in the long glass. She
wondered for the moment whether it was really her own reflection that she
saw there or that of some ghostly image of her mother. She had so often
seen the same look in her mother's eyes. Evidently the likeness between
them was more extensive than she had imagined. For the first time she
became conscious of an emotional, hysterical side to her nature of which
she had been unaware. Perhaps it was just as well that she had
discovered it. She would have to keep a stricter watch upon herself.
This question of her future relationship with Phillips: it would have to
be thought out coldly, dispassionately. Nothing unexpected must be
allowed to enter into it.

It was some time before she fell asleep. The high glass faced her as she
lay in bed. She could not get away from the idea that it was her
mother's face that every now and then she saw reflected there.

She woke late the next morning. Her father had already left for the
works. She was rather glad to have no need of talking. She would take a
long walk into the country, and face the thing squarely with the help of
the cheerful sun and the free west wind that was blowing from the sea.
She took the train up north and struck across the hills. Her spirits
rose as she walked.

It was only the intellectual part of him she wanted--the spirit, not the
man. She would be taking nothing away from the woman, nothing that had
ever belonged to her. All the rest of him: his home life, the benefits
that would come to her from his improved means, from his social position:
all that the woman had ever known or cared for in him would still be
hers. He would still remain to her the kind husband and father. What
more was the woman capable of understanding? What more had she any right
to demand?

It was not of herself she was thinking. It was for his work's sake that
she wanted to be near to him always: that she might counsel him,
encourage him. For this she was prepared to sacrifice herself, give up
her woman's claim on life. They would be friends, comrades--nothing
more. That little lurking curiosity of hers, concerning what it would be
like to feel his strong arms round her, pressing her closer and closer to
him: it was only a foolish fancy. She could easily laugh that out of
herself. Only bad women had need to be afraid of themselves. She would
keep guard for both of them. Their purity of motive, their high purpose,
would save them from the d