ne summer's day; his love but an embrace,
and then--for ever nothing!

This morning, fortified by despair, she admitted her own beauty. He
would, he must want her more than that other life, at the very thought of
which her face darkened. That other life so hard, and far from her! So
loveless, formal, and yet--to him so real, so desperately, accursedly
real! If he must indeed give up his career, then surely the life they
could live together would make up to him--a life among simple and sweet
things, all over the world, with music and pictures, and the flowers and
all Nature, and friends who sought them for themselves, and in being kind
to everyone, and helping the poor and the unfortunate, and loving each
other! But he did not want that sort of life! What was the good of
pretending that he did? It was right and natural he should want, to use
his powers! To lead and serve! She would not have him otherwise: With
these thoughts hovering and darting within her, she went on twisting and
coiling her dark hair, and burying her heart beneath its lace defences.
She noted too, with her usual care, two fading blossoms in the bowl of
flowers on her dressing-table, and, removing their, emptied out the water
and refilled the bowl.

Before she left her bedroom the sunbeams had already ceased to dance, the
grey filaments of light were gone. Autumn sky had come into its own.
Passing the mirror in the hall which was always rough with her, she had
not courage to glance at it. Then suddenly a woman's belief in the power
of her charm came to her aid; she felt almost happy--surely he must love
her better than his conscience! But that confidence was very tremulous,
ready to yield to the first rebuff. Even the friendly fresh--cheeked maid
seemed that morning to be regarding her with compassion; and all the
innate sense, not of 'good form,' but of form, which made her shrink from
anything that should disturb or hurt another, or make anyone think she
was to be pitied, rose up at once within her; she became more than ever
careful to show nothing even to herself. So she passed the morning,
mechanically doing the little usual things. An overpowering longing was
with her all the time, to get him away with her from England, and see
whether the thousand beauties she could show him would not fire him with
love of the things she loved. As a girl she had spent nearly three years
abroad. And Eustace had never been to Italy, nor to her belov