Then suddenly a woman's belief in the power
of her charm came to her aid; she felt almost happy--surely he must love
her better than his conscience! But that confidence was very tremulous,
ready to yield to the first rebuff. Even the friendly fresh--cheeked
maid seemed that morning to be regarding her with compassion; and all
the innate sense, not of 'good form,' but of form, which made her shrink
from anything that should disturb or hurt another, or make anyone think
she was to be pitied, rose up at once within her; she became more than
ever careful to show nothing even to herself. So she passed the morning,
mechanically doing the little usual things. An overpowering longing was
with her all the time, to get him away with her from England, and see
whether the thousand beauties she could show him would not fire him with
love of the things she loved. As a girl she had spent nearly three years
abroad. And Eustace had never been to Italy, nor to her beloved mountain
valleys! Then, the remembrance of his rooms at the Temple broke in
on that vision, and shattered it. No Titian's feast of gentian, tawny
brown, and alpen-rose could intoxicate the lover of those books, those
papers, that great map. And the scent of leather came to her now as
poignantly as if she were once more flitting about noiselessly on
her business of nursing.
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