he house one door further down than that at
which he had first stopped. He looked at the door as though it could fly
open and bid him enter; he pictured with a vividness he could not
suppress her entrance there, carried, her head lolling on her breast.
Several times he walked up and down, wondering if she would care to see
him, trying to remember if she had ever shown any predilection for him
which could make him think she would. Then he turned away and went on,
the thought of her and the pity of her going with him. He was not
surprised when at supper Carminow began to speak of her; it seemed as
though it would not be possible to sit so near to himself and not feel
the trend of his thoughts.

"I saw Hilaria yesterday," said Carminow, "and I asked her if she
wanted to see you two. I thought she might, but she waited a minute and
then let me know most unmistakably that she would rather not. She can
only speak very queerly now--most painful business--and make a few
gestures, but there was no mistaking her. I expect it would have been
too much for her anyway."

Both his listeners felt a half-guilty relief, and that night when alone
in his room Ishmael, aided by that glimpse of the exterior of her
surroundings and by Carminow's words, was assailed again by the thought
of her, but not as keenly as before. Shocked senses had been responsible
for that first keenness, and imagination, however aided, could not sting
to the same depth. He thought as he fell asleep of Blanche and Cloom.
Life had ugly, unthought-of things in it, but, thinking of her steady
radiance, he could not believe that any fate would dare to dim its
lustre.

Blanche sat long at the window of her bedroom that evening, her ashen
fair hair about her shoulders and her brush idle in her hand. As it was
Sunday and she had no engagement, she was going to bed early, so early
that it was still sunset-light.

She stood at the open window of the bedroom, staring with unseeing eyes;
her thoughts were revolving round her own problems, but gradually the
sights and sounds without won her to notice of them. The back windows of
the house looked on to other house-backs that formed a square well,
wherein smaller, much lower roofs and flat expanses of ribbed leads and
stable yards all huddled together in soft blue shadow. Only an
occasional chimney-pot, higher than its fellows, made a note of glowing
orange where it pierced the slant of the evening sun: To Blanche's left
the