
now
.
Write
to
Mrs
Argiropoulo
to
tell
her
we
are
coming
together
;
explain
that
we
are
going
to
be
married
;
ask
her
to
tell
all
her
guests
.
I
want
every
one
to
know
.
Do
you
understand
,
Mr
Hamlin
—
Walter
,
I
mean
?
You
won’t
lose
time
,
will
you
?
”
“
No
,
no
!
”
cried
Hamlin
;
“
I
understand
.
Only
forgive
me
;
and
tell
me
that
you
love
me
,
my
darling
;
”
and
he
seized
Anne
,
and
kissed
her
again
with
a
sort
of
fury
.
“
Tell
me
that
you
forgive
me
for
all
that
I
have
made
you
suffer
,
Anne
.
Speak
,
—
only
one
word
,
Anne
—
one
word
.
”
Anne
covered
her
eyes
with
her
hand
.
“
I
forgive
you
,
Walter
,
”
she
answered
,
and
burst
into
tears
.
But
she
wiped
them
away
,
and
,
rising
suddenly
,
left
the
room
.
“
Walter
is
leaving
for
Italy
to‐morrow
,
”
she
said
,
as
she
met
Melton
Perry
in
the
corridor
.
“
I
want
you
to
accompany
me
and
Aunt
Claudia
there
in
a
few
days
.
Mr
Hamlin
and
I
are
going
to
be
married
.
”
“
God
bless
my
soul
!
”
cried
Perry
.
“
When
—
where
—
why
didn’t
you
tell
me
before
?
”
But
Anne
was
out
of
sight
.
CHAPTER
XI
.
IN
the
blazing
drawing‐room
,
where
a
crowd
of
black
coats
and
shining
bare
shoulders
and
fashionable
dresses
contrasted
drolly
with
the
melancholy
thin
Cupids
of
Burne
Jones
,
the
mournful
mysterious
ladies
of
Rossetti
,
which
adorned
the
walls
,
one
of
Mrs
Argiropoulo’s
many
musical
celebrities
was
wailing
Austrian
popular
songs
at
the
piano
.
Miss
Brown
,
who
had
undergone
the
universal
staring
and
received
the
general
congratulations
with
a
monosyllabic
composure
much
criticised
on
all
hands
,
had
slipped
away
,
when
the
Austrian
tenor
approached
the
piano
,
to
the
furthest
end
of
the
room
,
where
she
was
half
protected
from
sight
by
the
plants
of
an
adjacent
conservatory
.
All
this
triumph
,
people
said
to
themselves
,
as
they
looked
round
at
her
seated
alone
in
the
corner
,
dressed
in
a
wonderful
garment
of
cloth‐of‐silver
,
resting
her
dark
head
on
her
hand
,
was
too
much
even
for
her
.
Yet
in
reality
Miss
Brown
did
not
feel
any
emotion
;
she
was
too
tired
for
that
.
She
felt
as
if
she
had
just
finished
a
long
journey
,
or
as
she
used
sometimes
to
do
years
ago
after
a
hard
morning’s
ironing
in
summer
—
weary
,
broken
,
too
numb
for
thought
or
for
pain
.
The
guttural
voice
of
the
Austrian
tenor
,
wailing
out
the
simple
little
mountain
songs
,
which
would
at
any
other
