And she clenched her fist, and struck out at the night, as though
at the face of that Fate which one could never reach--impalpable,
remorseless, surrounding Fate with its faint mocking smile, devoid of all
human warmth. Nothing could set back the clock, and give her what this
girl had. Time had "done her in," as it "did in" every woman, one by
one. And she saw herself going down the years, powdering a little more,
painting a little more, touching up her hair, till it was all artifice,
holding on by every little device--and all, to what end? To see his face
get colder and colder, hear his voice more and more constrained to
gentleness; and know that underneath, aversion was growing with the
thought 'You are keeping me from life, and love!' till one evening, in
sheer nerve-break, she would say or do some fearful thing, and he would
come no more. 'No, Jimmy!' she thought; 'find her, and stay with her.
You're not worth all that!' And puffing to the curtains, as though with
that gesture she could shut out her creeping fate, she turned up the
light and sat down at her writing table. She stayed some minutes
motionless, her chin resting on her hands, the dark silk fallen down from
her arms. A little mirror, framed in curiously carved ivory, picked up
by her in an Indian bazaar twenty-five years ago, hung on a level with
her face and gave that face back to her. 'I'm not ugly,' she thought
passionately, 'I'm not. I still have some looks left. If only that girl
hadn't come. And it was all my doing. Oh, what made me write to both of
them, Edward and Jimmy?' She turned the mirror aside, and took up a pen.

"MY DEAR JIMMY," she wrote: "It will be better for us both if you take a
holiday from here. Don't come again till I write for you. I'm sorry I
made you so much disturbance to-night. Have a good time, and a good
rest; and don't worry. "Your--"

So far she had written when a tear dropped on the page, and she had to
tear it up and begin again. This time she wrote to the end--"Your
Leila." 'I must post it now,' she thought, 'or he may not get it before
to-morrow evening. I couldn't go through with this again.' She hurried
out with it and slipped it in a pillar box. The night smelled of
flowers; and, hastening back, she lay down, and stayed awake for hours,
tossing, and staring at the dark.

XIII

1

Leila had pluck, but little patience. Her one thought was to get away
and she at once began settling up he