otherin
solid
majesty
on
either
hand
;
bulks
on
whose
high
fronts
,
lofty-portaled
,
o'errun
with
fresco
,
glorified
by
brush
and
chisel
,
strength
and
beauty
take
hands
in
unending
wedlock
.
Into
the
noblest
of
all
,
up
the
echoing
stone
stairs
,
down
which
the
feet
of
the
masters
have
for
ever
ceased
to
tread
,
they
enter
.
As
we
all
know
,
it
has
been
given
to
the
city
of
Genoa
—
lovely
queen-city
meriting
so
great
a
gift
—
by
the
dying
hand
of
its
latest
possessor
,
the
last
of
that
high
and
beautiful
race
—
if
we
may
judge
of
the
dead
by
their
pictures
—
who
paced
its
floors
,
and
went
forth
in
final
funeral
pomp
through
its
worthy-to-be-imperial
portals
.
Burgoyne
and
Byng
are
standing
before
the
great
Vandyke
.
The
custode
,
opening
a
shutter
,
and
throwing
wider
a
door
,
casts
a
brighter
ray
of
light
for
the
staring
Britons
—
several
others
have
joined
themselves
to
our
friends
—
to
gape
at
it
by
.
What
does
the
stately
gentleman
on
his
great
white
horse
,
whom
Vandyke
has
made
able
to
set
at
naught
death
's
effacement
,
think
of
them
,
as
the
custode
slowly
swings
him
forward
on
his
hinges
,
so
that
the
day-beams
may
bring
out
more
clearly
still
the
arresting
charm
of
his
serious
face
,
his
outstretched
arm
,
and
grave
,
gallant
bearing
?
Looking
at
him
,
whose
heart
among
us
is
not
besieged
by
an
ache
of
longing
that
that
"
young
and
princely
"
gentleman
on
the
brave
white
charger
should
ride
down
to
us
out
of
his
frame
,
and
bring
back
his
world
with
him
?
probably
not
a
better
world
than
ours
,
but
surely
,
surely
a
handsomer
one
.
After
awhile
the
other
tourists
drift
away
,
but
the
two
men
still
stand
and
gaze
.
Into
Burgoyne
's
mind
has
come
a
sense
of
disgust
with
the
present
,
a
revolt
against
steam
trams
and
the
Cromwell
Road
—
most
perfect
symbol
of
that
bald
,
unending
,
vulgar
ugliness
,
which
,
in
some
moods
,
must
seem
to
everyone
the
dominant
note
of
nineteenth-century
life
.
The
light-hearted
Byng
,
who
always
takes
his
colour
from
his
surroundings
,
is
hushed
into
a
silence
that
is
almost
reverent
too
.
"
What
a
difference
there
is
between
his
Italian
and
his
English
pictures
,
"
he
says
presently
.
"
Do
you
remember
the
Marchesa
Balbi
,
and
those
divine
Balbi
children
in
the
Grosvenor
,
last
year
?
Oh
,
no
!
by-the-bye
,
you
were
in
America
.
The
fog
seemed
to
get
into
his
brush
whenever
he
painted
an
Englishwoman
,
always
excepting
Henrietta
Maria
,
who
was
not
an
Englishwoman
,
and
whom
he
was
obviously
rather
in
love
with
.
"
"
Is
that
a
piece
of
scandal
of
your
own
invention
,
or
is
it
founded
on
fact
?
"
asks
Burgoyne
,
rousing
himself
,
and
looking
over
his
shoulder
towards
the
entrance
to
the
next
frescoed
,
mirrored
,
pictured
room
,
whence
he
hears
the
sound
of
approaching
voices
.
In
his
eye
is
an
idle
and
mechanical
curiosity
,
mixed
with
vexation
that
his
short
respite
from
his
fellow-countrymen
is
ended
;
in
this
case
,
it
is
fellow-countrywomen
,
for
the
tones
that
are
nearing
are
those
of
a
woman
,
a
woman
who
is
saying
in
a
key
of
satisfaction
,
"
Oh
,
here
it
is
!
I
thought
I
remembered
that
it
was
in
this
room
.
"
At
the
same
moment
the
speaker
,
as
well
as
the
person
addressed
,
came
into
sight
;
and
in
an
instant
out
of
Burgoyne
's
eye
has
raced
away
the
lack-lustre
curiosity
,
and
has
given
way
to
an
expression
of
something
beyond
surprise
,
of
something
more
nearly
verging
on
consternation
;
and
yet
,
after
all
,
there
is
nothing
very
astonishing
in
the
fact
that
it
is
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
who
is
the
woman
in
search
of
the
Vandyke
.
There
is
nothing
more
surprising
in
her
being
at
Genoa
than
in
his
being
there
himself
.
At
that
mart
of
nations
it
can
never
be
matter
for
wonder
to
meet
anyone
;
but
who
is
this
to
whom
her
observation
is
addressed
?
It
is
not
Mr.
Le
Marchant
,
it
is
not
a
man
at
all
;
it
is
a
slight
woman
—
"
White
as
a
lily
,
and
small
as
a
wand
"
—
like
Lance
's
sister
,
dressed
with
that
neat
,
tight
,
gray-tinted
simplicity
,
severe
yet
smart
,
which
marks
the
well-bred
Englishwoman
on
her
travels
.
Is
it
one
of
the
younger
ones
,
who
has
grown
up
so
startlingly
like
her
?
Miriam
?
Rose
?
or
is
it
,
can
it
be
,
the
dead
Elizabeth
?
CHAPTER
IV
.
In
a
ripe
civilization
such
as
ours
there
are
formulas
provided
to
meet
the
requirements
of
every
exigency
that
may
possibly
arise
;
but
amongst
them
there
is
not
one
which
teaches
us
how
to
greet
a
person
come
back
from
the
dead
,
because
it
is
held
impossible
that
such
a
contingency
can
occur
.
Perhaps
this
is
the
reason
why
Jim
Burgoyne
,
usually
a
docile
and
obedient
member
of
the
society
to
which
he
belongs
,
now
flies
in
the
face
of
all
the
precepts
instilled
into
him
by
that
society
's
code
.
At
the
sight
of
Elizabeth
Le
Marchant
entering
the
room
,
clad
in
a
very
neat
tailor
gown
,
instead
of
the
winding-sheet
with
which
he
had
credited
her
,
he
at
first
stands
transfixed
,
staring
at
her
with
a
hardness
of
intensity
which
is
allowed
to
us
in
the
case
of
Titian
's
"
Bella
,
"
or
Botticelli
's
"
Spring
,
"
but
has
never
been
accounted
permissible
in
the
case
of
a
more
living
loveliness
.
Then
,
before
he
can
control
,
or
even
question
the
impulse
that
drives
him
,
it
has
carried
him
to
her
.
"
Elizabeth
!
"
he
says
,
in
that
sort
of
awed
semi-whisper
with
which
one
would
salute
a
being
plainly
returned
from
the
other
side
,
fearing
that
the
fulness
of
a
living
voice
might
strike
too
strongly
on
his
disused
ear
—
"
is
it
really
Elizabeth
?
"
Had
Burgoyne
been
quite
sure
,
even
now
,
of
that
fact
;
if
he
had
had
his
wits
well
about
him
,
he
would
certainly
not
have
addressed
her
by
her
Christian
name
.
But
from
the
dead
the
small
pomps
and
ceremonies
of
earth
fall
off
.
We
think
of
them
by
their
naked
names
—
must
we
not
then
appeal
to
them
by
the
same
when
they
reappear
before
us
?
The
girl
—
for
she
does
not
look
much
more
—
thus
rudely
and
startlingly
bombarded
,
drops
her
Baedeker
out
of
her
slim-gloved
hand
,
and
with
a
positive
jump
at
the
suddenness
of
the
address
,
looks
back
apprehensively
at
her
interlocutor
.
In
her
eyes
is
,
at
first
,
only
the
coldly
frightened
expression
of
one
discourteously
assailed
by
an
insolent
stranger
;
but
in
a
space
of
time
as
short
as
had
served
him
to
note
the
same
metamorphosis
in
the
case
of
her
parents
,
he
sees
the
look
of
half
—
three-quarter
—
whole
recognition
dawn
in
her
eyes
,
followed
—
alas
!
there
can
be
no
mistake
about
it
—
by
the
same
aspiration
after
flight
.
There
is
no
reason
why
she
should
not
recognise
him
again
at
once
.
He
has
fallen
a
prey
neither
to
hair
nor
fat
—
the
two
main
disguisers
and
disfigurers
of
humanity
.
His
face
is
as
smooth
and
his
figure
as
spare
as
when
,
ten
years
ago
,
he
had
given
the
pretty
tomboy
of
sixteen
lessons
in
jumping
the
ha-ha
.
And
as
to
her
identity
,
no
shadow
of
doubt
any
longer
lingers
in
his
mind
.
The
violence
and
shock
of
his
attack
have
made
her
crimson
,
have
matched
her
cheeks
with
those
long-withered
damasks
in
the
Moat
garden
,
with
which
they
used
to
vie
in
bloomy
vividness
.
But
even
yet
he
does
not
treat
her
quite
as
if
she
were
really
and
veritably
living
;
he
has
not
yet
got
back
his
conventional
manners
.
"
I
thought
you
were
dead
,
"
he
says
,
his
voice
not
even
yet
raised
to
its
ordinary
key
,
some
vague
awe
still
subduing
it
.
It
must
be
a
trick
of
his
excited
imagination
that
makes
it
seem
to
him
as
if
she
said
under
her
breath
,
"
So
I
am
!
"
But
before
he
has
had
time
to
do
more
than
distrust
the
testimony
of
his
ears
,
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
strikes
in
quickly
—
"
We
cannot
help
what
Mr.
Burgoyne
thinks
,
"
says
she
,
with
a
constrained
laugh
;
"
but
you
are
not
dead
,
are
you
,
Elizabeth
?
We
are
neither
of
us
dead
;
on
the
contrary
,
we
are
very
much
alive
.
Who
can
help
being
alive
in
this
heavenly
place
?
And
you
?
When
did
you
come
?
What
hotel
are
you
at
?
Have
you
been
here
long
?
Do
you
make
a
long
stay
?
"
She
pours
out
her
questions
with
such
torrent-force
and
rapidity
,
as
gives
to
her
auditor
the
conviction
that
it
is
her
aim
to
have
a
monopoly
of
them
.
After
one
look
of
unbounded
astonishment
at
his
companion
's
onslaught
,
Byng
has
withdrawn
to
a
discreet
distance
.
"
You
never
mentioned
her
when
I
met
you
in
Oxford
,
"
says
Burgoyne
,
disregarding
her
trivial
and
conventional
questions
,
and
turning
his
eyes
away
with
difficulty
from
his
old
playfellow
.
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
laughs
again
,
still
constrainedly
.
"
Probably
you
never
asked
after
her
.
"
"
I
was
afraid
,
"
he
says
solemnly
;
"
after
ten
years
one
is
afraid
;
and
as
you
did
not
mention
her
—
you
know
you
mentioned
all
the
others
—
I
thought
you
had
lost
her
!
"
A
sort
of
slight
shiver
passes
over
the
woman
's
frame
.
"
No
,
thank
God
!
No
!
"
During
the
foregoing
little
dialogue
about
herself
,
Elizabeth
has
stood
with
her
eyes
on
the
ground
;
but
at
the
end
of
it
she
lifts
them
to
smile
lovingly
at
her
mother
.
They
are
very
pretty
eyes
still
,
but
surely
they
seem
to
have
cried
a
good
deal
;
and
now
that
the
hurrying
blood
has
left
her
cheek
again
,
Burgoyne
sees
that
she
looks
more
nearly
her
age
than
he
had
imagined
at
the
first
glance
.
He
has
not
heard
her
voice
yet
;
she
has
not
spoken
,
unless
that
first
shaken
whisper
—
so
much
more
likely
to
be
the
freak
of
his
own
heated
fancy
—
could
count
for
speech
.
He
must
hear
her
tones
.
Do
they
keep
an
echo
of
the
other
world
,
as
he
still
imagines
that
he
sees
a
shade
from
it
lying
lingeringly
across
her
face
?
"
Do
you
ever
climb
apple-trees
now
?
"
he
asks
abruptly
.
She
starts
slightly
,
and
again
,
though
with
a
weaker
red
wave
,
her
rather
thin
cheeks
grow
tinged
.
"
Did
I
ever
climb
them
?
"
she
says
,
with
a
bewildered
look
,
and
speaking
in
a
somewhat
tremulous
voice
.
"
Yes
"
—
slowly
,
as
if
with
an
effort
of
memory
—
"
I
believe
I
did
.
"
"
You
have
forgotten
all
about
it
?
"
cries
Jim
,
in
an
accent
of
absurdly
disproportioned
disappointment
.
"
Have
you
forgotten
the
kangaroo
too
?
have
you
forgotten
everything
?
"
Perhaps
she
is
putting
her
memory
to
the
same
strain
as
he
had
done
his
in
the
case
of
her
mother
's
name
on
the
occasion
of
their
Oxford
meeting
.
At
all
events
,
she
leaves
the
question
unanswered
,
and
the
elder
woman
again
hurries
to
her
help
against
this
persistent
claimant
of
reminiscences
.
"
You
must
not
expect
us
all
to
have
such
memories
as
you
have
,
"
she
says
with
a
touch
of
friendliness
in
her
look
.
"
I
must
own
that
I
too
had
quite
forgotten
the
kangaroo
;
and
so
I
fear
had
Robert
,
until
you
reminded
us
of
it
in
Mesopotamia
.
"
"
How
is
Mr.
Le
Marchant
?
"
inquires
Jim
,
thus
reminded
to
put
his
tardy
query
—
"
is
he
with
you
?
"
"
No
,
he
is
not
very
fond
of
being
abroad
;
it
is
not
"
—
smiling
—
"
'
dear
abroad
'
to
him
,
but
I
think
that
he
will
very
likely
come
out
to
Florence
to
fetch
us
.
"
"
You
are
going
to
Florence
?
"
cries
the
young
man
eagerly
.
"
So
am
I
!
oh
,
hurrah
!
then
we
shall
often
meet
.
"
But
the
touch
of
friendliness
,
whose
advent
he
had
hailed
so
joyfully
,
has
vanished
out
of
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
's
voice
,
or
,
at
least
,
is
overlaid
with
a
species
of
stiffness
,
as
she
answers
distantly
,
"
We
do
not
intend
to
go
out
at
all
in
Florence
—
I
mean
into
society
.
"
"
But
I
am
not
society
,
"
replies
he
,
chilled
,
yet
resolute
.
"
I
wish
"
—
glancing
rather
wistfully
from
one
to
the
other
—
"
that
I
could
give
you
a
little
of
my
memory
.
If
I
could
,
you
would
see
that
,
after
being
so
infinitely
good
to
me
at
the
Moat
,
you
cannot
expect
me
to
meet
you
as
total
strangers
now
.
"
In
the
sense
of
ill-usage
that
fills
his
breast
,
the
fact
of
how
almost
entirely
oblivious
he
had
been
of
the
persons
before
him
,
during
the
greater
part
of
the
long
interval
that
had
parted
them
,
has
—
such
is
human
nature
—
quite
slipped
his
recollection
.
It
is
brought
back
to
him
in
some
degree
with
a
twinge
by
Mrs.
Le
Marchant
saying
in
a
relenting
tone
,
and
with
an
accent
of
remorse
,
"
And
you
have
remembered
us
all
these
years
?
"
He
cannot
,
upon
reflection
,
conscientiously
say
that
he
has
;
but
is
yet
disingenuous
enough
to
allow
a
speaking
silence
to
imply
acquiescence
.
"
And
you
are
on
your
way
to
Florence
too
?
"
continues
she
,
mistaking
the
cause
of
his
dumbness
;
the
tide
of
compunction
evidently
setting
more
strongly
towards
him
,
in
her
womanly
heart
,
at
the
thought
of
the
entire
want
of
interest
she
has
manifested
in
the
case
of
one
whose
long
faithfulness
to
her
and
her
family
had
deserved
a
better
treatment
.
"
Yes
.
"
His
face
clouds
so
perceptibly
as
he
pronounces
this
monosyllable
,
that
his
interlocutor
inquires
,
with
a
growing
kindness
:
"
Not
on
any
unpleasant
errand
,
I
hope
?
"
He
laughs
the
uneasy
laugh
of
an
Anglo-Saxon
obliged
to
tell
,
or
at
all
events
telling
,
some
intimate
detail
about
himself
.
"
I
am
going
to
see
my
young
woman
—
the
girl
I
am
engaged
to
.
"
"
Well
,
that
is
a
pleasant
errand
,
surely
?
"
(
smiling
)
.
"
C'est
salon
!
"
replies
Jim
gloomily
.
"
I
have
a
piece
of
ill-news
to
tell
her
;
"
then
,
with
a
half-shy
effort
to
escape
into
generalities
,
"
which
way
do
you
think
that
ill-news
read
best
—
on
paper
or
vivâ
voce
?
"
She
shivers
a
little
.
"
I
do
not
know
.
I
do
not
like
them
either
way
.
"
Then
,
taking
out
her
watch
,
with
the
evident
determination
to
be
surprised
at
the
lateness
of
the
hour
,
she
cries
,
"
It
is
actually
a
quarter
to
two
!
Are
not
you
famished
,
Elizabeth
?
I
am
!
"
There
is
such
apparent
and
imminent
departure
in
her
eye
that
Burgoyne
feels
that
there
is
no
time
to
be
lost
.
"
Have
you
decided
upon
your
hotel
in
Florence
?
"
he
asks
precipitately
.
"
We
have
decided
against
them
all
,
"
is
her
answer
.
"
We
have
taken
a
little
apartment
—
a
poor
little
entresol
;
but
it
is
such
a
poor
little
one
,
that
I
should
be
ashamed
to
ask
any
of
my
friends
to
come
and
see
me
there
.
"
She
accompanies
the
last
words
,
as
if
to
take
the
sting
out
of
them
,
with
as
sweet
and
friendly
a
smile
as
any
he
remembers
in
the
Devonshire
days
.
But
the
sting
is
not
taken
out
,
all
the
same
;
it
lingers
,
pricking
and
burning
still
,
after
both
the
tall
,
thin
,
black
figure
,
and
the
slim
,
little
gray
one
have
disappeared
.
The
moment
that
this
is
the
case
,
Byng
rejoins
his
friend
;
a
curiosity
and
alert
interest
in
his
young
eyes
,
which
his
companion
feels
no
desire
to
gratify
.
He
is
unable
,
however
,
to
maintain
the
entire
silence
he
had
intended
upon
the
subject
,
since
Byng
,
after
waiting
for
what
,
to
his
impatience
,
appears
a
more
than
decent
interval
,
is
constrained
to
remark
—
"
Did
I
hear
you
tell
that
lady
,
when
first
you
spoke
to
her
,
that
she
was
dead
?
"
"
I
thought
she
was
.
"
"
Had
you
heard
it
?
"
"
No.
"
"
Did
you
see
it
in
the
papers
?
"
"
No.
"
A
pause
.
"
I
wonder
why
you
thought
she
was
dead
.
"
The
other
makes
a
rather
impatient
movement
.
"
I
had
no
reason
—
none
whatever
.
It
was
an
idiotic
inference
.
"
Byng
draws
a
long
breath
of
satisfaction
.
"
Well
,
at
all
events
,
I
am
very
glad
that
she
is
not
.
"
Jim
turns
upon
him
with
something
of
the
expression
of
face
worn
by
Mrs.
Sarah
Gamp
on
hearing
Mrs.
Prig
express
her
belief
that
it
was
not
by
Mrs.
Harris
that
her
services
would
be
required
.
"
Why
should
you
be
glad
of
that
,
Betsy
?
She
is
unbeknown
to
you
except
by
hearing
.
Why
should
you
be
glad
?
"
As
Byng
's
case
is
a
more
aggravated
one
than
Mrs.
Prig
's
,
seeing
that
Elizabeth
Le
Marchant
is
'
unbeknown
'
to
him
even
by
hearing
,
so
is
the
warmth
,
or
rather
coldness
,
with
which
his
friend
receives
his
remark
not
inferior
to
that
of
"
Sairey
.
"
"
I
do
not
quite
see
how
it
affects
you
.
Why
are
you
glad
?
"
"
Why
am
I
glad
?
"
replies
the
younger
man
,
with
a
lightening
eye
.
"
For
the
same
reason
that
I
am
glad
that
Vandyke
painted
that
picture
"
—
pointing
to
it
—
"
or
that
Shakespeare
wrote
As
You
Like
It
.
The
world
is
the
richer
by
them
all
three
.
"
But
to
this
poetic
and
flattering
analogy
,
Jim
's
only
answer
is
a
surly
"
Humph
!
"
CHAPTER
V.
"
There
are
no
more
by-path
meadows
where
you
may
innocently
linger
,
but
the
road
lies
long
and
straight
and
dusty
to
the
grave
.
You
may
think
you
had
a
conscience
and
believed
in
God
;
but
what
is
conscience
to
a
wife
?
...
.
To
marry
is
to
domesticate
the
Recording
Angel
.
Once
you
are
married
,
there
is
nothing
left
for
you
—
not
even
suicide
—
but
to
be
good
.
"
There
is
no
particular
reason
why
Burgoyne
should
not
impart
to
his
companion
what
he
knows
—
after
all
it
is
not
very
much
—
about
their
two
countrywomen
.
Upon
reflection
he
had
told
himself
this
,
and
conquered
a
reluctance
,
that
he
cannot
account
for
,
to
mentioning
their
name
;
and
to
relating
the
story
of
those
shadowy
idyllic
two
months
of
his
life
,
which
form
all
of
it
that
has
ever
come
into
contact
with
theirs
.
So
that
by
the
time
—
some
thirty-six
hours
later
—
when
they
reach
Florence
,
the
younger
man
is
in
possession
of
as
much
information
about
the
objects
of
their
common
interest
as
it
is
in
the
power
of
the
elder
one
to
impart
.
To
neither
of
them
,
meanwhile
,
is
any
second
glimpse
vouchsafed
of
those
objects
,
eagerly
—
though
with
different
degrees
of
overtness
in
that
eagerness
—
as
they
both
look
out
for
them
among
the
luggage-piles
and
the
tweed-clad
English
ladies
at
the
station
.
It
had
been
the
intention
of
Burgoyne
that
he
and
his
friend
should
put
up
at
the
same
hotel
as
that
inhabited
by
his
betrothed
and
her
family
;
hut
,
finding
that
it
is
full
,
he
orders
rooms
at
the
Minerva
,
and
in
the
fallen
dusk
of
a
rather
chill
spring
night
,
finds
himself
traversing
the
short
distance
from
the
railway
to
that
hotel
.
As
he
and
Byng
sit
over
their
coffee
after
dinner
in
the
salle
à
manger
,
almost
its
only
tenants
at
that
late
hour
,
the
younger
man
remarks
matter-of-factly
,
as
if
stating
a
proposition
almost
too
obvious
to
be
worth
uttering
—
"
I
suppose
you
are
off
to
the
Anglo-Américain
now
.
"
"
I
think
not
,
"
replies
Jim
slowly
;
"
it
is
past
ten
,
you
see
,
and
they
are
early
people
.
"
He
adds
a
moment
later
,
as
if
suspecting
his
own
excuse
of
insufficiency
,
"
Mr.
Wilson
is
rather
an
invalid
,
and
there
is
also
an
invalid
or
semi-invalid
sister
;
I
think
that
I
had
better
not
disturb
them
to-night
.
"
Byng
has
never
been
engaged
to
be
married
,
except
in
theory
,
and
it
is
certainly
no
business
of
his
to
blow
his
friend
's
flagging
ardour
into
flame
,
so
he
contents
himself
with
an
acquiescent
observation
to
the
effect
that
the
train
must
have
been
late
.
But
at
all
events
the
next
morning
finds
Burgoyne
paying
his
fiacre
at
the
door
of
the
Anglo-Américain
,
with
the
confidence
of
a
person
who
is
certain
of
finding
those
he
seeks
,
a
confidence
justified
by
the
result
;
for
,
having
followed
a
waiter
across
a
courtyard
,
and
heard
him
knock
at
a
door
on
the
ground-floor
,
that
door
opens
with
an
instantaneousness
which
gives
the
idea
of
an
ear
having
been
pricked
to
catch
the
expected
rap
,
and
the
next
moment
,
the
intervening
garçon
having
withdrawn
,
Jim
stands
face
to
face
with
his
Amelia
.
Her
features
are
all
alight
with
pleasure
,
but
her
first
words
are
not
particularly
amorous
.
"
Would
you
mind
coming
into
the
dining-room
?
Sybilla
is
in
the
drawing-room
already
this
morning
.
She
said
she
was
afraid
it
was
going
to
be
one
of
her
bad
days
,
so
I
thought
"
(
rather
regretfully
)
"
that
possibly
she
would
be
a
little
later
than
usual
in
coming
down
;
but
,
on
the
contrary
,
she
is
much
earlier
.
"
It
is
possible
that
an
extremely
ardent
love
may
be
independent
of
surroundings
;
may
burn
with
as
fierce
a
flame
,
when
its
owner
or
victim
is
seated
on
a
hard
horsehair
chair
beside
a
dining-room
table
,
in
a
little
dull
hotel
back
room
,
as
when
the
senses
are
courted
by
softly-cushioned
lounges
,
penetrating
flower-scents
,
and
cunningly
arranged
bric-à-brac
;
but
perhaps
Jim
's
passion
is
not
of
this
intense
and
Spartan
quality
.
At
all
events
a
chill
steals
over
him
as
Amelia
leads
the
way
into
that
small
and
uncheerful
chamber
where
the
Wilson
family
daily
banquet
.
He
is
not
so
lost
to
all
sense
of
what
England
and
Amelia
expect
of
him
as
not
to
take
her
in
his
arms
and
kiss
her
very
kindly
and
warmly
,
before
they
sit
down
on
two
hard
chairs
side
by
side
;
and
even
when
they
have
done
so
,
he
still
holds
her
hand
,
and
kisses
it
now
and
then
.
He
has
a
great
many
things
to
say
to
her
,
but
"
out
of
the
abundance
of
the
heart
the
mouth
speaketh
"
is
not
invariably
true
.
Sometimes
that
very
abundance
clogs
the
utterance
,
and
,
after
a
ten
months
'
separation
,
the
hinges
of
even
lovers
'
tongues
are
apt
at
first
to
be
somewhat
rusty
.
"
And
are
you
really
glad
to
see
me
again
?
"
asks
the
woman
—
she
is
scarcely
a
girl
,
having
the
doubtful
advantage
of
being
her
betrothed
's
senior
by
two
years
.
The
horsehair
chairs
are
obviously
powerless
to
take
the
edge
off
her
bliss
;
and
she
can
scarcely
command
her
voice
as
she
asks
the
question
.
"
I
decline
to
answer
all
such
futile
inquiries
,
"
replies
he
,
smiling
not
unkindly
;
but
there
is
no
tremor
in
his
voice
.
"
Even
if
I
did
not
discourage
them
on
principle
,
I
should
have
no
time
to
answer
them
to-day
;
I
have
so
much
to
say
to
you
that
I
do
not
know
where
to
begin
.
"
"
After
ten
months
that
is
not
very
surprising
,
"
rejoins
she
,
with
a
stifled
sigh
.
There
is
no
sentimental
reproach
in
her
words
or
tone
;
but
in
both
lurks
a
note
of
wistfulness
which
gives
his
conscience
a
prick
.
"
Of
course
not
!
of
course
not
!
"
he
rejoins
hastily
;
"
but
it
is
not
really
ten
months
—
no
,
surely
—
—
"
"
Ten
months
,
one
week
,
two
days
,
four
hours
and
a
half
!
"
Against
such
exactitude
of
memory
what
appeal
has
he
?
He
attempts
none
,
and
only
thinks
with
a
faint
unjust
irritation
that
she
might
have
spared
him
the
odd
hours
.
"
And
how
are
things
going
?
How
are
you
all
getting
on
?
"
he
asks
,
precipitating
himself
upon
a
fresh
subject
,
since
he
feels
prevented
by
circumstances
from
saying
anything
likely
to
bring
him
much
distinction
upon
the
old
one
.
"
Your
father
?
"
"
His
throat
is
better
"
—
with
an
accent
of
hesitating
filial
piety
,
as
if
there
were
something
else
about
him
that
was
not
better
.
"
And
Sybilla
?
"
"
Oh
,
poor
Sybilla
!
she
has
her
bad
days
now
and
then
.
"
"
And
,
like
the
early
Christians
,
she
resolves
to
have
all
things
in
common
.
I
expect
that
her
family
have
their
bad
days
too
,
"
says
Jim
dryly
.
"
Well
,
we
do
sometimes
,
"
replies
Amelia
with
reluctant
admission
;
"
but
she
really
does
try
to
control
herself
,
poor
thing
;
she
is
hardly
ever
unbearable
now
.
"
"
And
Cecilia
?
"
"
She
is
rather
in
trouble
just
now
;
I
fear
there
is
no
doubt
that
the
man
she
was
engaged
to
has
thrown
her
over
.
You
never
saw
him
?
Oh
no
!
Of
course
,
the
affair
came
on
after
you
left
England
.
"
Burgoyne
's
eyebrows
have
gone
up
,
and
his
face
has
assumed
an
expression
less
of
surprise
than
admiration
at
this
piece
of
news
.
"
How
many
does
that
make
?
Four
?
Well
,
courage
!
There
is
luck
in
odd
numbers
;
perhaps
she
will
land
the
fifth
.
"
"
She
will
tell
you
about
it
herself
,
"
says
Amelia
;
"
she
tells
everybody
;
she
likes
talking
about
it
—
it
is
very
odd
,
but
she
does
.
When
you
throw
me
over
"
—
rubbing
his
hand
which
she
holds
,
with
shy
and
deprecating
caressingness
,
against
her
own
cheek
—
"
I
shall
tell
nobody
;
I
shall
keep
my
misfortune
very
dark
.
"
"
When
I
do
!
"
repeats
he
with
laughing
emphasis
;
but
to
his
own
ear
both
the
emphasis
and
the
laughter
sound
flat
.
This
is
perhaps
the
cause
why
he
,
a
second
time
,
runs
away
from
his
subject
;
or
,
more
probably
,
he
is
really
in
haste
to
get
to
the
new
one
.
"
Meanwhile
,
"
he
says
,
his
eyes
involuntarily
dropping
to
the
carpet
,
as
if
he
had
rather
not
see
the
effect
of
his
words
upon
her
;
"
meanwhile
,
someone
has
thrown
me
over
.
"
"
You
?
"
"
Yes
,
me
;
I
did
not
write
it
to
you
,
because
I
do
not
see
much
use
in
putting
down
bad
news
in
black
and
white
,
and
even
with
this
little
delay
,
I
am
afraid
,
"
with
a
dry
smile
,
"
that
you
will
have
plenty
of
time
to
enjoy
it
.
"
He
pauses
for
an
instant
,
and
she
does
not
hurry
him
with
any
teasing
questions
;
but
waits
,
with
meek
patience
,
till
he
feels
inclined
to
go
on
.
"
My
aunt
is
going
to
be
married
.
"
If
he
has
wished
that
his
news
shall
produce
the
effect
of
a
torpedo
,
he
has
no
cause
to
complain
of
his
want
of
success
.
His
placid
Amelia
vaults
to
her
feet
.
"
Married
!
"
she
repeats
with
a
gasp
.
"
Why
,
she
is
quite
,
quite
old
!
"
"
She
is
sixty-five
!
"
The
colour
has
flooded
all
Amelia
's
face
;
the
blazing
colour
that
means
not
pleasure
,
but
consternation
.
It
is
some
moments
before
she
can
frame
her
next
query
.
"
And
is
he
?
—
do
you
?
—
has
she
chosen
wisely
,
I
mean
?
"
Jim
laughs
again
.
"
Can
one
choose
wisely
at
sixty-five
?
Well
,
whether
she
has
or
no
is
a
matter
of
opinion
;
she
has
chosen
the
curate
of
the
parish
,
who
,
by
reason
of
his
extreme
juvenility
,
is
still
in
deacon
's
orders
.
"
Miss
Wilson
's
limbs
are
shaking
so
that
she
cannot
maintain
her
standing
attitude
.
She
sinks
down
by
the
dining-table
again
in
her
hard
chair
.
It
is
a
very
hard
chair
on
which
to
receive
such
ill
news
.
"
And
cannot
you
hinder
it
,
cannot
you
dissuade
her
?
"
she
asks
falteringly
.
"
I
shall
not
try
;
poor
old
woman
!
After
all
,
she
has
a
right
to
pursue
her
own
happiness
in
her
own
way
,
only
I
wish
that
she
had
made
up
her
mind
twenty
years
ago
;
though
,
to
be
sure
,
how
could
she
?
"
—
with
another
smile
—
"
since
,
at
that
time
,
her
bridegroom
was
not
much
more
than
born
.
"
A
dead
silence
supervenes
—
a
silence
of
shocked
stupefaction
on
the
one
side
,
of
rather
dismal
brooding
on
the
other
.
At
length
Amelia
nerves
herself
to
put
a
question
upon
which
it
seems
to
her
,
not
very
incorrectly
,
that
her
whole
future
hangs
.
She
does
it
in
such
a
low
voice
that
none
but
very
sharp
ears
could
have
caught
it
.
Jim
's
ears
are
so
;
practised
as
they
are
in
listening
for
the
stealthy
tread
of
wild
animals
,
and
for
the
indescribable
sounds
of
mountain
solitudes
at
night
.
"
Will
it
—
will
it
—
make
a
great
difference
to
you
?
"
Burgoyne
lifts
his
eyes
,
which
have
been
idly
bent
on
the
floor
,
and
looks
straight
and
full
at
her
across
the
corner
of
the
table
.
"
It
will
make
all
the
difference
!
"
he
answers
slowly
.
Poor
Amelia
is
holding
her
handkerchief
in
her
hand
.
She
lifts
it
to
her
mouth
and
bites
a
corner
of
it
to
hide
the
quivering
of
her
lips
and
chin
.
She
does
not
wish
to
add
to
his
pain
by
any
breakdown
on
her
own
part
.
But
Jim
divines
the
quivering
even
under
the
morsel
of
cambric
,
and
looks
away
again
.
"
Her
money
is
almost
entirely
in
her
own
power
,
"
he
continues
,
in
an
unemotional
voice
;
"
and
when
she
announced
her
marriage
to
me
,
she
also
announced
her
intention
of
settling
the
whole
of
it
upon
her
—
her
"
—
he
pauses
a
second
,
as
if
resolved
to
keep
out
of
his
voice
the
accent
of
satire
and
bitterness
that
pierces
through
its
calm
—
"
her
husband
.
"
Amelia
has
dropped
both
shielding
hand
and
handkerchief
into
her
lap
.
She
has
forgotten
her
effort
to
conceal
the
blankness
of
her
dismay
.
Unless
she
conceals
the
whole
of
her
face
,
indeed
,
the
attempt
would
be
in
vain
,
since
each
feature
speaks
it
equally
.
"
Her
whole
fortune
?
"
she
repeats
,
almost
inaudibly
.
"
All
?
"
"
What
,
all
my
pretty
chickens
and
their
dam
?
"
says
Jim
,
oppressed
by
her
overwhelmed
look
into
an
artificial
and
dreary
levity
,
and
in
not
particularly
apt
quotation
.
"
My
dear
,
do
not
look
so
broken-hearted
.
I
am
not
absolutely
destitute
;
I
need
not
become
a
sandwich
man
.
I
have
still
got
my
£
800
a
year
,
my
very
own
,
which
neither
man
nor
mouse
,
neither
curate
nor
vicar
,
can
take
from
me
.
I
can
still
go
on
rioting
upon
that
;
the
question
is
"
—
his
words
coming
more
slowly
,
and
his
tone
growing
graver
—
"
have
I
any
right
to
ask
you
to
riot
on
it
too
?
"
Her
hand
has
gone
in
feverish
haste
out
to
his
for
answer
,
and
her
eyes
,
into
which
the
tears
are
welling
,
look
with
an
intense
dumb
wistfulness
into
his
;
but
,
for
the
moment
,
it
remains
dumb
.
There
is
something
painful
to
Burgoyne
in
that
wistfulness
,
almost
more
painful
than
the
telling
of
that
news
which
has
produced
it
.
He
looks
down
upon
the
tablecloth
,
and
,
with
his
disengaged
hand
,
the
one
not
imprisoned
in
his
betrothed
's
fond
hold
,
draws
patterns
with
a
paper-knife
accidentally
left
there
.
"
The
one
thing
that
I
blame
her
for
,
"
he
continues
,
not
following
up
the
branch
of
the
subject
that
his
last
speech
had
begun
to
open
up
,
and
speaking
with
a
composure
which
,
to
the
stricken
Amelia
,
appears
to
evidence
his
attainment
of
the
highest
pinnacle
of
manly
fortitude
,
"
the
only
thing
I
blame
her
for
,
is
her
having
hindered
my
adopting
any
profession
.
Poor
old
woman
,
it
was
not
malice
prepense
,
I
know
;
she
had
not
seen
her
Jessamey
then
,
probably
had
not
even
a
prophetic
instinct
of
him
,
but
as
things
turned
out
"
—
stifling
a
sigh
—
"
it
would
have
been
kinder
to
have
put
me
in
the
way
of
earning
my
own
living
.
"
Amelia
's
head
has
sunk
down
upon
his
hand
—
he
feels
her
hot
tears
upon
it
;
but
now
that
the
theme
has
no
longer
reference
to
herself
,
she
can
speak
.
She
straightens
herself
,
and
there
is
a
flash
,
such
as
he
has
very
seldom
seen
there
,
in
her
rather
colourless
orbs
.
"
It
was
monstrous
of
her
!
"
she
cries
,
with
the
almost
exaggerated
passion
of
a
usually
very
self-controlled
person
.
"
After
having
always
told
you
that
you
were
to
be
her
heir
!
"
"
But
had
she
told
me
so
?
"
replies
Jim
,
passing
his
hand
with
a
perplexed
air
over
his
own
face
.
"
That
is
what
I
have
been
trying
to
recall
for
the
last
few
days
.
I
never
remember
the
time
when
I
did
not
believe
it
,
so
I
suppose
that
someone
must
have
told
me
so
;
but
I
could
not
swear
that
she
herself
had
ever
put
it
down
in
black
and
white
.
However
,
"
tossing
his
head
back
with
a
gesture
as
of
one
who
throws
off
his
shoulders
a
useless
burden
,
"
what
does
that
matter
now
?
I
am
not
her
heir
,
I
am
nobody
's
heir
;
we
must
look
facts
in
the
face
!
Amelia
,
dear
"
—
in
a
tone
of
reluctant
tender
affection
,
as
of
one
compelled
,
yet
most
unwilling
,
to
give
a
little
child
,
or
some
other
soft
,
helpless
creature
,
pain
—
"
we
must
look
facts
in
the
face
!
"
There
is
something
in
his
voice
that
makes
Amelia
's
heart
stand
still
;
but
she
attempts
no
interruption
.
"
It
is
very
hard
for
me
,
dear
,
after
all
these
"
—
he
pauses
a
second
;
he
is
about
to
say
"
weary
years
'
waiting
,
"
but
his
conscience
arrests
him
;
to
him
they
have
not
been
weary
,
so
,
after
a
hardly-perceptible
break
,
he
goes
on
—
"
after
all
these
many
years
'
waiting
,
to
have
come
to
this
,
is
not
it
?
"
He
had
not
calculated
on
the
effect
which
would
be
produced
by
his
melancholy
words
and
his
caressing
tone
.
She
buries
her
face
on
his
shoulder
,
sobbing
uncontrollably
.
"
They
were
not
long
!
"
she
murmurs
brokenly
.
"
Nothing
is
,
nothing
can
be
,
long
to
me
as
long
as
I
have
you
,
or
the
hope
of
you
!
"
CHAPTER
VI
.
It
is
,
perhaps
,
fortunate
for
Amelia
that
she
cannot
see
the
expression
of
the
face
which
looks
out
above
her
prostrate
head
into
space
,
with
a
blankness
equal
to
what
has
been
her
own
,
a
blankness
streaked
,
as
hers
was
not
,
with
remorse
.
He
would
give
anything
to
be
able
to
answer
her
in
her
own
key
,
to
tell
her
that
,
as
long
as
he
can
keep
her
,
the
going
or
coming
of
any
lesser
good
hurts
him
as
little
as
the
brushing
past
his
cheek
of
a
summer
moth
or
windblown
feather
.
But
when
he
tries
to
frame
a
sentence
of
this
kind
,
his
tongue
cleaves
to
the
roof
of
his
mouth
.
He
can
only
hold
her
to
him
in
an
affectionate
clasp
,
whose
dumbness
he
hopes
that
she
attributes
to
silencing
emotion
.
She
herself
indulges
in
no
very
prolonged
manifestation
of
her
passion
.
In
a
few
moments
she
is
again
sitting
up
beside
him
with
wiped
eyes
,
none
the
handsomer
,
poor
soul
,
for
having
cried
,
and
listening
with
a
deep
attention
to
an
exposition
of
her
lover
's
position
and
prospects
,
which
he
is
at
no
pains
to
tinge
with
a
factitious
rose
colour
.
"
Have
you
realized
,
"
he
says
,
"
that
I
shall
never
be
better
off
than
I
am
now
?
never
!
never
!
For
though
of
course
I
shall
try
to
get
work
,
one
knows
how
successful
that
quest
generally
is
in
the
case
of
a
man
with
no
special
aptitudes
,
no
technical
training
,
and
who
starts
in
the
race
handicapped
by
being
ten
years
too
late
!
"
But
the
dismalness
of
this
panorama
raises
no
answering
gloom
in
the
young
woman
's
face
.
She
nods
her
head
gently
.
"
I
realize
it
.
"
"
And
this
is
what
I
have
brought
you
to
,
after
all
these
years
'
waiting
,
"
he
continues
,
in
a
tone
of
profound
regret
.
"
All
I
can
offer
you
at
the
end
of
them
is
a
not
particularly
genteel
poverty
,
not
even
a
cottage
with
a
double
coach-house
!
"
—
laughing
grimly
.
"
I
do
not
want
a
double
coach-house
,
nor
even
a
single
one
!
"
replies
Amelia
stoutly
,
and
laughing
too
,
a
little
,
through
returning
tears
.
"
Do
not
you
know
that
I
had
rather
drive
a
costermonger
's
barrow
with
you
than
go
in
a
coach
and
six
without
you
!
"
This
is
the
highest
flight
of
imagination
of
which
Jim
has
ever
known
his
matter-of-fact
Amelia
guilty
,
and
he
can
pay
her
his
thanks
for
it
only
in
compunctious
kisses
.
Perhaps
it
is
they
,
perhaps
it
is
the
thought
which
dictates
her
next
hesitating
speech
,
that
bring
a
light
into
Amelia
's
tear-reddened
eyes
.
"
If
you
will
never
be
better
off
—
—
"
She
stops
.
"
Yes
,
dear
,
go
on
;
'
if
I
shall
never
be
better
off
'
—
I
certainly
never
shall
;
I
feel
sure
that
you
will
be
able
to
put
my
earnings
for
the
next
ten
years
into
your
eye
,
and
see
none
the
worse
for
them
!
"
"
If
—
you
—
will
—
never
—
be
—
better
—
off
—
—
"
she
repeats
again
,
more
slowly
,
and
breaking
off
at
the
same
place
.
"
Well
,
dear
?
"
"
If
you
will
never
be
better
off
"
—
this
time
she
finishes
her
sentence
;
but
it
is
rendered
almost
inaudible
by
the
fact
of
her
flushed
face
and
quivering
lips
being
pressed
against
his
breast
—
"
why
should
we
wait
any
longer
?
"
Why
should
we
wait
any
longer
?
To
most
persons
,
granted
the
usual
condition
of
feeling
of
a
betrothed
couple
,
this
would
seem
a
very
natural
and
legitimate
deduction
from
the
premises
;
but
,
strange
to
say
,
it
comes
upon
Burgoyne
with
the
shock
of
a
surprise
.
He
has
been
thinking
vaguely
of
his
change
of
fortune
as
a
cause
for
unlimited
delay
,
perhaps
for
the
rupture
of
his
engagement
,
never
as
a
reason
for
its
immediate
fulfilment
.
He
gives
a
sort
of
breathless
gasp
,
which
is
happily
too
low
for
Amelia
with
her
still
hidden
face
to
hear
.
To
be
married
at
once
!
To
sit
down
for
all
time
to
Amelia
and
£
800
a
year
!
To
forego
for
ever
the
thrilling
wandering
life
;
the
nights
under
the
northern
stars
,
the
stealthy
tracking
of
shy
forest
creatures
;
the
scarce
coarse
delicious
food
,
the
cold
,
the
fatigue
,
the
hourly
peril
,
that
,
since
its
probable
loss
is
ever
in
sight
,
make
life
so
sweetly
worth
having
—
all
,
in
short
,
that
goes
to
make
up
so
many
an
Englishman
's
ideal
of
felicity
;
that
has
certainly
hitherto
gone
to
make
up
Jim
's
.
To
renounce
it
all
!
There
is
no
doubt
that
the
bitterness
of
this
thought
comes
first
;
but
presently
,
supplanting
it
,
chasing
it
away
,
there
follows
another
,
a
self-reproachful
light
flashing
over
his
past
eight
years
,
showing
him
his
own
selfishness
colossal
and
complete
for
the
first
time
.
In
a
paroxysm
of
remorse
,
he
has
lifted
Amelia
's
face
,
and
,
framing
it
with
his
hands
,
looks
searchingly
into
it
.
"
I
believe
,
"
he
says
in
a
shaken
voice
,
"
that
you
would
have
married
me
eight
years
ago
,
on
my
pittance
,
if
I
had
asked
you
!
"
No
"
Yes
"
was
ever
written
in
larger
print
than
that
which
he
read
in
her
patient
pale
eyes
.
Even
at
this
instant
there
darts
across
him
a
wish
that
they
were
not
quite
so
pale
,
but
he
detests
himself
for
it
.
"
And
I
never
suspected
it
!
"
he
cries
compunctiously
.
"
I
give
you
my
word
of
honour
,
I
never
suspected
it
!
I
thought
you
looked
upon
my
poverty
in
as
prohibitory
a
light
as
I
did
myself
.
"
"
I
do
not
call
it
such
great
poverty
,
"
replies
Amelia
,
her
practical
mind
resuming
its
habitual
sway
over
her
emotions
.
"
Of
course
,
it
is
an
income
that
would
require
a
little
management
;
but
if
we
cut
our
coat
according
to
our
cloth
,
and
did
not
want
to
move
about
too
much
,
we
might
live
either
in
a
not
very
fashionable
part
of
London
,
or
in
some
cheap
district
in
the
country
very
comfortably
.
"
Despite
his
remorse
,
a
cold
shiver
runs
down
Burgoyne
's
spine
at
the
picture
that
rises
,
conjured
up
with
too
much
distinctness
by
her
words
,
before
his
mind
's
eyes
;
the
picture
of
a
snug
Bayswater
villa
,
with
a
picturesque
parlour-maid
,
or
the
alternative
cottage
in
some
dreary
Wiltshire
or
Dorsetshire
village
,
with
a
shrubbery
of
three
aucuba
bushes
,
and
a
kitchen-garden
of
half
an
acre
.
It
may
be
that
,
her
frame
being
in
such
close
proximity
to
his
,
she
feels
the
influence
of
his
shiver
,
and
that
it
suggests
her
next
sentence
,
which
is
in
a
less
sanguine
key
.
"
But
it
would
not
be
fair
;
it
would
be
asking
you
to
give
up
too
much
.
"
The
meek
abnegation
of
her
rather
worn
voice
brings
his
remorse
uppermost
again
on
the
revolving
wheel
of
his
feelings
.
"
Is
not
it
my
turn
to
give
up
something
?
"
he
asks
tenderly
;
"
and
besides
,
it
is
time
for
me
to
settle
!
I
am
—
I
am
tired
of
wandering
!
"
As
this
atrocious
lie
passes
his
lips
,
he
catches
his
breath
.
Tired
of
the
Sierras
!
Tired
of
the
bivouacs
among
the
dazzling
snow
!
Tired
of
the
august
silence
of
the
ever-lasting
hills
!
Heaven
forgive
him
for
saying
so
!
Perhaps
there
is
no
great
air
of
veracity
in
his
assertion
,
for
she
looks
at
him
distrustfully
;
so
distrustfully
that
he
reshapes
his
phrase
:
"
At
least
,
if
I
am
not
,
I
ought
to
be
!
"
But
still
she
gazes
at
him
with
a
wistful
and
doubting
intentness
.
"
If
I
could
only
believe
that
that
was
true
!
"
"
It
is
true
,
"
replies
he
,
evading
her
look
;
"
at
least
,
true
enough
for
all
working
purposes
;
we
all
know
that
life
is
a
series
of
compromises
,
a
balancing
of
gain
and
loss
.
I
shall
lose
something
,
I
do
not
deny
that
,
but
I
gain
more
—
I
gain
you
!
"
"
That
is
such
a
mighty
gain
,
is
it
not
?
"
she
says
with
a
melancholy
smile
,
as
that
intuition
of
the
truth
which
sometimes
comes
to
unloved
or
tepidly
loved
women
flashes
upon
her
.
"
A
matter
of
taste
—
a
mere
matter
of
taste
!
"
rejoins
he
hurriedly
;
aware
of
the
unreal
ring
in
his
own
words
,
and
trying
,
with
all
his
might
,
to
feel
as
well
as
speak
light-heartedly
.
She
shakes
her
head
in
a
way
which
tells
him
how
poorly
he
has
succeeded
.
In
a
desperate
if
not
very
well-judged
attempt
to
convince
her
of
his
sincerity
,
his
next
speech
is
uttered
.
"
Why
should
not
we
be
married
at
once
?
to-morrow
?
the
day
after
to-morrow
?
at
the
Consulate
—
of
course
there
is
a
Consulate
—
or
the
English
church
;
I
suppose
there
are
half
a
dozen
English
churches
.
Why
not
?
We
have
nothing
to
wait
for
,
and
we
are
both
of
age
!
"
He
has
had
no
unkindly
intention
in
the
last
words
,
but
the
moment
that
these
are
out
of
his
mouth
,
a
glance
at
Amelia
's
unblooming
face
and
unyouthful
figure
tell
him
that
they
were
not
happily
chosen
.
At
the
first
instant
that
the
suggestion
of
an
immediate
marriage
reaches
the
hearer
's
brain
,
it
sends
a
dart
of
joy
over
her
features
.
To
be
married
at
once
!
To
put
an
end
for
ever
to
the
interminable
waiting
,
to
enter
at
last
—
at
last
upon
the
possession
of
the
so
long
deferred
Canaan
.
But
in
a
second
,
that
first
bright
flash
is
chased
away
,
and
gives
place
to
a
look
of
almost
humiliation
.
"
You
must
be
making
fun
of
me
,
to
suggest
such
a
thing
!
"
she
says
in
a
wounded
voice
;
"
you
know
how
wildly
impossible
it
would
be
that
I
should
leave
them
all
—
my
father
—
Sybilla
—
without
any
preparation
.
"
"
Without
any
preparation
!
"
replies
Jim
,
raising
his
eyebrows
.
"
Have
not
you
been
preparing
them
for
the
last
eight
years
?
"
He
feels
a
vague
unjust
irritation
with
her
for
opposing
his
proposition
,
though
deep
down
in
his
heart
he
knows
that
he
would
have
felt
a
much
greater
annoyance
had
she
eagerly
closed
with
it
.
As
she
does
not
answer
a
question
,
which
the
moment
that
it
is
uttered
he
feels
to
have
been
rather
brutal
,
he
goes
on
,
against
his
will
,
in
the
same
sarcastic
key
:
"
I
am
afraid
that
you
will
have
to
leave
them
all
some
day
;
I
am
afraid
that
our
Bayswater
mansion
—
by-the-bye
,
I
am
sure
it
will
not
be
a
mansion
,
for
I
am
sure
it
will
not
have
a
back-door
—
will
not
be
likely
to
contain
all
.
Your
father
—
Sybilla
—
Sybilla
and
her
physic
bottles
take
up
a
good
deal
of
room
,
do
not
they
?
"
It
is
fortunate
for
Amelia
that
she
is
too
preoccupied
by
the
thought
of
her
own
next
speech
to
take
in
the
full
acerbity
of
the
last
remark
.
"
If
you
would
consent
to
wait
till
we
get
home
—
father
does
not
mean
to
stay
in
Italy
beyond
the
end
of
next
month
—
we
might
be
married
in
June
;
that
"
(
with
a
pink
flush
of
happiness
)
"
would
not
be
so
long
to
wait
.
"
In
a
second
a
sum
of
the
simplest
description
executes
itself
in
Burgoyne
's
head
.
It
is
now
the
second
week
of
April
;
they
are
to
be
married
in
June
,
he
has
then
eight
weeks
left
.
It
shocks
himself
to
find
that
this
is
the
way
in
which
he
puts
it
.
All
the
overt
action
that
he
permits
himself
,
however
,
is
to
say
with
a
shrug
:
"
As
you
will
,
then
,
as
you
will
!
"
adding
,
since
he
feels
that
there
is
something
discourteous
even
to
unchivalry
in
so
bald
an
acquiescence
in
his
prospective
bliss
,
"
Of
course
,
dear
,
the
sooner
I
get
you
the
better
for
me
!
"
No
lover
could
have
been
overheard
giving
utterance
to
a
more
proper
or
suitable
sentiment
;
so
that
it
is
lucky
that
this
is
just
the
moment
that
Cecilia
chooses
for
entering
.
"
Do
not
be
afraid
,
"
she
says
,
with
a
laugh
.
"
I
will
not
stay
a
minute
,
but
I
just
wanted
to
say
'
How
do
you
do
?
'
How
well
you
are
looking
!
and
how
young
!
"
—
with
an
involuntary
glance
of
comparison
from
him
to
her
sister
;
a
glance
of
which
they
are
both
rather
painfully
conscious
.
"
Ah
!
"
(
sighing
)
"
with
all
your
Rocky
Mountain
experiences
,
it
is
evident
that
you
have
been
having
an
easier
time
than
we
have
!
"
"
Are
you
alluding
to
Sybilla
?
"
asks
Jim
gravely
.
"
I
have
no
doubt
,
from
what
I
know
of
her
powers
in
that
line
,
that
she
has
been
extremely
trying
.
"
"
Yes
,
partly
,
"
replies
the
girl
doubtfully
;
"
but
I
have
had
troubles
of
my
own
too
.
I
dare
say
that
Amelia
has
told
you
,
or
probably
"
(
with
a
second
and
heavier
sigh
)
"
you
have
been
more
pleasantly
employed
.
"
"
Amelia
did
hint
at
some
disaster
,
"
replies
Jim
,
struggling
to
conceal
the
rather
grim
smile
which
is
curving
his
mouth
,
a
feat
the
more
difficult
since
he
has
no
moustache
to
aid
him
;
"
but
I
have
been
waiting
to
hear
all
the
details
from
yourself
.
"
"
I
know
that
you
are
apt
to
think
I
fancy
things
,
"
says
Cecilia
,
sitting
down
on
a
third
hard
chair
,
"
but
there
could
be
no
fancy
in
this
case
;
I
am
sure
I
was
as
much
engaged
as
any
girl
ever
was
.
I
had
chosen
the
drawing-room
paper
and
bought
the
dining-room
grate
!
"
"
That
is
further
than
we
ever
got
,
is
not
it
,
Amelia
?
"
says
Jim
,
breaking
,
at
the
relation
of
this
prosaic
fact
,
into
the
laugh
he
has
been
with
difficulty
swallowing
;
"
but
,
Cis
,
if
I
were
you
,
I
should
keep
the
grate
;
one
does
not
know
how
soon
its
services
may
be
required
again
!
"
"
It
is
all
very
well
for
you
to
joke
,
"
returns
Cecilia
,
with
an
offended
air
;
"
it
may
be
play
to
you
,
but
it
is
—
—
"
"
Not
death
,
not
quite
death
to
you
!
"
interrupts
Burgoyne
,
glancing
with
an
expressive
smile
at
her
buxom
outline
.
"
I
think
you
will
live
to
fight
another
day
,
will
not
you
?
But
I
really
am
extremely
sorry
;
tell
me
all
about
it
.
"
"
He
was
perfectly
right
when
we
left
England
,
"
says
Cecilia
,
mollified
at
once
,
and
apparently
relieved
by
the
invitation
to
unbosom
herself
of
her
woes
;
"
nobody
could
have
been
more
so
;
he
came
to
see
us
off
at
Folkestone
,
and
the
tears
were
in
his
eyes
;
they
were
really
,
it
was
not
my
imagination
,
was
it
,
Amelia
?
And
at
first
he
wrote
all
right
,
and
said
all
the
usual
things
;
but
then
his
letters
gradually
grew
fewer
and
fewer
,
and
after
I
had
written
and
telegraphed
a
great
many
times
—
I
do
not
know
how
many
times
I
did
not
telegraph
to
ask
whether
he
was
ill
,
and
you
know
how
expensive
foreign
telegrams
are
—
he
sent
me
a
few
lines
,
oh
,
such
cruel
lines
,
were
not
they
,
Amelia
?
to
say
that
,
on
reflection
,
he
feared
that
the
feeling
he
had
for
me
was
not
such
as
to
justify
his
entering
on
so
sacred
an
engagement
as
marriage
with
me
;
but
he
ought
to
have
thought
of
that
before
,
ought
not
he
?
"
"
Undoubtedly
!
"
"
I
will
never
engage
myself
to
a
clergyman
again
,
"
says
Cecilia
pensively
.
Burgoyne
's
thoughts
have
strayed
at
the
mention
of
the
cloth
of
his
sister-in-law
elect
's
truant
admirer
,
to
that
member
of
the
same
profession
who
has
lately
robbed
him
of
his
heritage
,
and
he
replies
with
a
good
deal
of
feeling
:
"
They
do
play
one
dirty
turns
now
and
then
,
do
not
they
?
Yes
,
Cis
,
stick
to
laymen
for
the
future
!
"
Cecilia
receives
this
counsel
with
a
melancholy
sigh
,
fixing
her
large
eyes
on
the
carpet
,
but
presently
resumes
the
conversation
in
a
livelier
key
.
"
Let
us
talk
about
something
pleasanter
,
"
she
says
.
"
Had
you
a
good
journey
?
Do
you
like
your
travelling
companion
?
Why
did
not
you
bring
him
with
you
?
Is
he
nice
?
"
"
At
all
events
,
he
is
not
a
clergyman
,
"
replies
Jim
,
with
a
rather
malicious
smile
;
"
but
no
,
my
dear
,
do
not
let
your
thoughts
turn
in
that
direction
!
You
must
look
at
him
as
poor
women
look
at
diamonds
!
"
"
I
am
sure
I
do
not
know
what
you
mean
!
"
replies
Cecilia
,
reddening
.
"
I
have
not
the
slightest
wish
to
look
at
him
!
I
am
not
in
spirits
to
'
look
,
'
as
you
call
it
,
at
anyone
!
"
A
moment
later
,
she
adds
,
with
a
suspicion
of
malice
in
her
tone
:
"
We
are
certainly
an
unlucky
family
in
our
loves
!
I
,
heartlessly
thrown
over
,
and
Amelia
engaged
for
eight
years
!
"
Burgoyne
smiles
.
"
Amelia
is
not
going
to
be
engaged
any
longer
,
"
he
says
,
putting
his
arm
round
his
betrothed
.
"
Amelia
is
going
to
be
married
at
once
!
"
CHAPTER
VII
.
It
would
seem
natural
that
,
after
so
long
a
separation
,
Burgoyne
should
dine
and
spend
the
evening
with
his
betrothed
;
but
such
is
not
the
case
.
For
this
,
however
,
he
is
not
to
blame
;
he
is
quite
prepared
to
stay
with
her
until
she
turns
him
out
.
Had
he
not
better
school
himself
to
domestic
habits
,
since
he
is
so
soon
to
assume
them
for
life
?
But
in
consideration
for
Sybilla
he
is
dismissed
undined
.
It
is
not
that
she
ever
shares
the
family
dinner
at
their
table
à
part
in
the
salle
à
manger
,
but
the
thought
of
their
entertaining
a
guest
with
a
conviviality
far
greater
in
her
imagination
than
would
be
the
case
in
reality
,
while
she
herself
lies
lonely
on
her
couch
of
suffering
,
preys
upon
her
spirits
so
