ns, he felt, on the contrary, that he knew her far
more intimately than he had ever done. There seemed to be a link between
them, as though something had passed which prevented them from ever
again becoming strangers. James felt he had her confidence, and he was
able to talk frankly as before, in his timidity, he had never ventured.
He treated her with the loving friendliness with which he had been used
to treat the imaginary creature of his dreams.

"You haven't changed a bit," he said, looking at her.

"Did you expect me to be haggard and wrinkled? I never let myself grow
old. One only needs strength of mind to keep young indefinitely."

"I'm surprised, because you're so exactly as I've thought of you."

"Have you thought of me often?"

The fire flashed to Jamie's eyes, and it was on his lips to break out
passionately, telling her how he had lived constantly with her
recollection, how she had been meat and drink to him, life, and breath,
and soul; but he restrained himself.

"Sometimes," he answered, smiling.

Mrs. Wallace smiled, too.

"I seem to remember that you vowed once to think of me always."

"One vows all sorts of things." He hoped she could not hear the
trembling in his voice.

"You're very cool, friend Jim--and much less shy than you used to be.
You were a perfect monster of bashfulness, and your conscience was a
most alarming animal. It used to frighten me out of my wits; I hope you
keep it now under lock and key, like the beasts in the Zoo."

James was telling himself that it was folly to remain, that he must go
at once and never return. The recollection of Mary came back to him, in
the straw hat and the soiled serge dress, sitting in the dining-room
with his father and mother; she had brought her knitting so as not to
waste a minute; and while they talked of him, her needles clicked
rapidly to and fro. Mrs. Wallace was lying in a long chair, coiled up in
a serpentine, characteristic attitude; every movement wafted to him the
oppressive perfume she wore; the smile on her lips, the caress of her
eyes, were maddening. He loved her more even than he had imagined; his
love was a fury, blind and destroying. He repeated to himself that he
must fly, but the heaviness in his limbs chained him to her side; he had
no will, no strength; he was a reed, bending to every word she spoke and
to every look. Her fascination was not human, the calm, voluptuous look
of her eyes was too cruel; and she was poised l