grudge he must think it natural; if she had vowed
him a hatred he must allow her the comfort of it. He had done the only
thing possible, but that made it no better for her. He had wronged her.
The circumstances mattered nothing, and as he could not make it up
to her, the only reasonable thing was to keep out of her way. He had
stepped into her path now, and the proper thing was to step out of it.
If it could give her no pleasure to see him again, it could certainly do
him no good to see her. He had seen her by this time pretty well--as far
as mere seeing went, and as yet, apparently, he was none the worse for
that; but his hope that he should himself escape unperceived had now
become acute. It is singular that this hope should not have led him
instantly to turn his back and move away; but the explanation of his
imprudent delay is simply that he wished to see a little more of Miss
Vivian. He was unable to bring himself to the point. Those clever things
that he might have said to her quite faded away. The only good taste was
to take himself off, and spare her the trouble of inventing civilities
that she could not feel. And yet he continued to sit there from moment
to moment, arrested, detained, fascinated, by the accident of her not
looking round--of her having let him watch her so long. She turned
another page, and another, and her reading absorbed her still. He was
so near her that he could have touched her dress with the point of his
umbrella. At last she raised her eyes and rested them a while on the
blue horizon, straight in front of her, but as yet without turning them
aside. This, however, augmented the danger of her doing so, and Bernard,
with a good deal of an effort, rose to his feet. The effort, doubtless,
kept the movement from being either as light or as swift as it might
have been, and it vaguely attracted his neighbor's attention. She turned
her head and glanced at him, with a glance that evidently expected
but to touch him and pass. It touched him, and it was on the point of
passing; then it suddenly checked itself; she had recognized him. She
looked at him, straight and open-eyed, out of the shadow of her parasol,
and Bernard stood there--motionless now--receiving her gaze. How long it
lasted need not be narrated. It was probably a matter of a few seconds,
but to Bernard it seemed a little eternity. He met her eyes, he looked
straight into her face; now that she had seen him he could do nothing
else. Bernar