e would beat the thought down--she would tell herself what, now, from
this distance, she knew to be true, that she would not have been happy
had she gone with Breton. She remembered that even at that supreme
moment in Breton's rooms when he had kissed her for the first time her
swift thought had been "Poor Roddy!" She knew, with an older wisdom than
she had possessed two months ago, that Breton on his side would not have
held her any more than Roddy, in his so different fashion, could hold
her now. Was she to be always thus, wanting something that was not hers?

During the weeks that had immediately followed the accident she had
thought that, at last, love for Roddy had really come to her. Then, as
the days threaded their way, she knew that it was not so. He was more to
her, much more to her, helpless and courageous, than he could ever have
been under the old conditions.

But it was not passion--it was care, affection, even love; she loved
him, yes, but she was not in love with him. He held all of her save that
one part that Breton alone, of all human beings, had called out of her.

But she had learnt discipline during these weeks--down, down she drove
rebellion, memory. She was Roddy's--she had dedicated her life to his
happiness.

Then they came to London, Lizzie returned to her mother and to Lady
Adela, and Rachel was alone. Life was again very difficult for her.
Roddy was wonderfully cheerful, but Rachel found that she could not do
very much for him. He liked to have her there, but she knew that many of
his friends who could tell him the town gossip, the latest from clubs,
the hunting and racing chatter entertained him more than she did. She
had not, since her marriage, made many friends and she knew that almost
everyone who came to their little house came for Roddy's sake rather
than for hers. She did not mind that--she was glad that he was
happy ... but she wished that he needed her a little more. Roddy urged
her to drive, to see people, to dine and go to the theatre. She went
because she saw that it disturbed him if he felt that she stayed indoors
for his sake, but she did not enjoy her gaiety. When she was out she
wished to hurry back to him and then, when she was with him again, she
often wondered whether her presence made him any happier. Through all
his intercourse with her she discerned a wistful restraint as though he
would like to ask her for something that he had not got and yet was
afraid. When she fe