at I must go, and hastily, frantically. I could not face him
when he woke; I should not have known what to say; I should have been
abashed, timid, clumsy, unequal to myself. And, moreover, I had the
egoist's deep need to be alone, to examine my soul, to understand it
intimately and utterly. And, lastly, I wanted to pay the bill of pleasure
at once. I could never tolerate credit; I was like my aunt in that.
Therefore, I must go home and settle the account in some way. I knew not
how; I knew only that the thing must be done. Diaz had nothing to do with
that; it was not his affair, and I should have resented his interference.
Ah! when I was in the bill-paying mood, how hard I could be, how stony,
how blind! And that morning I was like a Malay running amok.

Think not that when I was ready to depart I stopped and stooped to give
him a final tender kiss. I did not even scribble a word of adieu or of
explanation. I stole away on tiptoe, without looking at him. This sounds
brutal, but it is a truth of my life, and I am writing my life--at
least, I am writing those brief hours of my existence during which I
lived. I had always a sort of fierce courage; and as I had proved the
courage of my passion in the night, so I proved the courage of my--not
my remorse, not my compunction, not my regret--but of my intellectual
honesty in the morning. Proud and vain words, perhaps. Who can tell? No
matter what sympathies I alienate, I am bound to say plainly that,
though I am passionate, I am not sentimental. I came to him out of the
void, and I went from him into the void. He found me, and he lost me.
Between the autumn sunset and the autumn sunrise he had learnt to know
me well, but he did not know my name nor my history; he had no clue, no
cord to pull me back.

I passed into the sitting-room, dimly lighted through the drawn curtains,
and there was the score of _Tristan_ open on the piano. Yes; and if I
were the ordinary woman I would add that there also were the ashes in the
cold grate, and so symbolize the bitterness of memory and bring about a
pang. But I have never regretted what is past. The cinders of that fire
were to me cinders of a fire and nothing more.

In the doorway I halted. To go into the corridor was like braving the
blast of the world, and I hesitated. Possibly I hesitated for a very
little thing. Only the women among you will guess it. My dress was dark
and severe. I had a simple, dark cloak. But I had no hat. I had no