IX + 

I + 

As the month of August moved toward an end there was no longer any doubt as to the вАЬfailingвАЭ of Aunt Cassie; it was confirmed by the very silence with which she surrounded the state of her health. For forty years one had discussed Aunt CassieвАЩs health as one discussed the weatherвБ†вАФa thing ever present in the consciousness of man about which one could do nothing, and now Aunt Cassie ceased suddenly to speak of her health at all. She even abandoned her habit of going about on foot and took to making her round of calls in the rattling motor which she protested to fear and loathe, and she came to lean more and more heavily upon the robust Miss Peavey for companionship and support. Claiming a fear of burglars, she had Miss PeaveyвАЩs bed moved into the room next to hers and kept the door open between. She developed, Olivia discovered, an almost morbid terror of being left alone. + 

And so the depression of another illness came to add its weight to the burden of JackвАЩs death and the grief of John Pentland. The task of battling the cloud of melancholy which hung over the old house grew more and more heavy upon OliviaвАЩs shoulders. Anson remained as usual indifferent to any changes in the life about him, living really in the past among all the sheaves of musty papers, a man not so much cold-blooded as bloodless, for there was nothing active nor calculating in his nature, but only a great inertia, a lack of all fire. And it was impossible to turn to Sabine, who in an odd way seemed as cold and detached as Anson; she appeared to stand at a little distance, waiting, watching them all, even Olivia herself. And it was of course unthinkable to cloud the happiness of Sybil by going to her for support. + 

There was at least OвАЩHara, who came more and more frequently to Pentlands, now that the first visit had been made and the ice was broken. Anson encountered him once in the hallway, coldly; and he had become very friendly with old John Pentland. The two had a common interest in horses and dogs and cattle, and OвАЩHara, born in the Boston slums and knowing very little on any of these subjects, perhaps found the old gentleman a valuable source of information. He told Olivia, вАЬI wouldnвАЩt come to the house except for you. I canвАЩt bear to think of you thereвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ always aloneвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ always troubled.вАЭ + 

And in the evenings, while they played bridge or listened to JeanвАЩs music, she sometimes caught his eye, watching her with the old admiration, telling her that he was ready to support her no matter what happened. + 

A week after the encounter with Miss Peavey at the catnip-bed, Peters came to OliviaвАЩs room late in the afternoon to say, with a curious blend of respect and confidence, вАЬHeвАЩs ill again, Mrs.¬†Pentland.вАЭ + 

She knew what Peters meant; it was a kind of code between them.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ The same words used so many times before. + 

She went quickly to the tall narrow library that smelled of dogs and apples and woodsmoke, knowing well enough what she would find there; and on opening the door she saw him at once, lying asleep in the big leather chair. The faint odor of whiskyвБ†вАФa smell which had come long since to fill her always with a kind of horrorвБ†вАФhung in the air, and on the mahogany desk stood three bottles, each nearly emptied. He slept quietly, one arm flung across his chest, the other hanging to the floor, where the bony fingers rested limply against the Turkey-red carpet. There was something childlike in the peace which enveloped him. It seemed to Olivia that he was even free now of the troubles which long ago had left their mark in the harsh, bitter lines of the old face. The lines were gone, melted away somehow, drowned in the immense quiet of this artificial death. It was only thus, perhaps, that he slept quietly, untroubled by dreams. It was only thus that he ever escaped. + 

Standing in the doorway she watched him for a time, quietly, and then, turning, she said to Peters, вАЬWill you tell Higgins?вАЭ and entering the door she closed the red-plush curtains, shutting out the late afternoon sunlight. + 

Higgins came, as he had done so many times before, to lock the door and sit there in the room, even sleeping on the worn leather divan, until John Pentland, wakening slowly and looking about in a dazed way, discovered his groom sitting in the same room, polishing a bridle or a pair of riding-boots. The little man was never idle. Something deep inside him demanded action: he must always be doing something. And so, after these melancholy occasions, a new odor clung to the library for daysвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the fresh, clean, healthy odor of leather and harness-soap. + 

For two days Higgins stayed in the library, leaving it only for meals, and for two days the old lady in the north wing went unvisited. Save for this single room, there was no evidence of any change in the order of life at Pentlands. Jean, in ignorance of what had happened, came in the evenings to play. But Sabine knew; and Aunt Cassie, who never asked questions concerning the mysterious absence of her brother lest she be told the truth. Anson, as usual, noticed nothing. The only real change lay in a sudden display of sulking and ill-temper on the part of Miss Egan. The invincible nurse even quarreled with the cook, and was uncivil to Olivia, who thought, вАЬWhat next is to happen? I shall be forced to look for a new nurse.вАЭ + 

On the evening of the third day, just after dinner, Higgins opened the door and went in search of Olivia. + 

вАЬThe old gentleman is all right again,вАЭ he said. вАЬHeвАЩs gone to bathe and heвАЩd like to see you in the library in half an hour.вАЭ + 

She found him there, seated by the big mahogany desk, bathed and spotlessly neat in clean linen; but he looked very old and weary, and beneath the tan of the leathery face there was a pallor which gave him a yellowish look. It was his habit never to refer in any way to these sad occasions, to behave always as if he had only been away for a day or two and wanted to hear what had happened during his absence. + 

Looking up at her, he said gravely, вАЬI wanted to speak to you, Olivia. You werenвАЩt busy, were you? I didnвАЩt disturb you?вАЭ + 

вАЬNo,вАЭ she said. вАЬThereвАЩs nothing.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Jean and Th√©r√®se are here with Sybil.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ThatвАЩs all.вАЭ + 

вАЬSybil,вАЭ he repeated. вАЬSybil.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ SheвАЩs very happy these days, isnвАЩt she?вАЭ Olivia nodded and even smiled a little, in a warm, understanding way, so that he added, вАЬWell, we mustnвАЩt spoil her happiness. We mustnвАЩt allow anything to happen to it.вАЭ + 

A light came into the eyes of Olivia. вАЬNo; we mustnвАЩt,вАЭ she repeated, and then, вАЬSheвАЩs a clever girl.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ She knows what she wants from life, and thatвАЩs the whole secret. Most people never know until itвАЩs too late.вАЭ + 

A silence followed this speech, so eloquent, so full of unsaid things, that Olivia grew uneasy. + 

вАЬI wanted to talk to you aboutвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ he hesitated for a moment, and she saw that beneath the edge of the table his hands were clenched so violently that the bony knuckles showed through the brown skin. вАЬI wanted to talk to you about a great many things.вАЭ He stirred and added abruptly, вАЬFirst of all, thereвАЩs my will.вАЭ + 

He opened the desk and took out a packet of papers, separating them carefully into little piles before he spoke again. There was a weariness in all his movements. вАЬIвАЩve made some changes,вАЭ he said, вАЬchanges that you ought to know aboutвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and there are one or two other things.вАЭ He looked at her from under the fierce, shaggy eyebrows. вАЬYou see, I havenвАЩt long to live. IвАЩve no reason to expect to live forever and I want to leave things in perfect order, as they have always been.вАЭ + 

To Olivia, sitting in silence, the conversation became suddenly painful. With each word she felt a wall rising about her, shutting her in, while the old man went on and on with an agonizing calmness, with an air of being certain that his will would be obeyed in death as it had always been in life. + 

вАЬTo begin with, you will all be left very richвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ very richвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ something over six million dollars. And itвАЩs solid money, OliviaвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ money not made by gambling, but money thatвАЩs been saved and multiplied by careful living. For seventy-five years itвАЩs been the tradition of the family to live on the income of its income. WeвАЩve managed to do it somehow, and in the end weвАЩre richвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ very rich.вАЭ + 

As he talked he kept fingering the papers nervously, placing them in neat little piles, arranging and rearranging them. + 

вАЬAnd, as you know, Olivia, the money has been kept in a way so that the principal could never be spent. SybilвАЩs grandchildren will be able to touch some of itвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that is, if you are unwise enough to leave it to them that way.вАЭ + 

Olivia looked up suddenly. вАЬBut why me? What have I to do with it?вАЭ + 

вАЬThatвАЩs what IвАЩm coming to, Olivia dear.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ItвАЩs because IвАЩm leaving control of the whole fortune to you.вАЭ + 

Suddenly, fiercely, she wanted none of it. She had a quick, passionate desire to seize all the neatly piled papers and burn them, to tear them into small bits and fling them out of the window. + 

вАЬI donвАЩt want it!вАЭ she said. вАЬWhy should you leave it to me? IвАЩm rich myself. I donвАЩt want it! IвАЩm not a Pentland.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ItвАЩs not my money. IвАЩve nothing to do with it.вАЭ In spite of herself, there was a note of passionate resentment in her voice. + 

The shaggy brows raised faintly in a look of surprise. + 

вАЬTo whom, if not to you?вАЭ he asked. + 

After a moment, she said, вАЬWhy, AnsonвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ to Anson, I suppose.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou donвАЩt really think that?вАЭ + 

вАЬItвАЩs his moneyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Pentland moneyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ not mine. IвАЩve all the money I need and more.вАЭ + 

вАЬItвАЩs yours, Olivia.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ He looked at her sharply. вАЬYouвАЩre more a Pentland than Anson, in spite of bloodвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ in spite of name. YouвАЩre more a Pentland than any of them. ItвАЩs your money by every right in spite of anything you can do.вАЭ + 

(вАЬBut Anson isnвАЩt a Pentland, nor you either,вАЭ thought Olivia.) + 

вАЬItвАЩs you who are dependable, who are careful, who are honorable, Olivia. YouвАЩre the strong one. When I die, youвАЩll be the head of the family.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Surely, you know thatвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ already.вАЭ + 

(вАЬI,вАЭ thought Olivia, вАЬI who have been so giddy, who am planning to betray you all.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I am all this!вАЭ) + 

вАЬIf I left it to Anson, it would be wasted, lost on foolish ideas. HeвАЩs no idea of business.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ThereвАЩs a screw loose in Anson.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ HeвАЩs a crank. HeвАЩd be giving away this good money to missionaries and queer committeesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ societies for meddling in the affairs of people. That wasnвАЩt what this fortune was made for. No, I wonвАЩt have Pentland money squandered like that.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬAnd I,вАЭ asked Olivia. вАЬHow do you know what I will do with it?вАЭ + 

He smiled softly, affectionately. вАЬI know what youвАЩll do with it, because I know you, Olivia, my dear.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ YouвАЩll keep it safe and intact.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ YouвАЩre the Pentland of the family. You werenвАЩt when you came here, but you are now. I mean that you belong to the grand tradition of PentlandsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the old ones who hang out there in the hall. YouвАЩre the only one leftвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ for Sybil is too young. SheвАЩs only a childвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ yet.вАЭ + 

Olivia was silent, but beneath the silence there ran a torrent of cold, rebellious thoughts. Being a Pentland, then, was not a matter of blood: it was an idea, even an ideal. She thought fiercely, вАЬIвАЩm not a Pentland. IвАЩm alive. I am myself. IвАЩve not been absorbed into nothing. All these years havenвАЩt changed me so much. They havenвАЩt made me into a Pentland.вАЭ But for the sake of her affection, she could say none of these things. She only said, вАЬHow do you know what IвАЩll do with it? How do you know that I mightnвАЩt squander it extravagantlyвБ†вАФorвБ†вАФor even run away, taking all that was free with me. No one could stop meвБ†вАФno one.вАЭ + 

He only repeated what he had said before, saying it more slowly this time, as if to impress her. вАЬI know what youвАЩll do with it, Olivia, because I know you, Olivia dearвБ†вАФyouвАЩd never do anything foolish or shamefulвБ†вАФI know thatвБ†вАФthatвАЩs why I trust you.вАЭ + 

And when she did not answer him, he asked, вАЬYou will accept it, wonвАЩt you, Olivia? YouвАЩll have the help of a good lawyerвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ one of the bestвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ John Mannering. It will please me, Olivia, and it will let the world know what I think of you, what you have been to me all these yearsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ all that Anson has never beenвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ nor my own sister, Cassie.вАЭ He leaned across the table, touching her white hand gently. вАЬYou will, Olivia?вАЭ + 

It was impossible to refuse, impossible even to protest any further, impossible to say that in this very moment she wanted only to run away, to escape, to leave them all forever, now that Sybil was safe. Looking away, she said in a low voice, вАЬYes.вАЭ + 

It was impossible to desert him nowвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ an old, tired man. The bond between them was too strong; it had existed for too long, since that first day she had come to Pentlands as AnsonвАЩs bride and known that it was the father and not the son whom she respected. In a way, he had imposed upon her something of his own rugged, patriarchal strength. It seemed to her that she had been caught when she meant most to escape; and she was frightened, too, by the echoing thought that perhaps she had become, after all, a PentlandвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ hard, cautious, unadventurous and a little bitter, one for whom there was no fire or glamour in life, one who worshiped a harsh, changeable, invisible goddess called Duty. She kept thinking of SabineвАЩs bitter remark about вАЬthe lower middle-class virtues of the PentlandsвАЭвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the lack of fire, the lack of splendor, of gallantry. And yet this fierce old man was gallant, in an odd fashion.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Even Sabine knew that. + 

He was talking again. вАЬItвАЩs not only money thatвАЩs been left to you.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ThereвАЩs Sybil, whoвАЩs still too young to be let free.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬNo,вАЭ said Olivia with a quiet stubbornness, вАЬsheвАЩs not too young. SheвАЩs to do as she pleases. IвАЩve tried to make her wiser than I was at her ageвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ perhaps wiser than IвАЩve ever beenвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ even now.вАЭ + 

вАЬPerhaps youвАЩre right, my dear. You have been so many timesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and things arenвАЩt the same as they were in my dayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ certainly not with young girls.вАЭ + 

He took up the papers again, fussing over them in a curious, nervous way, very unlike his usual firm, unrelenting manner. She had a flash of insight which told her that he was behaving thus because he wanted to avoid looking at her. She hated confidences and she was afraid now that he was about to tell her things she preferred never to hear. She hated confidences and yet she seemed to be a person who attracted them always. + 

вАЬAnd leaving Sybil out of it,вАЭ he continued, вАЬthereвАЩs queer old Miss Haddon in Durham whom, as you know, weвАЩve taken care of for years; and thereвАЩs Cassie, whoвАЩs growing old and ill, I think. We canвАЩt leave her to half-witted Miss Peavey. I know my sister Cassie has been a burden to you.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ SheвАЩs been a burden to me, all my life.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ He smiled grimly. вАЬI suppose you know that.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ Then, after a pause, he said, вАЬBut most of all, thereвАЩs my wife.вАЭ + 

His voice assumed a queer, unnatural quality, from which all feeling had been removed. It became like the voices of deaf persons who never hear the sounds they make. + 

вАЬI canвАЩt leave her alone,вАЭ he said. вАЬAloneвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ with no one to care for her save a paid nurse. I couldnвАЩt die and know that thereвАЩs no one to think of herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ save that wretched, efficient Miss EganвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a stranger. No, OliviaвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ thereвАЩs no one but you.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ No one I can trust.вАЭ He looked at her sharply. вАЬYouвАЩll promise me to keep her here alwaysвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ never to let them send her away? YouвАЩll promise?вАЭ + 

Again she was caught. вАЬOf course,вАЭ she said. вАЬOf course IвАЩll promise you that.вАЭ What else was she to say? + 

вАЬBecause,вАЭ he added, looking away from her once more, вАЬbecause I owe her thatвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ even after IвАЩm dead. I couldnвАЩt rest if she were shut up somewhereвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ among strangers. You seeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ onceвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ once.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ He broke off sharply, as if what he had been about to say was unbearable. + 

With Olivia the sense of uneasiness changed into actual terror. She wanted to cry out, вАЬStop!вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ DonвАЩt go on!вАЭ But some instinct told her that he meant to go on and on to the very end, painfully, despite anything she could do. + 

вАЬItвАЩs odd,вАЭ he was saying quite calmly, вАЬbut there seem to be only women leftвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ no menвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ for Anson is really an old woman.вАЭ + 

Quietly, firmly, with the air of a man before a confessor, speaking almost as if she were invisible, impersonal, a creature who was a kind of machine, he went on, вАЬAnd of course, Horace Pentland is dead, so we neednвАЩt think of him any longer.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ But thereвАЩs Mrs.¬†Soames.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ He coughed and began again to weave the gaunt bony fingers in and out, as if what he had to say were drawn from the depth of his soul with a great agony. вАЬThereвАЩs Mrs.¬†Soames,вАЭ he repeated. вАЬI know that you understand about her, OliviaвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and IвАЩm grateful to you for having been kind and human where none of the others would have been. I fancy weвАЩve given Beacon Hill and Commonwealth Avenue subject for conversation for thirty yearsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but I donвАЩt care about that. TheyвАЩve watched usвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ theyвАЩve known every time I went up the steps of her brownstone houseвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the very hour I arrived and the hour I left. They have eyes, in our world, Olivia, even in the backs of their heads. You must remember that, my dear. They watch youвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ they see everything you do. They almost know what you thinkвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and when they donвАЩt know, they make it up. ThatвАЩs one of the signs of a sick, decaying worldвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that they get their living vicariouslyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ by watching someone else liveвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that they live always in the past. ThatвАЩs the only reason I ever felt sorry for Horace PentlandвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the only reason that I had sympathy for him. It was cruel that he should have been born in such a place.вАЭ + 

The bitterness ran like acid through all the speech, through the very timbre of his voice. It burned in the fierce black eyes where the fire was not yet dead. Olivia believed that she was seeing him now for the first time, in his fullness, with nothing concealed. And as she listened, the old cloud of mystery that had always hidden him from her began to clear away like the fog lifting from the marshes in the early morning. She saw him now as he really wasвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a man fiercely masculine, bitter, clearheaded, and more human than the rest of them, who had never before betrayed himself even for an instant. + 

вАЬBut about Mrs.¬†Soames.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ If anything should happen to me, OliviaвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ if I should die first, I want you to be kind to herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ for my sake and for hers. SheвАЩs been patient and good to me for so long.вАЭ The bitterness seemed to flow away a little now, leaving only a kindling warmth in its place. вАЬSheвАЩs been good to me.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ SheвАЩs always understood, Olivia, even before you came here to help me. You and she, Olivia, have made life worth living for me. SheвАЩs been patientвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ more patient than you know. Sometimes I must have made life for her a hell on earthвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but sheвАЩs always been there, waiting, full of gentleness and sympathy. SheвАЩs been ill most of the time youвАЩve known herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ old and ill. You canвАЩt imagine how beautiful she once was.вАЭ + 

вАЬI know,вАЭ said Olivia softly. вАЬI remember seeing her when I first came to PentlandsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and Sabine has told me.вАЭ + 

The name of Sabine appeared to rouse him suddenly. He sat up very straight and said, вАЬDonвАЩt trust Sabine too far, Olivia. She belongs to us, after all. SheвАЩs very like my sister CassieвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ more like her than you can imagine. ItвАЩs why they hate each other so. SheвАЩs Cassie turned inside out, as you might say. TheyвАЩd both sacrifice everything for the sake of stirring up some trouble or calamity that would interest them. They liveвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ vicariously.вАЭ + 

Olivia would have interrupted him, defending Sabine and telling of the one real thing that had happened to herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the tragic love for her husband; she would have told him of all the abrupt, incoherent confidences Sabine had made her; but the old man gave her no chance. It seemed suddenly that he had become possessed, fiercely intent upon pouring out to her all the dark things he had kept hidden for so long. + 

(She kept thinking, вАЬWhy must I know all these things? Why must I take up the burden? Why was it that I should find those letters which had lain safe and hidden for so long?вАЭ) + 

He was talking again quietly, the bony fingers weaving in and out their nervous futile pattern. вАЬYou see, Olivia.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You see, she takes drugs nowвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and thereвАЩs no use in trying to cure her. SheвАЩs old now, and it doesnвАЩt really matter. ItвАЩs not as if she were young with all her life before her.вАЭ + 

Almost without thinking, Olivia answered, вАЬI know that.вАЭ + 

He looked up quickly. вАЬKnow it?вАЭ he asked sharply. вАЬHow could you know it?вАЭ + 

вАЬSabine told me.вАЭ + 

The head bowed again. вАЬOh, Sabine! Of course! SheвАЩs dangerous. She knows far too much of the world. SheвАЩs known too many strange people.вАЭ And then he repeated again what he had said months ago after the ball. вАЬShe ought never to have come back here.вАЭ + 

Into the midst of the strange, disjointed conversation there came presently the sound of music drifting toward them from the distant drawing-room. John Pentland, who was a little deaf, did not hear it at first, but after a little time he sat up, listening, and turning toward her, asked, вАЬIs that SybilвАЩs young man?вАЭ + 

вАЬYes.вАЭ + 

вАЬHeвАЩs a nice boy, isnвАЩt he?вАЭ + 

вАЬA very nice boy.вАЭ + 

After a silence he asked, вАЬWhatвАЩs the name of the thing heвАЩs playing?вАЭ + 

Olivia could not help smiling. вАЬItвАЩs called вАШIвАЩm in Love Again and the Spring Is A-CominвАЩ.вАЩ Jean brought it back from Paris. A friend of his wrote itвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but names donвАЩt mean anything in music any more. No one listens to the words.вАЭ + 

A shadow of amusement crossed his face. вАЬSongs have queer names nowadays.вАЭ + 

She would have escaped, then, going quietly away. She stirred and even made a gesture toward leaving, but he raised his hand in the way he had, making her feel that she must obey him as if she were a child. + 

вАЬThere are one or two more things you ought to know, OliviaвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ things that will help you to understand. Someone has to know them. Someone.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ He halted abruptly and again made a great effort to go on. The veins stood out sharply on the bony head. + 

вАЬItвАЩs about her chiefly,вАЭ he said, with the inevitable gesture toward the north wing. вАЬShe wasnвАЩt always that way. ThatвАЩs what I want to explain. You seeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ we were married when we were both very young. It was my father who wanted it. I was twenty and she was eighteen. My father had known her family always. They were cousins of ours, in a way, just as they were cousins of SabineвАЩs. He had gone to school with her father and they belonged to the same club and she was an only child with a prospect of coming into a great fortune. ItвАЩs an old story, you see, but a rather common one in our world.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ All these things counted, and as for myself, IвАЩd never had anything to do with women and IвАЩd never been in love with anyone. I was very young. I think they saw it as a perfect matchвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ made in the hard, prosperous Heaven of their dreams. She was very prettyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ you can see even now that she must have been very pretty.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ She was sweet, too, and innocent.вАЭ He coughed, and continued with a great effort. вАЬShe hadвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ she had a mind like a little childвАЩs. She knew nothingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a flower of innocence,вАЭ he added with a strange savagery. + 

And then, as if the effort were too much for him, he paused and sat staring out of the window toward the sea. To Olivia it seemed that he had slipped back across the years to the time when the poor old lady had been young and perhaps curiously shy of his ardent wooing. A silence settled again over the room, so profound that this time the faint, distant roaring of the surf on the rocks became audible, and then again the sound of JeanвАЩs music breaking in upon them. He was playing another tuneвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ not вАЬIвАЩm in Love Again,вАЭ but one called вАЬUkulele Lady.вАЭ + 

вАЬI wish theyвАЩd stop that damned music!вАЭ said John Pentland. + 

вАЬIвАЩll go,вАЭ began Olivia, rising. + 

вАЬNoвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ donвАЩt go. You mustnвАЩt goвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ not now.вАЭ He seemed anxious, almost terrified, perhaps by the fear that if he did not tell now he would never tell her the long story that he must tell to someone. вАЬNo, donвАЩt goвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ not until IвАЩve finished, Olivia. I must finish.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I want you to know why such things happened as happened here yesterday and the day before in this room.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ThereвАЩs no excuse, but what I have to tell you may explain itвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a little.вАЭ + 

He rose and opening one of the bookcases, took out a bottle of whisky. Looking at her, he said, вАЬDonвАЩt worry, Olivia, I shanвАЩt repeat it. ItвАЩs only that IвАЩm feeling weak. It will never happen againвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ what happened yesterdayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ never. I give you my word.вАЭ + 

He poured out a full glass and seated himself once more, drinking the stuff slowly while he talked. + 

вАЬSo we were married, I thinking that I was in love with her, because I knew nothing of such thingsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ nothing. It wasnвАЩt really love, you see.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Olivia, IвАЩm going to tell you the truthвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ everythingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ all of the truth. It wasnвАЩt really love, you see. It was only that she was the only woman I had ever approached in that wayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and I was a strong, healthy young man.вАЭ + 

He began to speak more and more slowly, as if each word were thrust out by an immense effort of will. вАЬAnd she knew nothingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ nothing at all. She was,вАЭ he said bitterly, вАЬall that a young woman was supposed to be. After the first night of the honeymoon, she was never quite the same againвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ never quite the same, Olivia. Do you know what that means? The honeymoon ended in a kind of madness, a fixed obsession. SheвАЩd been brought up to think of such things with a sacred horror and there was a touch of madness in her family. She was never the same again,вАЭ he repeated in a melancholy voice, вАЬand when Anson was born she went quite out of her head. She would not see me or speak to me. She fancied that I had disgraced her foreverвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and after that she could never be left alone without someone to watch her. She never went out again in the world.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

The voice died away into a hoarse whisper. The glass of whisky had been emptied in a supreme effort to break through the shell which had closed him in from all the world, from Olivia, whom he cherished, perhaps even from Mrs.¬†Soames, whom he had loved. In the distance the music still continued, this time as an accompaniment to the hard, loud voice of Th√©r√®se singing, вАЬIвАЩm in Love Again and the Spring Is A-CominвАЩ.вАЭвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Th√©r√®se, the dark, cynical, invincible Th√©r√®se for whom life, from frogs to men, held very few secrets. + 

вАЬBut the story doesnвАЩt end there,вАЭ continued John Pentland weakly. вАЬIt goes onвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ because I came to know what being in love might be when I met Mrs.¬†Soames.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Only then,вАЭ he said sadly, as if he saw the tragedy from far off as a thing which had little to do with him. вАЬOnly then,вАЭ he repeated, вАЬit was too late. After what I had done to her, it was too late to fall in love. I couldnвАЩt abandon her. It was impossible. It ought never to have happened.вАЭ He straightened his tough old body and added, вАЬIвАЩve told you all this, Olivia, because I wanted you to understand why sometimes I amвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ He paused for a moment and then plunged ahead, вАЬwhy I am a beast as I was yesterday. There have been times when it was the only way I could go on living.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ And it harmed no one. There arenвАЩt many who ever knew about it.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I always hid myself. There was never any spectacle.вАЭ + 

Slowly OliviaвАЩs white hand stole across the polished surface of the desk and touched the brown, bony one that lay there now, quietly, like a hawk come to rest. She said nothing and yet the simple gesture carried an eloquence of which no words were capable. It brought tears into the burning eyes for the second time in the life of John Pentland. He had wept only once beforeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ on the night of his grandsonвАЩs death. And they were not, Olivia knew, tears of self-pity, for there was no self-pity in the tough, rugged old body; they were tears at the spectacle of a tragedy in which he happened by accident to be concerned. + 

вАЬI wanted you to know, my dear OliviaвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that I have never been unfaithful to her, not once in all the years since our wedding-night.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I know the world will never believe it, but I wanted you to know because, you see, you and Mrs.¬†Soames are the only ones who matter to meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and she knows that it is true.вАЭ + 

And now that she knew the story was finished, she did not go away, because she knew that he wanted her to stay, sitting there beside him in silence, touching his hand. He was the sort of manвБ†вАФa man, she thought, like MichaelвБ†вАФwho needed women about him. + 

After a long time, he turned suddenly and asked, вАЬThis boy of SybilвАЩsвБ†вАФwho is he? What is he like?вАЭ + 

вАЬSabine knows about him.вАЭ + 

вАЬItвАЩs that which makes me afraid.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ HeвАЩs out of her world and IвАЩm not so sure that I like it. In SabineвАЩs world it doesnвАЩt matter who a person is or where he comes from as long as heвАЩs clever and amusing.вАЭ + 

вАЬIвАЩve watched him.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩve talked with him. I think him all that a girl could askвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a girl like Sybil, I mean.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I shouldnвАЩt recommend him to a silly girlвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ heвАЩd give such a wife a very bad time. Besides, I donвАЩt think we can do much about it. Sybil, I think, has decided.вАЭ + 

вАЬHas he asked her to marry him? Has he spoken to you?вАЭ + 

вАЬI donвАЩt know whether heвАЩs asked her. He hasnвАЩt spoken to me. Young men donвАЩt bother about such things nowadays.вАЭ + 

вАЬBut Anson wonвАЩt like it. ThereвАЩll be troubleвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and Cassie, too.вАЭ + 

вАЬYesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and still, if Sybil wants him, sheвАЩll have him. IвАЩve tried to teach her that in a case like thisвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ well,вАЭ she made a little gesture with her white hand, вАЬthat she should let nothing make any difference.вАЭ + 

He sat thoughtfully for a long time, and at last, without looking up and almost as if speaking to himself, he said, вАЬThere was once an elopement in the family.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Jared and Savina Pentland were married that way.вАЭ + 

вАЬBut that wasnвАЩt a happy matchвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ not too happy,вАЭ said Olivia; and immediately she knew that she had come near to betraying herself. A word or two more and he might have trapped her. She saw that it was impossible to add the burden of the letters to these other secrets. + 

As it was, he looked at her sharply, saying, вАЬNo one knows that.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ One only knows that she was drowned.вАЭ + 

She saw well enough what he meant to tell her, by that vague hint regarding SavinaвАЩs elopement; only now he was back once more in the terrible shell; he was the mysterious, the false, John Pentland who could only hint but never speak directly. + 

The music ceased altogether in the drawing-room, leaving only the vague, distant, eternal pounding of the surf on the red rocks, and once the distant echo of a footstep coming from the north wing. The old man said presently, вАЬSo she wasnвАЩt falling in love with this man OвАЩHara, after all? There wasnвАЩt any need for worry?вАЭ + 

вАЬNo, she never thought of him in that way, even for a moment.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ To her he seems an old man.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ We mustnвАЩt forget how young she is.вАЭ + 

вАЬHeвАЩs not a bad sort,вАЭ replied the old man. вАЬIвАЩve grown fond of him, and Higgins thinks heвАЩs a fine fellow. IвАЩm inclined to trust Higgins. He has an instinct about peopleвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the same as he has about the weather.вАЭ He paused for a moment, and then continued, вАЬStill, I think weвАЩd best be careful about him. HeвАЩs a clever Irishman on the makeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and such gentlemen need watching. TheyвАЩre usually thinking only of themselves.вАЭ + 

вАЬPerhaps,вАЭ said Olivia, in a whisper. вАЬPerhaps.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

The silence was broken by the whirring and banging of the clock in the hall making ready to strike eleven. The evening had slipped away quickly, veiled in a mist of unreality. At last the truth had been spoken at PentlandsвБ†вАФthe grim, unadorned, terrible truth; and Olivia, who had hungered for it for so long, found herself shaken. + 

John Pentland rose slowly, painfully, for he had grown stiff and brittle with the passing of the summer. вАЬItвАЩs eleven, Olivia. YouвАЩd better go to bed and get some rest.вАЭ + 

II + 

She did not go to her own room, because it would have been impossible to sleep, and she could not go to the drawing-room to face, in the mood which held her captive, such young faces as those of Jean and Th√©r√®se and Sybil. At the moment she could not bear the thought of any enclosed place, of a room or even a place covered by a roof which shut out the open sky. She had need of the air and that healing sense of freedom and oblivion which the sight of the marshes and the sea sometimes brought to her. She wanted to breathe deeply the fresh salty atmosphere, to run, to escape somewhere. Indeed, for a moment she succumbed to a sense of panic, as she had done on the other hot night when OвАЩHara followed her into the garden. + 

She went out across the terrace and, wandering aimlessly, found herself presently moving beneath the trees in the direction of the marshes and the sea. This last night of August was hot and clear save for the faint, blue-white mist that always hung above the lower meadows. There had been times in the past when the thought of crossing the lonely meadows, of wandering the shadowed lanes in the darkness, had frightened her, but tonight such an adventure seemed only restful and quiet, perhaps because she believed that she could encounter there nothing more terrible than the confidences of John Pentland. She was acutely aware, as she had been on that other evening, of the breathless beauty of the night, of the velvety shadows along the hedges and ditches, of the brilliance of the stars, of the distant foaming white line of the sea and the rich, fertile odor of the pastures and marshes. + 

And presently, when she had grown a little more calm, she tried to bring some order out of the chaos that filled her body and spirit. It seemed to her that all life had become hopelessly muddled and confused. She was aware in some way, almost without knowing why, that the old man had tricked her, turning her will easily to his own desires, changing all the prospect of the future. She had known always that he was strong and in his way invincible, but until tonight she had never known the full greatness of his strengthвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ how relentless, even how unscrupulous he could be; for he had been unscrupulous, unfair, in the way he had used every weapon at handвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ every sentiment, every memoryвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ to achieve his will. There had been no fierce struggle in the open; it was far more subtle than that. He had subdued her without her knowing it, aided perhaps by all that dark force which had the power of changing them allвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ even the children of Savina Dalgedo and Toby Cane into вАЬPentlands.вАЭ + 

Thinking bitterly of what had passed, she came to see that his strength rested upon the foundation of his virtue, his rightness. One could sayвБ†вАФindeed, one could believe it as one believed that the sun had risen yesterdayвБ†вАФthat all his life had been tragically foolish and quixotic, fantastically devoted to the hard, uncompromising ideal of what a Pentland ought to be; and yetвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ yet one knew that he had been right, even perhaps heroic; one respected his uncompromising strength. He had made a wreck of his own happiness and driven poor old Mrs.¬†Soames to seek peace in the Nirvana of drugs; and yet for her, he was the whole of life: she lived only for him. This code of his was hard, cruel, inhuman, sacrificing everything to its observance.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ вАЬEven,вАЭ thought Olivia, вАЬto sacrificing me along with himself. But I will not be sacrificed. I will escape!вАЭ + 

And after a long time she began to see slowly what it was that lay at the bottom of the iron power he had over people, the strength which none of them had been able to resist. It was a simple thingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ simply that he believed, passionately, relentlessly, as those first Puritans had done. + 

The others all about her did not matter. Not one of them had any power over herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ not Anson, nor Aunt Cassie, nor Sabine, nor Bishop Smallwood. None of them played any part in the course of her life. They did not matter. She had no fear of them; rather they seemed to her now fussy and pitiful. + 

But John Pentland believed. It was that which made the difference. + 

Stumbling along half-blindly, she found herself presently at the bridge where the lane from Pentlands crossed the river on its way to Brook Cottage. Since she had been a little girl the sight of water had exerted a strange spell upon herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the sight of a river, a lake, but most of all the open sea; she had always been drawn toward these things like a bit of iron toward a magnet; and now, finding herself at the bridge, she halted, and stood looking over the stone parapet in the shadow of the hawthorn-bushes that grew close to the waterвАЩs edge, down on the dark, still pool below her. The water was black and in it the bright little stars glittered like diamonds scattered over its surface. The warm, rich odor of cattle filled the air, touched by the faint, ghostly perfume of the last white nympheas that bordered the pool. + 

And while she stood there, bathed in the stillness of the dark solitude, she began to understand a little what had really passed between them in the room smelling of whisky and saddle-soap. She saw how the whole tragedy of John Pentland and his life had been born of the stupidity, the ignorance, the hypocrisy of others, and she saw, too, that he was beyond all doubt the grandson of the Toby Cane who had written those wild passionate letters glorifying the flesh; only John Pentland had found himself caught in the prison of that other terrible thingвБ†вАФthe code in which he had been trained, in which he believed. She saw now that it was not strange that he sought escape from reality by shutting himself in and drinking himself into a stupor. He had been caught, tragically, between those two powerful forces. He thought himself a Pentland and all the while there burned in him the fire that lay in Toby CaneвАЩs letters and in the wanton look that was fixed forever in the portrait of Savina Pentland. She kept seeing him as he said, вАЬI have never been unfaithful to her, not once in all the years since our wedding-night.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I wanted you to know because, you see, you and Mrs.¬†Soames are the only ones who matter to meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and she knows that it is true.вАЭ + 

It seemed to her that this fidelity was a terrible, a wicked, thing. + 

And she came to understand that through all their talk together, the thought, the idea, of Michael had been always present. It was almost as if they had been speaking all the while about Michael and herself. A dozen times the old man had touched upon it, vaguely but surely. She had no doubts that Aunt Cassie had long since learned all there was to learn from Miss Peavey of the encounter by the catnip-bed, and she was certain that she had taken the information to her brother. Still, there was nothing definite in anything Miss Peavey had seen, very little that was even suspicious. And yet, as she looked back upon her talk with the old man, it seemed to her that in a dozen ways, by words, by intonation, by glances, he had implied that he knew the secret. Even in the end when, cruelly, he had with an uncanny sureness touched the one fear, the one suspicion that marred her love for Michael, by saying in the most casual way, вАЬStill, I think weвАЩd better be careful of him. HeвАЩs a clever Irishman on the makeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and such gentlemen need watching. TheyвАЩre usually thinking only of themselves.вАЭ + 

And then the most fantastic of all thoughts occurred to herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that all their talk together, even the painful, tragic confidence made with such an heroic effort, was directed at herself. He had done all thisвБ†вАФhe had emerged from his shell of reticence, he had humiliated his fierce prideвБ†вАФall to force her to give up Michael, to force her to sacrifice herself on the altar of that fantastic ideal in which he believed. + 

And she was afraid because he was so strong; because he had asked her to do nothing that he himself had not done. + 

She would never know for certain. She saw that, after all, the John Pentland she had left a little while before still remained an illusion, veiled in mystery, unfathomable to her perhaps forever. She had not seen him at all. + 

Standing there on the bridge in the black shadow of the hawthorns, all sense of time or space, of the world about her, faded out of existence, so that she was aware of herself only as a creature who was suffering. She thought, вАЬPerhaps he is right. Perhaps I have become like them, and that is why this struggle goes on and on. Perhaps if I were an ordinary personвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ sane and simpleвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ like HigginsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ there would be no struggle and no doubts, no terror of simply acting, without hesitation.вАЭ + 

She remembered what the old man had said of a world in which all action had become paralyzed, where one was content simply to watch others act, to live vicariously. The word вАЬsaneвАЭ had come to her quite naturally and easily as the exact word to describe a state of mind opposed to that which existed perpetually at Pentlands, and the thought terrified her that perhaps this thing which one called вАЬbeing a Pentland,вАЭ this state of enchantment, was, after all, only a disease, a kind of madness that paralyzed all power of action. One came to live in the past, to acknowledge debts of honor and duty to people who had been dead for a century and more. + 

вАЬOnce,вАЭ she thought, вАЬI must have had the power of doing what I wanted to do, what I thought right.вАЭ + 

And she thought again of what Sabine had said of New England as вАЬa place where thoughts became higher and fewer,вАЭ where every action became a problem of moral conduct, an exercise in transcendentalism. It was passing now, even from New England, though it still clung to the world of Pentlands, along with the souvenirs of celebrated вАЬdear friends.вАЭ Even stowing the souvenirs away in the attic had changed nothing. It was passing all about Pentlands; there was nothing of this sort in the New England that belonged to OвАЩHara and Higgins and the Polish mill-workers of Durham. The village itself had become a new and different place. + 

In the midst of this rebellion, she became aware, with that strange acuteness which seemed to touch all her senses, that she was no longer alone on the bridge in the midst of empty, mist-veiled meadows. She knew suddenly and with a curious certainty that there were others somewhere near her in the darkness, perhaps watching her, and she had for a moment a wave of the quick, chilling fear which sometimes overtook her at Pentlands at the times when she had a sense of figures surrounding her who could neither be seen nor touched. And almost at once she distinguished, emerging from the mist that blanketed the meadows, the figures of two people, a man and a woman, walking very close to each other, their arms entwined. For a moment she thought, вАЬAm I really mad? Am I seeing ghosts in reality?вАЭ The fantastic idea occurred to her that the two figures were perhaps Savina Pentland and Toby Cane risen from their lost grave in the sea to wander across the meadows and marshes of Pentland. Moving through the drifting, starlit mist, they seemed vague and indistinct and watery, like creatures come up out of the water. She fancied them, all dripping and wet, emerging from the waves and crossing the white rim of beach on their way toward the big old house.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ + 

The sight, strangely enough, filled her with no sense of horror, but only with fascination. + 

And then, as they drew nearer, she recognized the manвБ†вАФsomething at first vaguely familiar in the cocky, strutting walk. She knew the bandy legs and was filled suddenly with a desire to laugh wildly and hysterically. It was only the rabbitlike Higgins engaged in some new conquest. Quietly she stepped farther into the shadow of the hawthorns and the pair passed her, so closely that she might have reached out her hand and touched them. It was only then that she recognized the woman. It was no Polish girl from the village, this time. It was Miss EganвБ†вАФthe starched, the efficient Miss Egan, whom Higgins had seduced. She was leaning on him as they walkedвБ†вАФa strange, broken, feminine Miss Egan whom Olivia had never seen before. + 

At once she thought, вАЬOld Mrs.¬†Pentland has been left alone. Anything might happen. I must hurry back to the house.вАЭ And she had a quick burst of anger at the deceit of the nurse, followed by a flash of intuition which seemed to clarify all that had been happening since the hot night early in the summer when she had seen Higgins leaping the wall like a goat to escape the glare of the motor-lights. The mysterious woman who had disappeared over the wall that night was Miss Egan. She had been leaving the old woman alone night after night since then; it explained the sudden impatience and bad temper of these last two days when Higgins had been shut up with the old man. + 

She saw it all nowвБ†вАФall that had happened in the past two monthsвБ†вАФin an orderly procession of events. The old woman had escaped, leading the way to Savina PentlandвАЩs letters, because Miss Egan had deserted her post to wander across the meadows at the call of that mysterious, powerful force which seemed to take possession of the countryside at nightfall. It was in the air again tonight, all about herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ in the air, in the fields, the sound of the distant sea, the smell of cattle and of ripening seedsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ as it had been on the night when Michael followed her out into the garden. + 

In a way, the whole chain of events was the manifestation of the disturbing force which had in the end revealed the secret of SavinaвАЩs letters. It had mocked them, and now the secret weighed on Olivia as a thing which she must tell someone, which she could no longer keep to herself. It burned her, too, with the sense of possessing a terrible and shameful weapon which she might use if pushed beyond endurance. + 

Slowly, after the two lovers had disappeared, she made her way back again toward the old house, which loomed square and black against the deep blue of the sky, and as she walked, her anger at Miss EganвАЩs betrayal of trust seemed to melt mysteriously away. She would speak to Miss Egan tomorrow, or the day after; in any case, the affair had been going on all summer and no harm had come of itвБ†вАФno harm save the discovery of Savina PentlandвАЩs letters. She felt a sudden sympathy for this starched, efficient woman whom she had always disliked; she saw that Miss EganвАЩs life, after all, was a horrible thingвБ†вАФa procession of days spent in the company of a mad old woman. It was, Olivia thought, something like her own existence.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ + 

And it occurred to her at the same time that it would be difficult to explain to so sharp-witted a creature as Miss Egan why she herself should have been on the bridge at such an hour of the night. It was as if everything, each little thought and action, became more and more tangled and hopeless, more and more intricate and complicated with the passing of each day. There was no way out save to cut the web boldly and escape. + 

вАЬNo,вАЭ she thought, вАЬI will not stay.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I will not sacrifice myself. Tomorrow I shall tell Michael that when Sybil is gone, I will do whatever he wants me to do.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

When she reached the house she found it dark save for the light which burned perpetually in the big hall illuminating faintly the rows of portraits; and silent save for the creakings which afflicted it in the stillness of the night. + 

III + 

She was wakened early, after having slept badly, with the news that Michael had been kept in Boston the night before and would not be able to ride with her as usual. When the maid had gone away she grew depressed, for she had counted upon seeing him and coming to some definite plan. For a moment she even experienced a vague jealousy, which she put away at once as shameful. It was not, she told herself, that he ever neglected her; it was only that he grew more and more occupied as the autumn approached. It was not that there was any other woman involved; she felt certain of him. And yet there remained that strange, gnawing little suspicion placed in her mind when John Pentland had said, вАЬHeвАЩs a clever Irishman on the makeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and such gentlemen need watching.вАЭ + 

After all, she knew nothing of him save what he had chosen to tell her. He was a free man, independent, a buccaneer, who could do as he chose in life. Why should he ruin himself for her? + 

She rose at last, determined to ride alone, in the hope that the fresh morning air and the exercise would put to rout this cloud of morbidity which had kept possession of her from the moment she left John Pentland in the library. + 

As she dressed, she thought, вАЬDay after tomorrow I shall be forty years old. Perhaps thatвАЩs the reason why I feel tired and morbid. Perhaps IвАЩm on the borderland of middle-age. But that canвАЩt be. I am strong and well and I look young, despite everything. I am tired because of what happened last night.вАЭ And then it occurred to her that perhaps Mrs.¬†Soames had known these same thoughts again and again during her long devotion to John Pentland. вАЬNo,вАЭ she told herself, вАЬwhatever happens I shall never lead the life she has led. Anything is better than thatвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ anything.вАЭ + 

It seemed strange to her to awaken and find that nothing was changed in all the world about her. After what had happened the night before in the library and on the dark meadows, there should have been some mark left upon the life at Pentlands. The very house, the very landscape, should have kept some record of what had happened; and yet everything was the same. She experienced a faint shock of surprise to find the sun shining brightly, to see Higgins in the stable-yard saddling her horse and whistling all the while in an excess of high spirits, to hear the distant barking of the beagles, and to see Sybil crossing the meadow toward the river to meet Jean. Everything was the same, even Higgins, whom she had mistaken for a ghost as he crossed the mist-hung meadows a few hours earlier. It was as if there were two realities at PentlandsвБ†вАФone, it might have been said, of the daylight and the other of the darkness; as if one lifeвБ†вАФa secret, hidden oneвБ†вАФlay beneath the bright, pleasant surface of a world composed of green fields and trees, the sound of barking dogs, the faint odor of coffee arising from the kitchen, and the sound of a groom whistling while he saddled a thoroughbred. It was a misfortune that chance had given her an insight into both the bright, pleasant world and that other dark, nebulous one. The others, save perhaps old John Pentland, saw only this bright, easy life that had begun to stir all about her. + 

And she reflected that a stranger coming to Pentlands would find it a pleasant, comfortable house, where the life was easy and even luxurious, where all of them were protected by wealth. He would find them all rather pleasant, normal, friendly people of a family respected and even distinguished. He would say, вАЬHere is a world that is solid and comfortable and sound.вАЭ + 

Yes, it would appear thus to a stranger, so it might be that the dark, fearful world existed only in her imagination. Perhaps she herself was ill, a little unbalanced and morbidвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ perhaps a little touched like the old woman in the north wing. + 

Still, she thought, most houses, most families, must have such double livesвБ†вАФone which the world saw and one which remained hidden. + 

As she pulled on her boots she heard the voice of Higgins, noisy and cheerful, exchanging amorous jests with the new Irish kitchen-maid, marking her already for his own. + 

She rode listlessly, allowing the mare to lead through the birch thicket over the cool dark paths which she and Michael always followed. The morning air did not change her spirits. There was something sad in riding alone through the long green tunnel. + 

When at last she came out on the opposite side by the patch of catnip where they had encountered Miss Peavey, she saw a Ford drawn up by the side of the road and a man standing beside it, smoking a cigar and regarding the engine as if he were in trouble. She saw no more than that and would have passed him without troubling to look a second time, when she heard herself being addressed. + 

вАЬYouвАЩre Mrs.¬†Pentland, arenвАЩt you?вАЭ + 

She drew in the mare. вАЬYes, IвАЩm Mrs.¬†Pentland.вАЭ + 

He was a little man, dressed rather too neatly in a suit of checkered stuff, with a high, stiff white collar which appeared to be strangling him. He wore nose-glasses and his face had a look of having been highly polished. As she turned, he took off his straw hat and with a great show of manners came forward, bowing and smiling cordially. + 

вАЬWell,вАЭ he said, вАЬIвАЩm glad to hear that IвАЩm right. I hoped I might meet you here. ItвАЩs a great pleasure to know you, Mrs.¬†Pentland. My name is Gavin.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩm by way of being a friend of Michael OвАЩHara.вАЭ + 

вАЬOh!вАЭ said Olivia. вАЬHow do you do?вАЭ + 

вАЬYouвАЩre not in a great hurry, I hope?вАЭ he asked. вАЬIвАЩd like to have a word or two with you.вАЭ + 

вАЬNo, IвАЩm not in a great hurry.вАЭ + 

It was impossible to imagine what this fussy little man, standing in the middle of the road, bowing and smiling, could have to say to her. + 

Still holding his hat in his hand, he tossed away the end of his cigar and said, вАЬItвАЩs about a very delicate matter, Mrs.¬†Pentland. It has to do with Mr.¬†OвАЩHaraвАЩs campaign. I suppose you know about that. YouвАЩre a friend of his, I believe?вАЭ + 

вАЬWhy, yes,вАЭ she said coldly. вАЬWe ride together.вАЭ + 

He coughed and, clearly ill at ease, set off on a tangent from the main subject. вАЬYou see, IвАЩm a great friend of his. In fact, we grew up togetherвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ lived in the same ward and fought together as boys. You mightnвАЩt think it to see us togetherвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ because heвАЩs such a clever one. HeвАЩs made for big things and IвАЩm not.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩmвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩm just plain John Gavin. But weвАЩre friends, all the same, just the same as everвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ just as if he wasnвАЩt a big man. ThatвАЩs one thing about Michael. He never goes back on his old friends, no matter how great he gets to be.вАЭ + 

A light of adoration shone in the blue eyes of the little man. It was, Olivia thought, as if he were speaking of God; only clearly he thought of Michael OвАЩHara as greater than God. If Michael affected men like this, it was easy to see why he was so successful. + 

The little man kept interrupting himself with apologies. вАЬI shanвАЩt keep you long, Mrs.¬†PentlandвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ only a moment. You see I thought it was better if I saw you here instead of coming to the house.вАЭ Suddenly screwing up his shiny face, he became intensely serious. вАЬItвАЩs like this, Mrs.¬†Pentland.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I know youвАЩre a good friend of his and you wish him well. You want to see him get electedвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ even though you people out here donвАЩt hold much with the Democratic party.вАЭ + 

вАЬYes,вАЭ said Olivia. вАЬThatвАЩs true.вАЭ + 

вАЬWell,вАЭ he continued with a visible effort, вАЬMichaelвАЩs a good friend of mine. IвАЩm sort of a bodyguard to him. Of course, I never come out here. I donвАЩt belong in this world.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩd feel sort of funny out here.вАЭ + 

(Olivia found herself feeling respect for the little man. He was so simple and so honest and he so obviously worshiped Michael.) + 

вАЬYou seeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I know all about Michael. IвАЩve been through a great deal with himвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and heвАЩs not himself just now. ThereвАЩs something wrong. He ainвАЩt interested in his work. He acts as if heвАЩd be willing to chuck his whole career overboardвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and I canвАЩt let him do that. None of his friendsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ canвАЩt let him do it. We canвАЩt get him to take a proper interest in his affairs. Usually, he manages everythingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ better than anyone else could.вАЭ He became suddenly confidential, closing one eye. вАЬDвАЩyou know what I think is the matter? IвАЩve been watching him and IвАЩve got an idea.вАЭ + 

He waited until Olivia said, вАЬNoвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I havenвАЩt the least idea.вАЭ + 

Cocking his head on one side and speaking with the air of having made a great discovery, he said, вАЬWell, I think thereвАЩs a woman mixed up in it.вАЭ + 

She felt the blood mounting to her head, in spite of anything she could do. When she was able to speak, she asked, вАЬYes, and what am I to do?вАЭ + 

He moved a little nearer, still with the same air of confiding in her. вАЬWell, this is my idea. Now, youвАЩre a friend of hisвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ youвАЩll understand. You see, the trouble is that itвАЩs some woman here in DurhamвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ some swell, you see, like yourself. ThatвАЩs what makes it hard. HeвАЩs had women before, but they were women out of the ward and it didnвАЩt make much difference. But this is different. HeвАЩs all upset, andвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ He hesitated for a moment. вАЬWell, I donвАЩt like to say a thing like this about Michael, but I think his head is turned a little. ThatвАЩs a mean thing to say, but then weвАЩre all human, arenвАЩt we?вАЭ + 

вАЬYes,вАЭ said Olivia softly. вАЬYesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ in the end, weвАЩre all humanвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ even swells like me.вАЭ There was a twinkle of humor in her eye which for a moment disconcerted the little man. + 

вАЬWell,вАЭ he went on, вАЬheвАЩs all upset about her and heвАЩs no good for anything. Now, what I thought was thisвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that you could find out who this woman is and go to her and persuade her to lay off him for a timeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ to go away some placeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ at least until the campaign is over. ItвАЩd make a difference. DвАЩyou see?вАЭ + 

He looked at her boldly, as if what he had been saying was absolutely honest and direct, as if he really had not the faintest idea who this woman was, and beneath a sense of anger, Olivia was amused at the crude tact which had evolved this trick. + 

вАЬThereвАЩs not much that I can do,вАЭ she said. вАЬItвАЩs a preposterous ideaвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but IвАЩll do what I can. IвАЩll try. I canвАЩt promise anything. It lies with Mr.¬†OвАЩHara, after all.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou see, Mrs.¬†Pentland, if it ever got to be a scandal, itвАЩd be the end of him. A woman out of the ward doesnвАЩt matter so much, but a woman out here would be different. SheвАЩd get a lot of publicity from the sassiety editors and all.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ThatвАЩs whatвАЩs dangerous. HeвАЩd have the whole church against him on the grounds of immorality.вАЭ + 

While he was speaking, a strange idea occurred to OliviaвБ†вАФthat much of what he said sounded like a strange echo of Aunt CassieвАЩs methods of argument. + 

The horse had grown impatient and was pawing the road and tossing his head; and Olivia was angry now, genuinely angry, so that she waited for a time before speaking, lest she should betray herself and spoil all this little game of pretense which Mr.¬†Gavin had built up to keep himself in countenance. At last she said, вАЬIвАЩll do what I can, but itвАЩs a ridiculous thing youвАЩre asking of me.вАЭ + 

The little man grinned. вАЬIвАЩve been a long time in politics, MaвАЩam, and IвАЩve seen funnier things than this.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ He put on his hat, as if to signal that he had said all he wanted to say. вАЬBut thereвАЩs one thing IвАЩd like to askвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and thatвАЩs that you never let Michael know that I spoke to you about this.вАЭ + 

вАЬWhy should I promiseвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ anything?вАЭ + 

He moved nearer and said in a low voice, вАЬYou know Michael very well, Mrs.¬†Pentland.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You know Michael very well, and you know that heвАЩs got a bad, quick temper. If he found out that we were meddling in his affairs, he might do anything. He might chuck the whole business and clear out altogether. HeвАЩs never been like this about a woman before. HeвАЩd do it just now.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ThatвАЩs the way heвАЩs feeling. You donвАЩt want to see him ruin himself any more than I doвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a clever man like Michael. Why, he might be president one of these days. He can do anything he sets his will to, MaвАЩam, but he is, as they say, temperamental just now.вАЭ + 

вАЬIвАЩll not tell him,вАЭ said Olivia quietly. вАЬAnd IвАЩll do what I can to help you. And now I must go.вАЭ She felt suddenly friendly toward Mr.¬†Gavin, perhaps because what he had been telling her was exactly what she wanted most at that moment to hear. She leaned down from her horse and held out her hand, saying, вАЬGood morning, Mr.¬†Gavin.вАЭ + 

Mr.¬†Gavin removed his hat once more, revealing his round, bald, shiny head. вАЬGood morning, Mrs.¬†Pentland.вАЭ + 

As she rode off, the little man remained standing in the middle of the road looking after her until she had disappeared. His eye glowed with the light of admiration, but as Olivia turned from the road into the meadows, he frowned and swore aloud. Until now he hadnвАЩt understood how a good politician like Michael could lose his head over any woman. But he had an idea that he could trust this woman to do what she had promised. There was a look about herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a look which made her seem different from most women; perhaps it was this look which had made a fool of Michael, who usually kept women in their proper places. + 

Grinning and shaking his head, he got into the Ford, started it with a great uproar, and set off in the direction of Boston. After he had gone a little way he halted again and got out, for in his agitation he had forgotten to close the hood. + 

From the moment she turned and rode away from Mr.¬†Gavin, Olivia gave herself over to action. She saw that there was need of more than mere static truth to bring order out of the hazy chaos at Pentlands; there must be action as well. And she was angry now, really angry, even at Mr.¬†Gavin for his impertinence, and at the unknown person who had been his informant. The strange idea that Aunt Cassie or Anson was somehow responsible still remained; tactics such as these were completely sympathetic to themвБ†вАФto go thus in Machiavellian fashion to a man like Gavin instead of coming to her. By using Mr.¬†Gavin there would be no scene, no definite unpleasantness to disturb the enchantment of Pentlands. They could go on pretending that nothing was wrong, that nothing had happened. + 

But stronger than her anger was the fear that in some way they might use the same tactics to spoil the happiness of Sybil. They would, she was certain, sacrifice everything to their belief in their own rightness. + 

She found Jean at the house when she returned, and, closing the door of the drawing-room, she said to him, вАЬJean, I want to talk to you for a momentвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ alone.вАЭ + 

He said at once, вАЬI know, Mrs.¬†Pentland. ItвАЩs about Sybil.вАЭ + 

There was a little echo of humor in his voice that touched and disarmed her as it always did. It struck her that he was still young enough to be confident that everything in life would go exactly as he wished it.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ + 

вАЬYes,вАЭ she said, вАЬthat was it.вАЭ They sat on two of Horace PentlandвАЩs chairs and she continued. вАЬI donвАЩt believe in meddling, Jean, only now there are circumstancesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ reasons.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ She made a little gesture. вАЬI thought that if reallyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ really.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

He interrupted her quickly. вАЬI do, Mrs.¬†Pentland. WeвАЩve talked it all over, Sybil and IвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and weвАЩre agreed. We love each other. WeвАЩre going to be married.вАЭ + 

Watching the young, ardent face, she thought, вАЬItвАЩs a nice face in which there is nothing mean or nasty. The lips arenвАЩt thin and tight like AnsonвАЩs, nor the skin sickly and pallid the way AnsonвАЩs has always been. ThereвАЩs life in it, and force and charm. ItвАЩs the face of a man who would be good to a womanвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a man not in the least cold-blooded.вАЭ + 

вАЬDo you love herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ really?вАЭ she asked. + 

вАЬIвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ItвАЩs a thing I canвАЩt answer because there arenвАЩt words to describe it.вАЭ + 

вАЬBecauseвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ wellвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Jean, itвАЩs no ordinary case of a mother and a daughter. ItвАЩs much more than that. It means more to me than my own happiness, my own lifeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ because, well, because Sybil is like a part of myself. I want her to be happy. ItвАЩs not just a simple case of two young people marrying. ItвАЩs much more than that.вАЭ There was a silence, and she asked, вАЬHow do you love her?вАЭ + 

He sat forward on the edge of his chair, all eagerness. вАЬWhyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ he began, stammering a little, вАЬI couldnвАЩt think of living without her. ItвАЩs different from anything I ever imagined. WhyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ weвАЩve planned everythingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ all our lives. If ever I lost her, it wouldnвАЩt matter what happened to me afterwards.вАЭ He grinned and added, вАЬBut you seeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ people have said all that before. There arenвАЩt any words to explainвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ to make it seem as different from anything else as it seems to me.вАЭ + 

вАЬBut youвАЩre going to take her away?вАЭ + 

вАЬYesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ she wants to go where I go.вАЭ + 

(вАЬThey are young,вАЭ thought Olivia. вАЬTheyвАЩve never once thought of anyone elseвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ myself or SybilвАЩs grandfather.вАЭ) + 

Aloud she said, вАЬThatвАЩs right, Jean.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I want you to take her awayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ no matter what happens, you must take her away.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ (вАЬAnd then I wonвАЩt even have Sybil.вАЭ) + 

вАЬWeвАЩre going to my ranch in the Argentine.вАЭ + 

вАЬThatвАЩs right.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I think Sybil would like that.вАЭ She sighed, in spite of herself, vaguely envious of these two. вАЬBut youвАЩre so young. How can you know for certain.вАЭ + 

A shadow crossed his face and he said, вАЬIвАЩm twenty-five, Mrs.¬†PentlandвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but thatвАЩs not the only thing.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I was brought up, you see, among the FrenchвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ like a Frenchman. That makes a difference.вАЭ He hesitated, frowning for a moment. вАЬPerhaps I oughtnвАЩt to tell.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You mightnвАЩt understand. I know how things are in this part of the world.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You see, I was brought up to look upon falling in love as something naturalвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ something that was pleasant and natural and amusing. IвАЩve been in love before, casuallyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the way young Frenchmen areвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but in earnest, too, because a Frenchman canвАЩt help surrounding a thing like that with sentiment and romance. He canвАЩt help it. If it were justвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ just something shameful and nasty, he couldnвАЩt endure it. They donвАЩt have affairs in cold bloodвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the way IвАЩve heard men talk about such things since IвАЩve come here. It makes a difference, Mrs.¬†Pentland, if you look at the thing in the light they do. ItвАЩs different here.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I see the difference more every day.вАЭ + 

He was talking earnestly, passionately, and when he paused for a moment she remained silent, unwilling to interrupt him until he had finished. + 

вАЬWhat IвАЩm trying to say is difficult, Mrs.¬†Pentland. ItвАЩs simply thisвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that IвАЩm twenty-five, but IвАЩve had experience with life. DonвАЩt laugh! DonвАЩt think IвАЩm just a college boy trying to make you think IвАЩm a rou√©. Only what I say is true. I know about such thingsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and IвАЩm glad because it makes me all the more certain that Sybil is the only woman in the world for meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the one for whom IвАЩd sacrifice everything. And IвАЩll know better how to make her happy, to be gentle with herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ to understand her. IвАЩve learned now, and itвАЩs a thing which needs learningвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the most important thing in all life. The French are right about it. They make a fine, wonderful thing of love.вАЭ He turned away with a sudden air of sadness. вАЬPerhaps I shouldnвАЩt have told you all this.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩve told Sybil. She understands.вАЭ + 

вАЬNo,вАЭ said Olivia, вАЬI think youвАЩre rightвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ perhaps.вАЭ She kept thinking of the long tragic story of John Pentland, and of Anson, who had always been ashamed of love and treated it as something distasteful. To them it had been a dark, strange thing always touched by shame. She kept thinking, despite anything she could do, of AnsonвАЩs clumsy, artificial attempts at lovemaking, and she was swept suddenly by shame for him. Anson, so proud and supercilious, was a poor thing, inferior even to his own groom. + 

вАЬBut why,вАЭ she asked, вАЬdidnвАЩt you tell me about Sybil sooner? Everyone has seen it, but you never spoke to me.вАЭ + 

For a moment he did not answer her. An expression of pain clouded the blue eyes, and then, looking at her directly, he said, вАЬItвАЩs not easy to explain why. I was afraid to come to you for fear you mightnвАЩt understand, and the longer IвАЩve been here, the longer IвАЩve put it off becauseвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ well, because here in Durham, ancestors, family, all that, seems to be the beginning and end of everything. It seems always to be a question of who oneвАЩs family is. There is only the past and no future at all. And, you see, in a wayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I havenвАЩt any family.вАЭ He shrugged his big shoulders and repeated, вАЬIn a way, I havenвАЩt any family at all. You see, my mother was never married to my father.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩve no blood-right to the name of de Cyon. IвАЩmвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩmвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ well, just a bastard, and it seemed hopeless for me even to talk to a Pentland about Sybil.вАЭ + 

He saw that she was startled, disturbed, but he could not have known that the look in her eyes had very little to do with shock at what he had told her; rather she was thinking what a weapon the knowledge would be in the hands of Anson and Aunt Cassie and even John Pentland himself. + 

He was talking again with the same passionate earnestness. + 

вАЬI shanвАЩt let it make any difference, so long as Sybil will have me, but, you see, itвАЩs very hard to explain, because it isnвАЩt the way it seems. I want you to understand that my mother is a wonderful woman.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I wouldnвАЩt bother to explain, to say anythingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ except to Sybil and to you.вАЭ + 

вАЬSabine has told me about her.вАЭ + 

вАЬMrs.¬†Callendar has known her for a long time.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ TheyвАЩre great friends,вАЭ said Jean. вАЬShe understands.вАЭ + 

вАЬBut she never told meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that. You mean that sheвАЩs known it all along?вАЭ + 

вАЬItвАЩs not an easy thing to tellвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ especially here in Durham, and I fancy she thought it might make trouble for meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ after she saw what had happened to Sybil and me.вАЭ + 

He went on quickly, telling her what he had told Sybil of his motherвАЩs story, trying to make her understand what he understood, and Sabine and even his stepfather, the distinguished old de CyonвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ trying to explain a thing which he himself knew was not to be explained. He told her that his mother had refused to marry her lover, вАЬbecause in his life outsideвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the life which had nothing to do with herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ she discovered that there were things she couldnвАЩt support. She saw that it was better not to marry himвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ better for herself and for him and, most of all, for me.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ He did things for the sake of successвБ†вАФmean, dishonorable thingsвБ†вАФwhich she couldnвАЩt forgiveвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and so she wouldnвАЩt marry him. And now, looking back, I think she was right. It made no great difference in her life. She lived abroadвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ as a widow, and very few peopleвБ†вАФnot more than two or threeвБ†вАФever knew the truth. He never told because, being a politician, he was afraid of such a scandal. She didnвАЩt want me to be brought up under such an influence, and I think she was right. HeвАЩs gone on doing things that were mean and dishonorable.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ HeвАЩs still doing them today. You see heвАЩs a politicianвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a rather cheap one. HeвАЩs a Senator now and he hasnвАЩt changed. I could tell you his name.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I suppose some people would think him a distinguished manвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ only I promised her never to tell it. He thinks that IвАЩm dead.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ He came to her once and asked to see me, to have a hand in my education and my future. There were things, he said, that he could do for me in AmericaвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and she told him simply that I was deadвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that I was killed in the war.вАЭ He finished in a sudden burst of enthusiasm, his face alight with affection. вАЬBut you must know her really to understand what IвАЩve been saying. Knowing her, you understand everything, because sheвАЩs one of the great peopleвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ the strong people of the world. You see, itвАЩs one of the things which it is impossible to explainвБ†вАФto you or even to SybilвБ†вАФimpossible to explain to the others. One must know her.вАЭ + 

If she had had any doubts or fears, she knew now that it was too late to act; she saw that it was impossible to change the wills of two such lovers as Jean and Sybil. In a way, she came to understand the story of JeanвАЩs mother more from watching him than by listening to his long explanation. There must be in her that same determination and ardor that was in her sonвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a thing in its way irresistible. And yet it was difficult; she was afraid, somehow, of this unexpected thing, perhaps because it seemed vaguely like the taint of Savina Pentland. + 

She said, вАЬIf no one knows this, there is no reason to tell it here. It would only make unhappiness for all concerned. It is your business aloneвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and SybilвАЩs. The others have no right to interfere, even to know; but they will try, JeanвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ unlessвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ unless you both do what you wantвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ quickly. Sometimes I think they might do anything.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou meanвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ he began impatiently. + 

Olivia fell back upon that vague hint which John Pentland had dropped to her the night before. She said, вАЬThere was once an elopement in the Pentland family.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou wouldnвАЩt mind that?вАЭ he asked eagerly. вАЬYou wouldnвАЩt be hurtвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ if we did it that way?вАЭ + 

вАЬI shouldnвАЩt know anything about it,вАЭ said Olivia quietly, вАЬuntil it was too late to do anything.вАЭ + 

вАЬItвАЩs funny,вАЭ he said; вАЬweвАЩd thought of that. WeвАЩve talked of it, only Sybil was afraid youвАЩd want to have a big wedding and all that.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬNo, I think it would be better not to have any wedding at allвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ especially under the circumstances.вАЭ + 

вАЬMrs.¬†Callendar suggested it as the best way out.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ She offered to lend us her motor,вАЭ he said eagerly. + 

вАЬYou discussed it with her and yet you didnвАЩt speak to me?вАЭ + 

вАЬWell, you see, sheвАЩs differentвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ she and Th√©r√®se.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ They donвАЩt belong here in Durham. Besides, she spoke of it first. She knew what was going on. She always knows. I almost think that she planned the whole thing long ago.вАЭ + 

Olivia, looking out of the window, saw entering the long drive the antiquated motor with Aunt Cassie, Miss Peavey, her flying veils and her Pekinese. + 

вАЬMrs.¬†Struthers is comingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ she said. вАЬWe mustnвАЩt make her suspicious. And youвАЩd best tell me nothing of your plans and thenвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I shanвАЩt be able to interfere even if I wanted to. I might change my mindвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ one never knows.вАЭ + 

He stood up and, coming over to her, took her hand and kissed it. вАЬThereвАЩs nothing to say, Mrs.¬†PentlandвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ except that youвАЩll be glad for what youвАЩve done. You neednвАЩt worry about Sybil.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I shall make her happy.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I think I know how.вАЭ + 

He left her, hurrying away past the ancestors in the long hall to find Sybil, thinking all the while how odd it would seem to have a woman so young and beautiful as Mrs.¬†Pentland for a mother-in-law. She was a charming woman (he thought in his enthusiasm), a great woman, but she was so sad, as if she had never been very happy. There was always a cloud about her. + 

He did not escape quickly enough, for Aunt CassieвАЩs sharp eyes caught a glimpse of him as he left the house in the direction of the stables. She met Olivia in the doorway, kissing her and saying, вАЬWas that SybilвАЩs young man I saw leaving?вАЭ + 

вАЬYes,вАЭ said Olivia. вАЬWeвАЩve been talking about Sybil. IвАЩve been telling him that he mustnвАЩt think of her as someone to marry.вАЭ + 

The yellow face of Aunt Cassie lighted with a smile of approval. вАЬIвАЩm glad, my dear, that youвАЩre being sensible about this. I was afraid you wouldnвАЩt be, but I didnвАЩt like to interfere. I never believe any good comes of it, unless one is forced to. HeвАЩs not the person for Sybil.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Why, no one knows anything about him. You canвАЩt let a girl marry like thatвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ just anyone who comes along. Besides, Mrs.¬†Pulsifer writes me.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You remember her, Olivia, the Mannering boyвАЩs aunt who used to have a house in Chestnut Street.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Well, she lives in Paris now at the Hotel Continental, and she writes me sheвАЩs discovered thereвАЩs some mystery about his mother. No one seems to know much about her.вАЭ + 

вАЬWhy,вАЭ said Olivia, вАЬshould she write you such a thing? What made her think youвАЩd be interested?вАЭ + 

вАЬWell, Kate Pulsifer and I went to school together and we still correspond now and then. I just happened to mention the boyвАЩs name when I was writing her about Sabine. She says, by the way, that Sabine has very queer friends in Paris and that Sabine has never so much as called on her or asked her for tea. And thereвАЩs been some new scandal about SabineвАЩs husband and an Italian woman. It happened in Venice.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬBut heвАЩs not her husband any longer.вАЭ + 

The old lady seated herself and went on pouring forth the news from Kate PulsiferвАЩs letter; with each word she appeared to grow stronger and stronger, less and less yellow and worn. + 

(вАЬIt must be,вАЭ thought Olivia, вАЬthe effect of so many calamities contained in one letter.вАЭ) + 

She saw now that she had acted only just in time and she was glad that she had lied, so flatly, so abruptly, without thinking why she had done it. For Mrs.¬†Pulsifer was certain to go to the bottom of the affair, if for no other reason than to do harm to Sabine; she had once lived in a house on Chestnut Street with a bow-window which swept the entrance to every house. She was one of John PentlandвАЩs dead, who lived by watching others live. + 

IV + 

From the moment she encountered Mr.¬†Gavin on the turnpike until the tragedy which occurred two days later, life at Pentlands appeared to lose all reality for Olivia. When she thought of it long afterward, the hours became a sort of nightmare in which the old enchantment snapped and gave way to a strained sense of struggle between forces which, centering about herself, left her in the end bruised and a little broken, but secure. + 

The breathless heat of the sort which from time to time enveloped that corner of New England, leaving the very leaves of the trees hanging limp and wilted, again settled down over the meadows and marshes, and in the midst of the afternoon appeared the rarest of sightsвБ†вАФthe indolent Sabine stirring in the burning sun. Olivia watched her coming across the fields, protected from the blazing sun only by the frivolous yellow parasol. She came slowly, indifferently, and until she entered the cool, darkened drawing-room she appeared the familiar bored Sabine; only after she greeted Olivia the difference appeared. + 

She said abruptly, вАЬIвАЩm leaving day after tomorrow,вАЭ and instead of seating herself to talk, she kept wandering restlessly about the room, examining Horace PentlandвАЩs bibelots and turning the pages of books and magazines without seeing them. + 

вАЬWhy?вАЭ asked Olivia. вАЬI thought you were staying until October.вАЭ + 

вАЬNo, IвАЩm going away at once.вАЭ She turned and murmured, вАЬIвАЩve hated Durham always. ItвАЩs unbearable to me now. IвАЩm bored to death. I only came, in the first place, because I thought Th√©r√®se ought to know her own people. But itвАЩs no good. SheвАЩll have none of them. I see now how like her father she is. TheyвАЩre not her own people and never will be.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I donвАЩt imagine Durham will ever see either of us again.вАЭ + 

Olivia smiled. вАЬI know itвАЩs dull here.вАЭ + 

вАЬOh, I donвАЩt mean you, Olivia dear, or even Sybil or OвАЩHara, but thereвАЩs something in the air.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩm going to Newport for two weeks and then to Biarritz for October. Th√©r√®se wants to go to Oxford.вАЭ She grinned sardonically. вАЬThereвАЩs a bit of New England in her, after allвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ this education business. I wanted a femme du monde for a daughter and God and New England sent me a scientist who would rather wear flat heels and look through a microscope. ItвАЩs funny how children turn out.вАЭ + 

(вАЬEven Th√©r√®se and Sabine,вАЭ thought Olivia. вАЬEven they belong to it.вАЭ) + 

She watched Sabine, so worldly, so superbly dressed, so hardвБ†вАФsuch a restless nomad; and as she watched her it occurred to her again that she was very like Aunt CassieвБ†вАФan Aunt Cassie in revolt against Aunt CassieвАЩs gods, an Aunt Cassie, as John Pentland had said, вАЬturned inside out.вАЭ + 

Without looking up from the pages of the Nouvelle Revue, Sabine said, вАЬIвАЩm glad this thing about Sybil is settled.вАЭ + 

вАЬYes.вАЭ + 

вАЬHe told you about his mother?вАЭ + 

вАЬYes.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou didnвАЩt let that make any difference? You didnвАЩt tell the others?вАЭ + 

вАЬNo.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Anything I had to say would have made no difference.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou were wise.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I think Th√©r√®se is right, perhapsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ righter than any of us. She says that nature has a contempt for marriage certificates. Respectability canвАЩt turn decay into lifeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and Jean is alive.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ So is his mother.вАЭ + 

вАЬI know what you are driving at.вАЭ + 

вАЬCertainly, my dear, you ought to know. YouвАЩve suffered enough from it. And knowing his mother makes a difference. SheвАЩs no ordinary light woman, or even one who was weak enough to allow herself to be seduced. Once in fifty years there occurs a woman who canвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ how shall I say it?вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ get away with a thing like that. You have to be a great woman to do it. I donвАЩt think itвАЩs made much difference in her life, chiefly because sheвАЩs a woman of discretion and excellent taste. But it might have made a difference in JeanвАЩs life if he had encountered a mother less wise than yourself.вАЭ + 

вАЬI donвАЩt know whether IвАЩm being wise or not. I believe in him and I want Sybil to escape.вАЭ + 

Olivia understood that for the first time they were discussing the thing which none of them ever mentioned, the thing which up to now Sabine had only touched upon by insinuation. Sabine had turned away and stood looking out of the window across the meadows where the distant trees danced in waves of heat. + 

вАЬYou spoiled my summer a bit, Olivia dear, by taking away my Irish friend from me.вАЭ + 

Suddenly Olivia was angry as she was angry sometimes at the meddling of Aunt Cassie. вАЬI didnвАЩt take him away. I did everything possible to avoid himвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ until you came. It was you who threw us together. ThatвАЩs why weвАЩre all in a tangle now.вАЭ And she kept thinking what a strange woman Sabine Callendar really was, how intricate and unfathomable. She knew of no other woman in the world who could talk thus so dispassionately, so without emotion. + 

вАЬI thought IвАЩd have him to amuse,вАЭ she was saying, вАЬand instead of that he only uses me as a confidante. He comes to me for advice about another woman. And that, as you know, isnвАЩt very interesting.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

Olivia sat suddenly erect. вАЬWhat does he say? What right has he to do such a thing?вАЭ + 

вАЬBecause IвАЩve asked him to. When I first came here, I promised to help him. You see, IвАЩm very friendly with you both. I want you both to be happy andвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ besides I can think of nothing happening which could give me greater pleasure.вАЭ + 

When Olivia did not answer her, she turned from the window and asked abruptly, вАЬWhat are you going to do about him?вАЭ + 

Again Olivia thought it best not to answer, but Sabine went on pushing home her point relentlessly, вАЬYou must forgive me for speaking plainly, but I have a great affection for you bothвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and IвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ well, I have a sense of conscience in the affair.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou neednвАЩt have. ThereвАЩs nothing to have a conscience about.вАЭ + 

вАЬYouвАЩre not being very honest.вАЭ + 

Suddenly Olivia burst out angrily, вАЬAnd why should it concern you, SabineвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ in the least? Why should I not do as I please, without interference?вАЭ + 

вАЬBecause, hereвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and you know this as well as I doвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ here such a thing is impossible.вАЭ + 

In a strange fashion she was suddenly afraid of Sabine, perhaps because she was so bent upon pushing things to a definite solution. It seemed to Olivia that she herself was losing all power of action, all capacity for anything save waiting, pretending, doing nothing. + 

вАЬAnd IвАЩm interested,вАЭ continued Sabine slowly, вАЬbecause I canвАЩt bear the tragic spectacle of another John Pentland and Mrs.¬†Soames.вАЭ + 

вАЬThere wonвАЩt be,вАЭ said Olivia desperately. вАЬMy father-in-law is different from Michael.вАЭ + 

вАЬThatвАЩs true.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬIn a wayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a finer man.вАЭ She found herself suddenly in the amazing position of actually defending Pentlands. + 

вАЬBut not,вАЭ said Sabine with a terrifying reasonableness, вАЬso wise a oneвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ or one so intelligent.вАЭ + 

вАЬNo. ItвАЩs impossible to say.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬA thing like this is likely to come only once to a woman.вАЭ + 

(вАЬWhy does she keep repeating the very things that IвАЩve been fighting all along,вАЭ thought Olivia.) Aloud she said, вАЬSabine, you must leave me in peace. ItвАЩs for me alone to settle.вАЭ + 

вАЬI donвАЩt want you to do a thing you will regret the rest of your lifeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ bitterly.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou mean.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬOh, I mean simply to give him up.вАЭ + 

Again Olivia was silent, and Sabine asked suddenly. вАЬHave you had a call from a Mr.¬†Gavin? A gentleman with a bald head and a polished face?вАЭ + 

Olivia looked at her sharply. вАЬHow could you know that?вАЭ + 

вАЬBecause I sent him, my dearвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ for the same reason that IвАЩm here nowвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ because I wanted you to do somethingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ to act. And IвАЩm confessing now because I thought you ought to know the truth, since IвАЩm going away. Otherwise you might think Aunt Cassie or Anson had done itвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and trouble might come of that.вАЭ + 

Again Olivia said nothing; she was lost in a sadness over the thought that, after all, Sabine was no better than the others. + 

вАЬItвАЩs not easy to act in this house,вАЭ Sabine was saying. вАЬItвАЩs not easy to do anything but pretend and go on and on until at last you are an old woman and die. I did it to help youвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ for your own good.вАЭ + 

вАЬThatвАЩs what Aunt Cassie always says.вАЭ + 

The shaft went home, for it silenced Sabine, and in the momentвАЩs pause Sabine seemed less a woman than an amazing, disembodied, almost malevolent force. When she answered, it was with a shrug of the shoulders and a bitter smile which seemed doubly bitter on the frankly painted lips. вАЬI suppose I am like Aunt Cassie. I mightnвАЩt have been, though.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I might have been just a pleasant normal personвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ like Higgins or one of the servants.вАЭ + 

The strange speech found an echo in OliviaвАЩs heart. Lately the same thought had come to her again and againвБ†вАФif only she could be simple like Higgins or the kitchen-maid. Such a state seemed to her at the moment the most desirable thing in the world. It was perhaps this strange desire which led Sabine to surround herself with what Durham called вАЬqueer people,вАЭ who were, after all, simply people like Higgins and the kitchen-maid who happened to occupy a higher place in society. + 

вАЬThe air here needs clearing,вАЭ Sabine was saying. вАЬIt needs a thunderstorm, and it can be cleared only by acting.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ This affair of Jean and Sybil will help. We are all caught up in a tangle of thoughts and ideasвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ which donвАЩt matterвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You can do it, Olivia. You can clear the air once and for all.вАЭ + 

Then for the first time Olivia thought she saw what lay behind all this intriguing of Sabine; for a moment she fancied that she saw what it was Sabine wanted more passionately than anything else in the world. + 

Aloud she said it, вАЬI could clear the air, but it would also be the destruction of everything.вАЭ + 

Sabine looked at her directly. вАЬWell?вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and would you be sorry? Would you count it a loss? Would it make any difference?вАЭ + 

Impulsively she touched SabineвАЩs hand. вАЬSabine,вАЭ she said, without looking at her, вАЬIвАЩm fond of you. You know that. Please donвАЩt talk any more about thisвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ please, because I want to go on being fond of youвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and I canвАЩt otherwise. ItвАЩs our affair, mine and MichaelвАЩsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and IвАЩm going to settle it, tonight perhaps, as soon as I can have a talk with him.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I canвАЩt go on any longer.вАЭ + 

Taking up the yellow parasol, Sabine asked, вАЬDo you expect me for dinner tonight?вАЭ + 

вАЬOf course, more than ever tonight.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩm sorry youвАЩve decided to go so soon.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ItвАЩll be dreary without you or Sybil.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou can go, too,вАЭ said Sabine quickly. вАЬThere is a way. HeвАЩd give up everything for youвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ everything. I know that.вАЭ Suddenly she gave Olivia a sharp look. вАЬYouвАЩre thirty-eight, arenвАЩt you?вАЭ + 

вАЬDay after tomorrow I shall be forty!вАЭ + 

Sabine was tracing the design of roses on Horace PentlandвАЩs Savonnerie carpet with the tip of her parasol. вАЬGather them while you may,вАЭ she said and went out into the blazing heat to cross the meadows to Brook Cottage. + 

Left alone, Olivia knew she was glad that day after tomorrow Sabine would no longer be here. She saw now what John Pentland meant when he said, вАЬSabine ought never to have come back here.вАЭ + 

V + 

The heat clung on far into the evening, penetrating with the darkness even the drawing-room where they satвБ†вАФSabine and John Pentland and old Mrs.¬†Soames and OliviaвБ†вАФplaying bridge for the last time, and as the evening wore on the game went more and more badly, with the old lady forgetting her cards and John Pentland being patient and Sabine sitting in a controlled and sardonic silence, with an expression on her face which said clearly, вАЬI can endure this for tonight because tomorrow I shall escape again into the lively world.вАЭ + 

Jean and Sybil sat for a time at the piano, and then fell to watching the bridge. No one spoke save to bid or to remind Mrs.¬†Soames that it was time for her shaking hands to distribute the cards about the table. Even OliviaвАЩs low, quiet voice sounded loud in the hot stillness of the old room. + 

At nine oвАЩclock Higgins appeared with a message for OliviaвБ†вАФthat Mr.¬†OвАЩHara was being detained in town and that if he could get away before ten he would come down and stop at Pentlands if the lights were still burning in the drawing-room. Otherwise he would not be down to ride in the morning. + 

Once during a pause in the game Sabine stirred herself to say, вАЬI havenвАЩt asked about AnsonвАЩs book. He must be near to the end.вАЭ + 

вАЬVery near,вАЭ said Olivia. вАЬThereвАЩs very little more to be done. Men are coming tomorrow to photograph the portraits. HeвАЩs using them to illustrate the book.вАЭ + 

At eleven, when they came to the end of a rubber, Sabine said, вАЬIвАЩm sorry, but I must stop. I must get up early tomorrow to see about the packing.вАЭ And turning to Jean she said, вАЬWill you drive me home? Perhaps Sybil will ride over with us for the air. You can bring her back.вАЭ + 

At the sound of her voice, Olivia wanted to cry out, вАЬNo, donвАЩt go. You mustnвАЩt leave me nowвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ alone. You mustnвАЩt go away like this!вАЭ But she managed to say quietly, in a voice which sounded far away, вАЬDonвАЩt stay too late, Sybil,вАЭ and mechanically, without knowing what she was doing, she began to put the cards back again in their boxes. + 

She saw that Sabine went out first, and then John Pentland and old Mrs.¬†Soames, and that Jean and Sybil remained behind until the others had gone, until John Pentland had helped the old lady gently into his motor and driven off with her. Then, looking up with a smile which somehow seemed to give her pain she said, вАЬWell?вАЭ + 

And Sybil, coming to her side, kissed her and said in a low voice, вАЬGoodbye, darling, for a little while.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I love you.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ And Jean kissed her in a shy fashion on both cheeks. + 

She could find nothing to say. She knew Sybil would come back, but she would be a different Sybil, a Sybil who was a woman, no longer the child who even at eighteen sometimes had the absurd trick of sitting on her motherвАЩs knee. And she was taking away with her something that until now had belonged to Olivia, something which she could never again claim. She could find nothing to say. She could only follow them to the door, from where she saw Sabine already sitting in the motor as if nothing in the least unusual were happening; and all the while she wanted to go with them, to run away anywhere at all. + 

Through a mist she saw them turning to wave to her as the motor drove off, to wave gaily and happily because they were at the beginning of life.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ She stood in the doorway to watch the motor-lights slipping away in silence down the lane and over the bridge through the blackness to the door of Brook Cottage. There was something about Brook CottageвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ something that was lacking from the air of Pentlands: it was where Toby Cane and Savina Pentland had had their wanton meetings. + 

In the still heat the sound of the distant surf came to her dimly across the marshes, and into her mind came absurdly words she had forgotten for yearsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ вАЬThe breaking waves dashed high on the stern and rockbound coast.вАЭ Against the accompaniment of the surf, the crickets and katydids (harbingers of autumn) kept up a fiddling and singing; and far away in the direction of Marblehead she watched the eye of a lighthouse winking and winking. She was aware of every sight and sound and odor of the breathless night. It might storm, she thought, before they got into Connecticut. They would be motoring all the night.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ + 

The lights of SabineвАЩs motor were moving again now, away from Brook Cottage, through OвАЩHaraвАЩs land, on and on in the direction of the turnpike. In the deep hollow by the river they disappeared for a moment and then were to be seen once more against the black mass of the hill crowned by the town burial-ground. And then abruptly they were gone, leaving only the sound of the surf and the music of the crickets and the distant, ironically winking lighthouse. + 

She kept seeing them side by side in the motor racing through the darkness, oblivious to all else in the world save their own happiness. Yes, something had gone away from her forever.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ She felt a terrible, passionate envy that was like a physical pain, and all at once she knew that she was terribly alone standing in the darkness before the door of the old house. + 

She was roused by the sound of AnsonвАЩs voice asking, вАЬIs that you, Olivia?вАЭ + 

вАЬYes.вАЭ + 

вАЬWhat are you doing out there?вАЭ + 

вАЬI came out for some air.вАЭ + 

вАЬWhereвАЩs Sybil?вАЭ + 

For a moment she did not answer, and then quite boldly she said, вАЬSheвАЩs ridden over with Jean to take Sabine home.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou know I donвАЩt approve of that.вАЭ He had come through the hall now and was standing near her. + 

вАЬIt canвАЩt do any harm.вАЭ + 

вАЬThatвАЩs been said before.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬWhy are you so suspicious, Anson, of your own child?вАЭ She had no desire to argue with him. She wanted only to be left in peace, to go away to her room and lie there alone in the darkness, for she knew now that Michael was not coming. + 

вАЬOlivia,вАЭ Anson was saying, вАЬcome inside for a moment. I want to talk to you.вАЭ + 

вАЬVery wellвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but please donвАЩt be disagreeable. IвАЩm very tired.вАЭ + 

вАЬI shanвАЩt be disagreeable.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I only want to settle something.вАЭ + 

She knew then that he meant to be very disagreeable, and she told herself that she would not listen to him; she would think of something else while he was speakingвБ†вАФa trick she had learned long ago. In the drawing-room she sat quietly and waited for him to begin. Standing by the mantelpiece, he appeared more tired and yellow than usual. She knew that he had worked on his book; she knew that he had poured all his vitality, all his being, into it; but as she watched him her imagination again played her the old trick of showing her Michael standing there in his placeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ defiant, a little sulky, and filled with a slow, steady, inexhaustible force. + 

вАЬItвАЩs chiefly about Sybil,вАЭ he said. вАЬI want her to give up seeing this boy.вАЭ + 

вАЬDonвАЩt be a martinet, Anson. Nothing was ever gained by it.вАЭ + 

(She thought, вАЬThey must be almost to Salem by now.вАЭ) And aloud she added, вАЬYouвАЩre her father, Anson; why donвАЩt you speak?вАЭ + 

вАЬItвАЩs better for you. IвАЩve no influence with her.вАЭ + 

вАЬI have spoken,вАЭ she said, thinking bitterly that he could never guess what she meant. + 

вАЬAnd whatвАЩs the result? Look at her, going off at this hour of the night.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

She shrugged her shoulders, filled with a warm sense of having outwitted the enemy, for at the moment Anson seemed to her an enemy not only of herself, but of Jean and Sybil, of all that was young and alive in the world. + 

вАЬBesides,вАЭ he was saying, вАЬshe hasnвАЩt proper respect for meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ her father. Sometimes I think itвАЩs the ideas she got from you and from going abroad to school.вАЭ + 

вАЬWhat a nasty thing to say! But if you want the truth, I think itвАЩs because youвАЩve never been a very good father. Sometimes IвАЩve thought you never wanted children. YouвАЩve never paid much attention to themвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ not even to JackвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ while he was alive. It wasnвАЩt ever as if they were our children. YouвАЩve always left them to meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ alone.вАЭ + 

The thin neck stiffened a little and he said, вАЬThere are reasons for that. IвАЩm a busy man.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩve given most of my time, not to making money, but to doing things to better the world in some way. If IвАЩve neglected my children itвАЩs been for a good reasonвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ few men have as much on their minds. And thereвАЩs been the book to take all my energies. YouвАЩre being unjust, Olivia. You never could see me as I am.вАЭ + 

вАЬPerhaps,вАЭ said Olivia. (She wanted to say, вАЬWhat difference does the book make to anyone in the world? Who cares whether it is written or not?вАЭ) She knew that she must keep up her deceit, so she said, вАЬYou neednвАЩt worry, because Sabine is going away tomorrow and Jean will go with her.вАЭ She sighed. вАЬAfter that your life wonвАЩt be disturbed any longer. Nothing in the least unusual is likely to happen.вАЭ + 

вАЬAnd thereвАЩs this other thing,вАЭ he said, вАЬthis disloyalty of yours to me and to all the family.вАЭ + 

Stiffening slightly, she asked, вАЬWhat can you mean by that?вАЭ + 

вАЬYou know what I mean.вАЭ + 

She saw that he was putting himself in the position of a wronged husband, assuming a martyrdom of the sort which Aunt Cassie practised so effectively. He meant to be a patient, well-meaning husband and to place her in the position of a shameful woman; and slowly, with a slow, heavy anger she resolved to circumvent his trick. + 

вАЬI think, Anson, that youвАЩre talking nonsense. I havenвАЩt been disloyal to anyone. Your father will tell you that.вАЭ + 

вАЬMy father was always weak where women are concerned and now heвАЩs beginning to grow childish. HeвАЩs so old that heвАЩs beginning to forgive and condone anything.вАЭ And then after a silence he said, вАЬThis OвАЩHara. IвАЩm not such a fool as you think, Olivia.вАЭ + 

For a long time neither of them said anything, and in the end it was Olivia who spoke, striking straight into the heart of the question. She said, вАЬAnson, would you consider letting me divorce you?вАЭ + 

The effect upon him was alarming. His face turned gray, and the long, thin, oversensitive hands began to tremble. She saw that she had touched him on the rawest of places, upon his immense sense of pride and dignity. It would be unbearable for him to believe that she would want to be rid of him in order to go to another man, especially to a man whom he professed to hold in contempt, a man who had the qualities which he himself did not possess. He could only see the request as a humiliation of his own precious dignity. + 

He managed to grin, trying to turn the request to mockery, and said, вАЬHave you lost your mind?вАЭ + 

вАЬNo, Anson, not for a moment. What I ask is a simple thing. It has been done before.вАЭ + 

He did not answer her at once, and began to move about the room in the deepest agitation, a strange figure curiously out of place in the midst of Horace PentlandвАЩs exotic, beautiful pictures and chairs and bibelotsвБ†вАФas wrong in such a setting as he had been right a month or two earlier among the museum of Pentland family relics. + 

вАЬNo,вАЭ he said again and again. вАЬWhat you ask is preposterous! Tomorrow when you are less tired you will see how ridiculous it is. NoвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I couldnвАЩt think of such a thing!вАЭ + 

She made an effort to speak quietly. вАЬIs it because you donвАЩt want to put yourself in such a position?вАЭ + 

вАЬIt has nothing to do with that. Why should you want a divorce? We are well off, content, comfortable, happy.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

She interrupted him, asking, вАЬAre we?вАЭ + 

вАЬWhat is it you expect, OliviaвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ to live always in a sort of romantic glow? WeвАЩre happier than most.вАЭ + 

вАЬNo,вАЭ she said slowly. вАЬI donвАЩt think happiness has ever meant much to you, Anson. Perhaps youвАЩre above such things as happiness and unhappiness. Perhaps youвАЩre more fortunate than most of us. I doubt if you have ever known happiness or unhappiness, for that matter. YouвАЩve been uncomfortable when people annoyed you and got in your way, butвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ thatвАЩs all. Nothing more than that. HappinessвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I mean it in the sensible wayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ has sometimes to do with delight in living, and I donвАЩt think youвАЩve ever known that, even for a moment.вАЭ + 

He turned toward her saying, вАЬIвАЩve been an honest, God-fearing, conscientious man, and I think youвАЩre talking nonsense!вАЭ + 

вАЬNo, not for a moment.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Heaven knows I ought to know the truth of what IвАЩve been saying.вАЭ + 

Again they reached an impasse in the conversation and again they both remained silent, disturbed perhaps and uneasy in the consciousness that between them they had destroyed something which could never be restored; and yet with Olivia there was a cold, sustained sense of balance which came to her miraculously at such times. She felt, too, that she stood with her back against a wall, fighting. At last she said, вАЬI would even let you divorce meвБ†вАФif that would be easier for you. I donвАЩt mind putting myself in the wrong.вАЭ + 

Again he began to tremble. вАЬAre you trying to tell me that.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬIвАЩm not telling you anything. There hasnвАЩt been anything at allвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ butвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but I would give you grounds if you would agree.вАЭ + 

He turned away from her in disgust. вАЬThat is even more impossible.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ A gentleman never divorces his wife.вАЭ + 

вАЬLetвАЩs leave the gentlemen out of it, Anson,вАЭ she said. вАЬIвАЩm weary of hearing what gentlemen do and do not do. I want you to act as yourself, as Anson Pentland, and not as you think you ought to act. LetвАЩs be honest. You know you married me only because you had to marry someoneвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and IвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I wasnвАЩt actually disreputable, even, as you remind me, if my father was shanty Irish. AndвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ letвАЩs be just too. I married you because I was alone and frightened and wanted to escape a horrible life with Aunt Alice.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I wanted a home. That was it, wasnвАЩt it? We are both guilty, but that doesnвАЩt change the reality in the least. No, I fancy you practised loving me through a sense of duty. You tried it as long as you could and you hated it always. Oh, IвАЩve known what was going on. IвАЩve been learning ever since I came to Pentlands for the first time.вАЭ + 

He was regarding her now with a fixed expression of horrid fascination; he was perhaps even dazed at the sound of her voice, slowly, resolutely, tearing aside all the veils of pretense which had made their life possible for so long. He kept mumbling, вАЬHow can you talk this way? How can you say such things?вАЭ + 

Slowly, terribly, she went on and on: вАЬWeвАЩre both guiltyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and itвАЩs been a failure, from the very start. IвАЩve tried to do my best and perhaps sometimes IвАЩve failed. IвАЩve tried to be a good motherвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and now that Sybil is grown and JackвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ is dead, I want a chance at freedom. IвАЩm still young enough to want to live a little before it is too late.вАЭ + 

Between his teeth he said, вАЬDonвАЩt be a fool, Olivia.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ YouвАЩre forty years old.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬYou neednвАЩt remind me of that. Tomorrow I shall be forty. I know itвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ bitterly. But my being forty makes no difference to you. To you it would be all the same if I were seventy. But to me it makes a differenceвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a great difference.вАЭ She waited a moment, and then said, вАЬThatвАЩs the truth, Anson; and itвАЩs the truth that interests me tonight. Let me be free, Anson.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Let me go while being free still means something.вАЭ + 

Perhaps if she had thrown herself at his feet in the attitude of a wretched, shameful woman, if she had made him feel strong and noble and heroic, she would have won; but it was a thing she could not do. She could only go on being coldly reasonable. + 

вАЬAnd you would give up all this?вАЭ he was saying. вАЬYouвАЩd leave Pentlands and all it stands for to marry this cheap IrishmanвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a nobody, the son perhaps of an immigrant dock-laborer.вАЭ + 

вАЬHe is the son of a dock-laborer,вАЭ she answered quietly. вАЬAnd his mother was a housemaid. HeвАЩs told me so himself. And as to all this.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Why, Anson, it doesnвАЩt mean anything to meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ nothing at all that I canвАЩt give up, nothing which means very much. IвАЩm fond of your father, Anson, and IвАЩm fond of you when you are yourself and not talking about what a gentleman would do. But IвАЩd give it all upвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ everythingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ for the sake of this other thing.вАЭ + 

For a moment his lips moved silently and in agitation, as if it were impossible for him to answer things so preposterous as those his wife had just spoken. At last he was able to say, вАЬI think you must have lost your mind, OliviaвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ to even think of asking such a thing of me. YouвАЩve lived here long enough to know how impossible it is. Some of us must make a stand in a community. There has never been a scandal, or even a divorce, in the Pentland familyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ never. WeвАЩve come to stand for something. Three hundred years of clean, moral living canвАЩt be dashed aside so easily.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ WeвАЩre in a position where others look up to us. CanвАЩt you see that? CanвАЩt you understand such a responsibility?вАЭ + 

For a moment she had a terrible, dizzy, intoxicating sense of power, of knowing that she held the means of destroying him and all this whited structure of pride and respectability. She had only to begin by saying, вАЬThere was Savina Pentland and her lover.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ The moment passed quickly and at once she knew that it was a thing she could not do. Instead, she murmured, вАЬAh, Anson, do you think the world really looks at us at all? Do you think it really cares what we do or donвАЩt do? You canвАЩt be as blind as that.вАЭ + 

вАЬIвАЩm not blindвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ only thereвАЩs such a thing as honor and tradition. We stand for something.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

She interrupted him. вАЬFor what?вАЭ + 

вАЬFor decency, for a glorious past, for stabilityвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ for endless thingsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ all the things which count in a civilized community.вАЭ + 

He really believed what he was saying; she knew that he must have believed it to have written all those thousands of dull, laborious words in glorification of the past. + 

He went on. вАЬNo, what you ask is impossible. You knew it before you asked.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ And it would be a kindness to me if you never mentioned it again.вАЭ + 

He was still pale, but he had gained control of himself and his hands no longer trembled; as he talked, as his sense of virtue mounted, he even grew eloquent, and his voice took on a shade of that unction which had always colored the voice of the Apostle to the Genteel and made of him a celebrated and fashionable cleric. Perhaps for the first time since his childhood, since the days when the red-haired little Sabine had mocked his curls and velvet suits, he felt himself a strong and powerful person. There was a kind of fierce intoxication in the knowledge of his power over Olivia. In his virtuous ardor he seemed for a moment to become a positive, almost admirable person. + 

At length she said quietly, вАЬAnd what if I should simply go awayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ without bothering about a divorce?вАЭ + 

The remark shattered all his confidence once more; and she knew that she had struck at the weakest point in all his defenseвБ†вАФthe fear of a scandal. вАЬYou wouldnвАЩt do that!вАЭ he cried. вАЬYou couldnвАЩtвБ†вАФyou couldnвАЩt behave like a common prostitute!вАЭ + 

вАЬLoving one man is not behaving like a common prostitute.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I never loved any other.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou couldnвАЩt bring such a disgrace on Sybil, even if you donвАЩt care for the rest of us.вАЭ + 

(вАЬHe knew, then, that I couldnвАЩt do such a thing, that I havenвАЩt the courage. He knows that IвАЩve lived too long in this world.вАЭ) Aloud she said, вАЬYou donвАЩt know me, Anson.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ In all these years youвАЩve never known me at all.вАЭ + 

вАЬBesides,вАЭ he added quickly, вАЬhe wouldnвАЩt do such a thing. Such a climber isnвАЩt likely to throw over his whole career by running away with a woman. YouвАЩd find out if you asked him.вАЭ + 

вАЬBut he is willing. HeвАЩs already told me so. Perhaps you canвАЩt understand such a thing.вАЭ When he did not answer, she said ironically, вАЬBesides, I donвАЩt think a gentleman would talk as you are talking. No, Anson.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I donвАЩt think you know what the world is. YouвАЩve lived here always, shut up in your own little corner.вАЭ Rising, she sighed and murmured, вАЬBut thereвАЩs no use in talk. I am going to bed.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I suppose we must struggle on as best we canвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but there are timesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ times like tonight when you make it hard for me to bear it. Some dayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ who knowsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ thereвАЩs nothing any longer to keep me.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

She went away without troubling to finish what she had meant to say, lost again in an overwhelming sense of the futility of everything. She felt, she thought, like an idiot standing in the middle of an empty field, making gestures. + 