long retirement she had come fully to realize it. There had been a
strange and embracing sense of safety permeating her solitary life. She
had got up in the morning, she had gone to bed at night, feeling safe.
For the storms of the passions were stilled, and though desire might
stir sometimes, it soon slept again. For she never took her desire into
danger. She did not risk the temptations of the world.

But now all the old restlessness, all the old anxiety and furtive
uneasiness of the mind, had returned. She was again what she had often
been more than ten years ago--a woman tormented. And--for she knew
herself now--she knew what was in store for her if she gave herself
again to life and her own inclinations.

For it had all come back; the old greedy love of sympathy and
admiration, the old worship of strength and youth and hot blood and good
looks, the old longing for desire and love, the old almost irritable
passion to possess, to dominate, to be first, to submerge another human
being in her own personality.

After ten years she was in love again, desperately in love. But she was
an elderly woman now, so elderly that many people would no doubt think
that it was impossible that she should be in love. How little such
people knew about human nature! The evening had been almost as wonderful
and as exciting to her as it could have been to a girl. When she had
come into the hall of the Carlton and had seen Craven through the glass,
had seen his tall figure, smooth, dark hair, and animated face glowing
with health after the breezes and sunrays of Beaconsfield, she had known
a feeling that a girl might have understood and shared.

And she was sixty!

What was to be done?

Craven was certainly fond of her already. Quietly she had triumphed that
night. Three women had seen and had quite understood her little triumph.
Probably all of them had wondered about it, had been secretly irritated
by it. Certainly Beryl had been very much irritated. But in spite of
that triumph, Lady Sellingworth felt almost desperately afraid that
night when she was alone. For she knew how great the difference was
between her feeling for Craven and his feeling for her. And with greater
intimacy that difference, she felt sure, must even increase. For she
would want from him what he would never want or even dream of wanting,
from her. He would be satisfied in their friendship while she would be
almost starving. He would never know that cruel longing