cstasy it breathed
could have its source. He was touched by it, by the whole character, at
the moment, of her face, with its strength so nullified by gentleness.

When the will is strong and nature sensitive, what arms has youth with
which to prevail? What but the power to keep still and hold on? Nothing
was in Brenda's face so marked as that power, except, in this moment of
undisguise, while she thought herself unwatched, its singular happiness,
a mingling of tenderness, dedication, hope.

The genuine sympathy he felt for her made Gerald deserving of the
intuition that blessed him while he stood there trying to divine. An
interpretation of her secret offered itself, worthier of him as of her
than the suspicion of erewhile; one so beautiful, indeed, that he felt
uplifted by standing in its presence. All he had most cared for in his
life, the things that had touched and inspired him,--visions of
painters, dreams of poets, scenes of beauty, sweet of human
intercourse,--all the influences that make life dignified and fair,
seemed in their essence to be in the air around him, like scents of
flowers in the dark....

The wish to pray came over him again, yet he wanted to weep, too,
because as soon as his heart expanded a little the rusty splinter of a
knife corroding there reminded him that lofty sentiments, sincerities,
idealisms, have as their fruit in this life--dust, derision! He wondered
that without being any older one could feel as old as he did while
watching Brenda transfigured by her poor young dream.

Now for the second time she curtseyed to the altar. The priest moved,
Gerald moved, all three passed up the aisle, to a faint chink of coins
in Gerald's pocket where he groped for a fee. At the main altar the
priest dipped a rapid genuflexion.

As soon as they were outside Brenda began to talk about the picture, to
ask questions, as if the art of the Italians had been of all things
nearest to her heart, and Gerald was drawn into holding in the street
while they walked a sort of lecture on the primitives.

All the while, in an independent corner of his brain he was reflecting
upon the absurdity of supposing that because he was an old familiar of
the Fosses, and so fond of them all, he knew anything of their affairs
these days, when he saw them so seldom. Ever so many things could have
happened without his knowledge. The girls might have new friends and
admirers just as they had hats and dresses that he had never