her arrival, the day of the
picnic-supper in that stupid old woman's garden. That was when she had
first known that something was up.

* * * * *

Why, how easy it was to let yourself go! They were right, the Freudians,
it was the natural thing to do, you did yourself a violence when you
refused to. It was like sailing off above the clouds on familiar wings,
although it was the first time she had tried them. . . . Marise would fall
wholly under Marsh's spell, would run away and be divorced. Neale would
never raise a hand against her doing this. Eugenia saw from his aloof
attitude that it was nothing to him one way or the other. Any man who
cared for his wife would fight for her, of course.

And it was so manifestly the best thing for Marise too, to have a very
wealthy man looking out for her, that there could be no disturbing
reflexes of regret or remorse for anybody to disturb the perfection of
this fore-ordained adjustment to the Infinite. Then with the children
away at school for all the year, except a week or two with their father
. . . fine, modern, perfect schools, the kind where the children were
always out of doors, Florida in winter and New England hills in summer.
Those schools were horribly expensive . . . what was all her money for?
. . . but they had the best class of wealthy children, carefully selected
for their social position, and the teachers were so well paid that of
course they did their jobs better than parents.

Then Neale, freed from slavery to those insufferable children, released
from the ignoble, grinding narrowness of this petty manufacturing
business, free to roam the world as she knew he had always longed to
do . . . what a life they could have . . . India with Neale . . .
China . . . Paris . . . they would avoid Rome perhaps because of
unwelcome memories . . . Norway in summer-time. Think of seeing Neale
fishing a Norway salmon brook . . . she and Neale on a steamer
together . . . together . . .

She caught sight of her face in the mirror . . . that radiant, smiling,
triumphant, _young_ face, hers!

Yes, the Freud way was the best.

CHAPTER XVII

THE SOUL OF NELLY POWERS

July 20.

The big pine was good for one thing, anyhow, if it did keep the house as
dark as a cellar with the black shade it made. The side-porch was nice
and cool even on a hot summer day, just right for making butter. If it
wasn't for the horrid pitch-piny smell the tree