st visit seemed to open to him so large a range of quiet
pleasure that he very soon paid a second, and at the end of a fortnight
had spent uncounted hours in the little drawing-room which Madame de
Mauves rarely quitted except to drive or walk in the forest. She
lived in an old-fashioned pavilion, between a high-walled court and an
excessively artificial garden, beyond whose enclosure you saw a long
line of tree-tops. Longmore liked the garden and in the mild afternoons
used to move his chair through the open window to the smooth terrace
which overlooked it while his hostess sat just within. Presently she
would come out and wander through the narrow alleys and beside the
thin-spouting fountain, and at last introduce him to a private gate
in the high wall, the opening to a lane which led to the forest.
Hitherwards she more than once strolled with him, bareheaded and meaning
to go but twenty rods, but always going good-naturedly further and often
stretching it to the freedom of a promenade. They found many things to
talk about, and to the pleasure of feeling the hours slip along
like some silver stream Longmore was able to add the satisfaction of
suspecting that he was a "resource" for Madame de Mauves. He had made
her acquaintance with the sense, not wholly inspiring, that she was a
woman with a painful twist in her life and that seeking her acquaintance
would be like visiting at a house where there was an invalid who could
bear no noise. But he very soon recognised that her grievance, if
grievance it was, was not aggressive; that it was not fond of attitudes
and ceremonies, and that her most earnest wish was to remember it as
little as possible. He felt that even if Mrs. Draper hadn't told him
she was unhappy he would have guessed it, and yet that he couldn't
have pointed to his proof. The evidence was chiefly negative--she never
alluded to her husband. Beyond this it seemed to him simply that her
whole being was pitched in a lower key than harmonious Nature had
designed; she was like a powerful singer who had lost her high notes.
She never drooped nor sighed nor looked unutterable things; she dealt
no sarcastic digs at her fate; she had in short none of the conscious
graces of the woman wronged. Only Longmore was sure that her gentle
gaiety was but the milder or sharper flush of a settled ache, and that
she but tried to interest herself in his thoughts in order to escape
from her own. If she had wished to irritate his cu