IV + 

There were times now when Aunt Cassie told herself that OliviaвАЩs strange moods had vanished at last, leaving in their place the old docile, pleasant Olivia who had always had a way of smoothing out the troubles at Pentlands. The sudden perilous calm no longer settled over their conversations; Aunt Cassie was no longer fearful of вАЬspeaking her mind, frankly, for the good of all of them.вАЭ Olivia listened to her quietly, and it is true that she was happier in one sense because life at Pentlands seemed to be working itself out; but inwardly, she went her own silent way, grieving in solitude because she dared not add the burden of her grief to that of old John Pentland. Even Sabine, more subtle in such things than Aunt Cassie, came to feel herself quietly shut out from OliviaвАЩs confidence. + 

Sybil, slipping from childhood into womanhood, no longer depended upon her; she even grew withdrawn and secret about Jean, putting her mother off with empty phrases where once she had confided everything. Behind the pleasant, quiet exterior, it seemed to Olivia at times that she had never been so completely, so superbly, alone. She began to see that at Pentlands life came to arrange itself into a series of cubicles, each occupied by a soul shut in from all the others. And she came, for the first time in her life, to spend much time thinking of herself. + 

With the beginning of autumn she would be forty years oldвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ on the verge of middle-age, a woman perhaps with a married daughter. Perhaps at forty-two she would be a grandmother (it seemed likely with such a pair as Sybil and young de Cyon)вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a grandmother at forty-two with her hair still thick and black, her eyes bright, her face unwrinkledвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a woman who at forty-two might pass for a woman ten years younger. A grandmother was a grandmother, no matter how youthful she appeared. As a grandmother she could not afford to make herself ridiculous. + 

She could perhaps persuade Sybil to wait a year or two and so put off the evil day, yet such an idea was even more abhorrent to her. The very panic which sometimes seized her at the thought of turning slowly into an old woman lay also at the root of her refusal to delay SybilвАЩs marriage. What was happening to Sybil had never happened to herself and never could happen now; she was too old, too hard, even too cynical. When one was young like Jean and Sybil, one had an endless store of faith and hope. There was still a glow over all life, and one ought to begin that way. Those first yearsвБ†вАФno matter what came afterwardвБ†вАФwould be the most precious in all their existence; and looking about her, she thought, вАЬThere are so few who ever have that chance, so few who can build upon a foundation so solid.вАЭ + 

Sometimes there returned to her a sudden twinge of the ancient, shameful jealousy which she had felt for SybilвАЩs youth that suffocating night on the terrace overlooking the sea. (In an odd way, all the summer unfolding itself slowly seemed to have grown out of that night.) + 

No, in the end she returned always to the same thoughtвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that she would sacrifice everything to the perfection of this thing which existed between Sybil and the impatient, red-haired young man. + 

When she was honest with herself, she knew that she would have had no panic, no terror, save for OвАЩHara. Save for him she would have had no fear of growing old, of seeing Sybil married and finding herself a grandmother. She had prayed for all these things, even that Fate should send Sybil just such a lover; and now that her prayer was answered there were times when she wished wickedly that he had not come, or at least not so promptly. When she was honest, the answer was always the sameвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that OвАЩHara had come to occupy the larger part of her interest in existence. + 

In the most secret part of her soul, she no longer pretended that her feeling for him was only one of friendship. She was in love with him. She rose each morning joyfully to ride with him across the meadows, pleased that Sybil came with them less and less frequently; and on the days when he was kept in Boston a cloud seemed to darken all her thoughts and actions. She talked to him of his future, his plans, the progress of his campaign, as if already she were his wife or his mistress. She played traitor to all her world whose fortunes rested on the success and power of his political enemies. She came to depend upon his quick sympathy. He had a Gaelic way of understanding her moods, her sudden melancholy, that had never existed in the phlegmatic, insensitive world of Pentlands. + 

She was honest with herself after the morning when, riding along the damp, secret paths of the birch thicket, he halted his horse abruptly and with a kind of anguish told her that he could no longer go on in the way they were going. + 

He said, вАЬWhat do you want me to do? I am good for nothing. I can think of nothing but youвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ all day and all night. I go to Boston and try to work and all the while IвАЩm thinking of youвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ thinking what is to be done. You must see what hell it is for meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ to be near you like this and yet to be treated only as a friend.вАЭ + 

Abruptly, when she turned and saw the suffering in his eyes, she knew there was no longer any doubt. She asked sadly. вАЬWhat do you want me to do? What can I do? You make me feel that I am being the cheapest, silliest sort of woman.вАЭ And in a low voice she added, вАЬI donвАЩt mean to be, Michael.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I love you, Michael.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Now IвАЩve told you. You are the only man IвАЩve ever lovedвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ even the smallest bit.вАЭ + 

A kind of ecstatic joy took possession of him. He leaned over and kissed her, his own tanned face dampened by her tears. + 

вАЬIвАЩm so happy,вАЭ she said, вАЬand yet so sad.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬIf you love meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ then we can go our wayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ we need not think of any of the others.вАЭ + 

вАЬOh, itвАЩs not so easy as that, my dear.вАЭ She had never before been so conscious of his presence, of that strange sense of warmth and charm which he seemed to impose on everything about him. + 

вАЬI do have to think of the others,вАЭ she said. вАЬNot my husband.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I donвАЩt think he even cares so long as the world knows nothing. But thereвАЩs Sybil.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I canвАЩt make a fool of myself on account of Sybil.вАЭ + 

She saw quickly that she had used the wrong phrase, that she had hurt him; striking without intention at the fear which he sometimes had that she thought him a common, vulgar Irish politician. + 

вАЬDo you think that this thing between usвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ might be called вАШmaking a fool of yourselfвАЩ?вАЭ he asked with a faint shade of bitterness. + 

вАЬNoвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ you know me better than that.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You know I was thinking only of myselfвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ as a middle-aged woman with a daughter ready to be married.вАЭ + 

вАЬBut she will be marriedвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ soonвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ surely. Young de Cyon isnвАЩt the sort who waits.вАЭ + 

вАЬYesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ thatвАЩs trueвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but even then.вАЭ She turned quickly. вАЬWhat do you want me to do?вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Do you want me to be your mistress?вАЭ + 

вАЬI want you for my own.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I want you to marry me.вАЭ + 

вАЬDo you want me as much as that?вАЭ + 

вАЬI want you as much as that.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I canвАЩt bear the thought of sharing youвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ of having you belong to anyone else.вАЭ + 

вАЬOhвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩve belonged to no one for a great many years nowвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ not since Jack was born.вАЭ + 

He went on, hurriedly, ardently. вАЬIt would change all my life. It would give me some reason to go on.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Save for you.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩd chuck everything and go away.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩm sick of it.вАЭ + 

вАЬAnd you want me for my own sakeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ not just because IвАЩll help your career and give you an interest in life.вАЭ + 

вАЬFor your own sakeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ nothing else, Olivia.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou see, I ask because IвАЩve thought a great deal about it. IвАЩm older than you, Michael. I seem young now.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ But at forty.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩll be forty in the autumnвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ at forty being older makes a difference. It cuts short our time.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ItвАЩs not as if we were in our twenties.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I ask you, too, because you are a clever man and must see these things, too.вАЭ + 

вАЬNone of it makes any difference.вАЭ He looked so tragically in earnest, there was such a light in his blue eyes, that her suspicions died. She believed him. + 

вАЬBut we canвАЩt marryвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ever,вАЭ she said, вАЬso long as my husband is alive. HeвАЩll never divorce me nor let me divorce him. ItвАЩs one of his passionate beliefsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that divorce is a wicked thing. Besides, there has never been a divorce in the Pentland family. There have been worse things,вАЭ she said bitterly, вАЬbut never a divorce and Anson wonвАЩt be the first to break any tradition.вАЭ + 

вАЬWill you talk to him?вАЭ + 

вАЬJust now, Michael, I think IвАЩd do anythingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ even that. But it will do no good.вАЭ For a time they were both silent, caught in a profound feeling of hopelessness, and presently she said, вАЬCan you go on like this for a little timeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ until Sybil is gone?вАЭ + 

вАЬWeвАЩre not twentyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ either of us. We canвАЩt wait too long.вАЭ + 

вАЬI canвАЩt desert her yet. You donвАЩt know how it is at Pentlands. IвАЩve got to save her, even if I lose myself. I fancy theyвАЩll be married before winterвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ even before autumnвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ before he leaves. And then I shall be free. I couldnвАЩtвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I couldnвАЩt be your mistress now, MichaelвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ with Sybil still in there at Pentlands with me.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I may be quibbling.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I may sound silly, but it does make a differenceвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ because perhaps IвАЩve lived among them for too long.вАЭ + 

вАЬYou promise me that when sheвАЩs gone youвАЩll be free?вАЭ + 

вАЬI promise you, Michael.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ IвАЩve told you that I love youвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ that youвАЩre the only man IвАЩve ever lovedвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ even the smallest bit.вАЭ + 

вАЬMrs.¬†Callendar will help us.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ She wants it.вАЭ + 

вАЬOh, Sabine.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ She was startled. вАЬYou havenвАЩt spoken to her? You havenвАЩt told her anything?вАЭ + 

вАЬNo.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ But you donвАЩt need to tell her such things. She has a way of knowing.вАЭ After a moment he said, вАЬWhy, even Higgins wants it. He keeps saying to me, in an offhand sort of way, as if what he said meant nothing at all, вАШMrs.¬†Pentland is a fine woman, sir. IвАЩve known her for years. Why, sheвАЩs even helped me out of scrapes. But itвАЩs a pity sheвАЩs shut up in that mausoleum with all those dead ones. She ought to have a husband whoвАЩs a man. SheвАЩs married to a living corpse.вАЩвАКвАЭ + 

Olivia flushed. вАЬHe has no right to talk that way.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ + 

вАЬIf you could hear him speak, youвАЩd know that itвАЩs not disrespect, but because he worships you. HeвАЩd kiss the ground you walk over.вАЭ And looking down, he added, вАЬHe says itвАЩs a pity that a thoroughbred like you is shut up at Pentlands. You mustnвАЩt mind his way of saying it. HeвАЩs something of a horse-breeder and so he sees such things in the light of truth.вАЭ + 

She knew, then, what OвАЩHara perhaps had failed to understandвБ†вАФthat Higgins was touching the tragedy of her son, a son who should have been strong and full of life, like Jean. And a wild idea occurred to herвБ†вАФthat she might still have a strong son, with OвАЩHara as the father, a son who would be a Pentland heir but without the Pentland taint. She might do what Savina Pentland had done. But she saw at once how absurd such an idea was; Anson would know well enough that it was not his son. + 

They rode on slowly and in silence while Olivia thought wearily round and round the dark, tangled maze in which she found herself. There seemed no way out of it. She was caught, shut in a prison, at the very moment when her chance of happiness had come. + 

They came suddenly out of the thicket into the lane that led from Aunt CassieвАЩs gazeboed house to Pentlands, and as they passed through the gate they saw Aunt CassieвАЩs antiquated motor drawn up at the side of the road. The old lady was nowhere to be seen, but at the sound of hoofs the rotund form and silly face of Miss Peavey emerged from the bushes at one side, her bulging arms filled with great bunches of some weed. + 

She greeted Olivia and nodded to OвАЩHara. вАЬIвАЩve been gathering catnip for my cats,вАЭ she called out. вАЬIt grows fine and thick there in the damp ground by the spring.вАЭ + 

Olivia smiledвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ a smile that gave her a kind of physical painвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and they rode on, conscious all the while that Miss PeaveyвАЩs china-blue eyes were following them. She knew that Miss Peavey was too silly and innocent to suspect anything, but she would, beyond all doubt, go directly to Aunt Cassie with a detailed description of the encounter. Very little happened in Miss PeaveyвАЩs life and such an encounter loomed large. Aunt Cassie would draw from her all the tiny details, such as the fact that Olivia looked as if she had been weeping. + 

Olivia turned to OвАЩHara. вАЬThereвАЩs nothing malicious about poor Miss Peavey,вАЭ she said, вАЬbut sheвАЩs a fool, which is far more dangerous.вАЭ + 