Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. The whole affair interested him deeply. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. He had bled everywhere, but she had struck when the opportunity was ripe. The wall of the sky, the wall of the horizon, the wall behind which each human being hid—the wall behind which she herself was hiding! If only her mother had lived, her darling mother! Presently the unhappy puzzlement left her face; and an inward glow began to lighten it. Brendon suggests supper at the Carlton. Be on your guard. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. He had “put his foot down,” and said she must not go.
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