in memory only, not in reality; so deep and
transforming had been the impressions he had lately experienced, so new
were the conditions under which he found himself in the house he had
been accustomed to think of as a home--standing with his hat in his
hand awaiting the entrance of a young creature whose life had also been
undergoing a transformation--a tragic transformation toward a wavering
result, in which he felt with apprehensiveness that his own action was
still bound up.

But Gwendolen was come in, looking changed; not only by her mourning
dress, but by a more satisfied quietude of expression than he had seen
in her face at Genoa. Her satisfaction was that Deronda was there; but
there was no smile between them as they met and clasped hands; each was
full of remembrance--full of anxious prevision. She said, "It was good
of you to come. Let us sit down," immediately seating herself in the
nearest chair. He placed himself opposite to her.

"I asked you to come because I want you to tell me what I ought to do,"
she began, at once. "Don't be afraid of telling me what you think is
right, because it seems hard. I have made up my mind to do it. I was
afraid once of being poor; I could not bear to think of being under
other people; and that was why I did something--why I married. I have
borne worse things now. I think I could bear to be poor, if you think I
ought. Do you know about my husband's will?"

"Yes, Sir Hugo told me," said Deronda, already guessing the question
she had to ask.

"Ought I to take anything he has left me? I will tell you what I have
been thinking," said Gwendolen, with a more nervous eagerness. "Perhaps
you may not quite know that I really did think a good deal about my
mother when I married. I _was_ selfish, but I did love her, and feel
about her poverty; and what comforted me most at first, when I was
miserable, was her being better off because I had married. The thing
that would be hardest to me now would be to see her in poverty again;
and I have been thinking that if I took enough to provide for her, and
no more--nothing for myself--it would not be wrong; for I was very
precious to my mother--and he took me from her--and he meant--and if
she had known--"

Gwendolen broke off. She had been preparing herself for this interview
by thinking of hardly anything else than this question of right toward
her mother; but the question had carried with it thoughts and reasons
which it was impossible f