It was an extraordinary thing to have to ask such
questions in relation to herself. It made her feel as if she had to
learn herself anew, to form a fresh conception of her personality. She
the object of a man's passion!

And the thought was exultant. Even thus late, then, the satisfaction of
vanity had been granted her--nay, not of vanity alone.

He must be sincere. What motive could he possibly have for playing a
part? Might it not be true that he was a changed man in certain
respects, and that a genuine emotion at length had control of him? If
so, she had only to wait for his next speech with her in private; she
could not misjudge a lover's pleading.

The interest would only be that of comedy. She did not love Everard
Barfoot, and saw no likelihood of ever doing so; on the whole, a
subject for thankfulness. Nor could he seriously anticipate an assent
to his proposal for a free union; in declaring that legal marriage was
out of the question for him, he had removed his love-making to the
region of mere ideal sentiment. But, if he loved her, these theories
would sooner or later be swept aside; he would plead with her to become
his legal wife.

To that point she desired to bring him. Offer what he might, she would
not accept it; but the secret chagrin that was upon her would be
removed. Love would no longer be the privilege of other women. To
reject a lover in so many respects desirable, whom so many women might
envy her, would fortify her self-esteem, and enable her to go forward
in the chosen path with firmer tread.

It was one o'clock; the fire had died out and she began to shiver with
cold. But a trembling of joy at the same time went through her limbs;
again she had the sense of exultation, of triumph. She would not
dismiss him peremptorily. He should prove the quality of his love, if
love it were. Coming so late, the experience must yield her all it had
to yield of delight and contentment.

CHAPTER XV

THE JOYS OF HOME

Monica and her husband, on leaving the house in Queen's Road, walked
slowly in the eastward direction. Though night had fallen, the air was
not unpleasant; they had no object before them, and for five minutes
they occupied themselves with their thoughts. Then Widdowson stopped.

'Shall we go home again?' he asked, just glancing at Monica, then
letting his eyes stray vaguely in the gloom.

'I should like to see Milly, but I'm afraid I can hardly take you there
to call with me.'