Egremont
existed a sense of honour, a sense of shame. Should he by word or deed
throw light upon Gilbert Grail's future, he felt that all the good of
his own life would be at an end. He could not face man or woman again.

It came to this, then. Henceforth he must remember that, however near
his intimacy with Gilbert, there must be no playing at friendship with
Gilbert's wife. Friendship was impossible. That golden-haired girl had
a power over him which, if ever so slightly and thoughtlessly
exercised, might drive him into acts of insanity. He had seen her three
times--this is Sunday night, remember--and yet the thought of Annabel
was like a pale ghost beside his thought of her. He had till now
suspected that his nature was not framed for passion; a few weeks had
taught him that, if he allowed passion to take hold upon him, no part
of his soul could escape the flame.

Two days had passed since then. On two successive mornings he had been
alone with Thyrza; one evening he had spent at a concert, for the mere
sake of being where Thyrza was, and feeling emotions such as he knew
she would feel. 'No playing at friendship with Gilbert's wife.' And he
had himself held out his band to her, had asked her to address him
familiarly, had talked of things which brought them into closer
communion, had--yes--had bidden her keep their interviews a secret from
Gilbert. Had insanity begun?

A piece of folly; nothing else. As he walked towards Westminster, he
viewed the situation, or tried to view it, as it is put in the second
paragraph of this chapter. He had got into a very disagreeable
position; he really must find some becoming way out of it; Thyrza was a
silly girl to come a second time; of course the appointment for the
following morning must not be kept. There was no harm in it all, none
whatever, but--

Bah! The worst had come about; the miserable fate had declared itself;
he was in love with Thyrza Trent!

He entered the Abbey. He seated himself in a shadowed place. Alone?
Whose then was the voice that spoke to him unceasingly, and the hand
which he was holding, which stirred his blood so with its warmth? 'Put
aside every thought of the living fact; say that there is no Gilbert
Grail in the world. You and I--you, Thyrza, my sweet-eyed, my
beautiful--sit here side by side and hold each other's hands. Your
voice has become very low and reverent, as befits the place, as befits
the utterance of love such as this you say you be