had
gone through in relation to Grandcourt--the allurements, the
vacillations, the resolve to accede, the final repulsion; the incisive
face of that dark-eyed lady with the lovely boy: her own pledge (was it
a pledge not to marry him?)--the new disbelief in the worth of men and
things for which that scene of disclosure had become a symbol. That
unalterable experience made a vision at which in the first agitated
moment, before tempering reflections could suggest themselves, her
native terror shrank.

Where was the good of choice coming again? What did she wish? Anything
different? No! And yet in the dark seed-growths of consciousness a new
wish was forming itself--"I wish I had never known it!" Something,
anything she wished for that would have saved her from the dread to let
Grandcourt come.

It was no long while--yet it seemed long to Mrs. Davilow, before she
thought it well to say, gently--

"It will be necessary for you to write, dear. Or shall I write an
answer for you--which you will dictate?"

"No, mamma," said Gwendolen, drawing a deep breath. "But please lay me
out the pen and paper."

That was gaining time. Was she to decline Grandcourt's visit--close the
shutters--not even look out on what would happen?--though with the
assurance that she should remain just where she was? The young activity
within her made a warm current through her terror and stirred toward
something that would be an event--toward an opportunity in which she
could look and speak with the former effectiveness. The interest of the
morrow was no longer at a deadlock.

"There is really no reason on earth why you should be so alarmed at the
man's waiting a few minutes, mamma," said Gwendolen, remonstrantly, as
Mrs. Davilow, having prepared the writing materials, looked toward her
expectantly. "Servants expect nothing else than to wait. It is not to
be supposed that I must write on the instant."

"No, dear," said Mrs. Davilow, in the tone of one corrected, turning to
sit down and take up a bit of work that lay at hand; "he can wait
another quarter of an hour, if you like."

If was very simple speech and action on her part, but it was what might
have been subtly calculated. Gwendolen felt a contradictory desire to
be hastened: hurry would save her from deliberate choice.

"I did not mean him to wait long enough for that needlework to be
finished," she said, lifting her hands to stroke the backward curves of
her hair, while she rose from