296 files changed, 22404 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/22455-8.txt b/22455-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..27c9a50
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,7246 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Adam Johnstone's Son, by F. Marion Crawford
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Adam Johnstone's Son
+
+
+Author: F. Marion Crawford
+
+
+
+Release Date: August 29, 2007  [eBook #22455]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Bruce Albrecht, Louise Pryor, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustration.
+      See 22455-h.htm or 22455-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/4/5/22455/22455-h/22455-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/4/5/22455/22455-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+The Complete Works of F. Marion Crawford
+
+ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON
+
+by
+
+F. MARION CRAWFORD
+
+With Frontispiece
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "I SOMETIMES THINK THAT ONE'S PAST LIFE IS WRITTEN IN A
+FOREIGN LANGUAGE," SAID MRS. BOWRING, SHUTTING THE BOOK SHE HELD.]
+
+
+
+P. F. Collier & Son
+New York
+
+Copyright 1895, 1896, 1897
+by F. Marion Crawford
+All Rights Reserved
+
+
+
+
+
+ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+"I sometimes think that one's past life is written in a foreign
+language," said Mrs. Bowring, shutting the book she held, but keeping
+the place with one smooth, thin forefinger, while her still, blue eyes
+turned from her daughter's face towards the hazy hills that hemmed the
+sea thirty miles to the southward. "When one wants to read it, one finds
+ever so many words which one cannot understand, and one has to look them
+out in a sort of unfamiliar dictionary, and try to make sense of the
+sentences as best one can. Only the big things are clear."
+
+Clare glanced at her mother, smiling innocently and half mechanically,
+without much definite expression, and quite without curiosity. Youth can
+be in sympathy with age, while not understanding it, while not
+suspecting, perhaps, that there is anything to understand beyond the
+streaked hair and the pale glance and the little torture-lines which
+paint the portrait of fifty years for the eyes of twenty.
+
+Every woman knows the calendar of her own face. The lines are years,
+one for such and such a year, one for such and such another; the streaks
+are months, perhaps, or weeks, or sometimes hours, where the tear-storms
+have bleached the brown, the black, or the gold. "This little
+wrinkle--it was so very little then!" she says. "It came when I doubted
+for a day. There is a shadow there, just at each temple, where the cloud
+passed, when my sun went out. The bright hair grew lower on my forehead.
+It is worn away, as though by a crown, that was not of gold. There are
+hollows there, near the ears, on each side, since that week when love
+was done to death before my eyes and died--intestate--leaving his
+substance to be divided amongst indifferent heirs. They wrangle for what
+he has left, but he himself is gone, beyond hearing or caring, and,
+thank God, beyond suffering. But the marks are left."
+
+Youth looks on and sees alike the ill-healed wounds of the martyrdom and
+the rough scars of sin's scourges, and does not understand. Clare
+Bowring smiled, without definite expression, just because her mother had
+spoken and seemed to ask for sympathy; and then she looked away for a
+few moments. She had a bit of work in her hands, a little bag which she
+was making out of a piece of old Italian damask, to hold a needle-case
+and thread and scissors. She had stopped sewing, and instinctively
+waited before beginning again, as though to acknowledge by a little
+affectionate deference that her mother had said something serious and
+had a right to expect attention. But she did not answer, for she could
+not understand.
+
+Her own young life was vividly clear to her; so very vividly clear, that
+it sometimes made her think of a tiresome chromolithograph. All the
+facts and thoughts of it were so near that she knew them by heart, as
+people come to know the patterns of the wall-paper in the room they
+inhabit. She had nothing to hide, nothing to regret, nothing which she
+thought she should care very much to recall, though she remembered
+everything. A girl is very young when she can recollect distinctly every
+frock she has had, the first long one, and the second, and the third;
+and the first ball gown, and the second, and no third, because that is
+still in the future, and a particular pair of gloves which did not fit,
+and a certain pair of shoes she wore so long because they were so
+comfortable, and the precise origin of every one of the few trinkets and
+bits of jewellery she possesses. That was Clare Bowring's case. She
+could remember everything and everybody in her life. But her father was
+not in her memories, and there was a little motionless grey cloud in
+the place where he should have been. He had been a soldier, and had been
+killed in an obscure skirmish with black men, in one of England's
+obscure but expensive little wars. Death is always very much the same
+thing, and it seems unfair that the guns of Balaclava should still roar
+"glory" while the black man's quick spear-thrust only spells "dead,"
+without comment. But glory in death is even more a matter of luck than
+fame in life. At all events, Captain Bowring, as brave a gentleman as
+ever faced fire, had perished like so many other brave gentlemen of his
+kind, in a quiet way, without any fuss, beyond killing half a dozen or
+so of his assailants, and had left his widow the glory of receiving a
+small pension in return for his blood, and that was all. Some day, when
+the dead are reckoned, and the manner of their death noted, poor Bowring
+may count for more than some of his friends who died at home from a
+constitutional inability to enjoy all the good things fortune set before
+them, complicated by a disposition incapable of being satisfied with
+only a part of the feast. But at the time of this tale they counted for
+more than he; for they had been constrained to leave behind them what
+they could not consume, while he, poor man, had left very little besides
+the aforesaid interest in the investment of his blood, in the form of a
+pension to his widow, and the small grey cloud in the memory of his
+girl-child, in the place where he should have been. For he had been
+killed when she had been a baby.
+
+The mother and daughter were lonely, if not alone in the world; for when
+one has no money to speak of, and no relations at all, the world is a
+lonely place, regarded from the ordinary point of view--which is, of
+course, the true one. They had no home in England, and they generally
+lived abroad, more or less, in one or another of the places of society's
+departed spirits, such as Florence. They had not, however, entered into
+Limbo without hope, since they were able to return to the social earth
+when they pleased, and to be alive again, and the people they met abroad
+sometimes asked them to stop with them at home, recognising the fact
+that they were still socially living and casting shadows. They were sure
+of half a hundred friendly faces in London and of half a dozen
+hospitable houses in the country; and that is not little for people who
+have nothing wherewith to buy smiles and pay for invitations. Clare had
+more than once met women of her mother's age and older, who had looked
+at her rather thoughtfully and longer than had seemed quite natural,
+saying very quietly that her father had been "a great friend of theirs."
+But those were not the women whom her mother liked best, and Clare
+sometimes wondered whether the little grey cloud in her memory, which
+represented her father, might not be there to hide away something more
+human than an ideal. Her mother spoke of him, sometimes gravely,
+sometimes with a far-away smile, but never tenderly. The smile did not
+mean much, Clare thought. People often spoke of dead people with a sort
+of faint look of uncertain beatitude--the same which many think
+appropriate to the singing of hymns. The absence of anything like
+tenderness meant more. The gravity was only natural and decent.
+
+"Your father was a brave man," Mrs. Bowring sometimes said. "Your father
+was very handsome," she would say. "He was very quick-tempered," she
+perhaps added.
+
+But that was all. Clare had a friend whose husband had died young and
+suddenly, and her friend's heart was broken. She did not speak as Mrs.
+Bowring did. When the latter said that her past life seemed to be
+written in a foreign language, Clare did not understand, but she knew
+that the something of which the translation was lost, as it were,
+belonged to her father. She always felt an instinctive desire to defend
+him, and to make her mother feel more sympathy for his memory. Yet, at
+the same time, she loved her mother in such a way as made her feel that
+if there had been any trouble, her father must have been in the wrong.
+Then she was quite sure that she did not understand, and she held her
+tongue, and smiled vaguely, and waited a moment before she went on with
+her work.
+
+Besides, she was not at all inclined to argue anything at present. She
+had been ill, and her mother was worn out with taking care of her, and
+they had come to Amalfi to get quite well and strong again in the air of
+the southern spring. They had settled themselves for a couple of months
+in the queer hotel, which was once a monastery, perched high up under
+the still higher overhanging rocks, far above the beach and the busy
+little town; and now, in the May afternoon, they sat side by side under
+the trellis of vines on the terraced walk, their faces turned southward,
+in the shade of the steep mountain behind them; the sea was blue at
+their feet, and quite still, but farther out the westerly breeze that
+swept past the Conca combed it to crisp roughness; then it was less blue
+to southward, and gradually it grew less real, till it lost colour and
+melted into a sky-haze that almost hid the southern mountains and the
+lizard-like head of the far Licosa.
+
+A bit of coarse faded carpet lay upon the ground under the two ladies'
+feet, and the shady air had a soft green tinge in it from the young
+vine-leaves overhead. At first sight one would have said that both were
+delicate, if not ill. Both were fair, though in different degrees, and
+both were pale and quiet, and looked a little weary.
+
+The young girl sat in the deep straw chair, hatless, with bare white
+hands that held her work. Her thick flaxen hair, straightly parted and
+smoothed away from its low growth on the forehead, half hid small fresh
+ears, unpierced. Long lashes, too white for beauty, cast very faint
+light shadows as she looked down; but when she raised the lids, the
+dark-blue eyes were bright, with wide pupils and a straight look, quick
+to fasten, slow to let go, never yet quite softened, and yet never
+mannishly hard. But, in its own way, perhaps, there is no look so hard
+as the look of maiden innocence can be. There can even be something
+terrible in its unconscious stare. There is the spirit of God's own
+fearful directness in it. Half quibbling with words perhaps, but surely
+with half truth, one might say that youth "is," while all else "has
+been"; and that youth alone possesses the present, too innocent to know
+it all, yet too selfish even to doubt of what is its own--too sure of
+itself to doubt anything, to fear anything, or even truly to pray for
+anything. There is no equality and no community in virtue; it is only
+original sin that makes us all equal and human. Old Lucifer, fallen,
+crushed, and damned, knows the worth of forgiveness--not young Michael,
+flintily hard and monumentally upright in his steel coat, a terror to
+the devil himself. And youth can have something of that archangelic
+rigidity. Youth is not yet quite human.
+
+But there was much in Clare Bowring's face which told that she was to be
+quite human some day. The lower features were not more than strong
+enough--the curved lips would be fuller before long, the small nostrils,
+the gentle chin, were a little sharper than was natural, now, from
+illness, but round in outline and not over prominent; and the slender
+throat was very delicate and feminine. Only in the dark-blue eyes there
+was still that unabashed, quick glance and long-abiding straightness,
+and innocent hardness, and the unconscious selfishness of the
+uncontaminated.
+
+Standing on her feet, she would have seemed rather tall than short,
+though really but of average height. Seated, she looked tall, and her
+glance was a little downward to most people's eyes. Just now she was too
+thin, and seemed taller than she was. But the fresh light was already in
+the young white skin, and there was a soft colour in the lobes of the
+little ears, as the white leaves of daisies sometimes blush all round
+their tips.
+
+The nervous white hands held the little bag lightly, and twined it and
+sewed it deftly, for Clare was clever with her fingers. Possibly they
+looked even a little whiter than they were, by contrast with the dark
+stuff of her dress, and illness had made them shrink at the lower part,
+robbing them of their natural strength, though not of their grace. There
+is a sort of refinement, not of taste, nor of talent, but of feeling and
+thought, and it shows itself in the hands of those who have it, more
+than in any feature of the face, in a sort of very true proportion
+between the hand and its fingers, between each finger and its joints,
+each joint and each nail; a something which says that such a hand could
+not do anything ignoble, could not take meanly, nor strike cowardly, nor
+press falsely; a quality of skin neither rough and coarse, nor over
+smooth like satin, but cool and pleasant to the touch as fine silk that
+is closely woven. The fingers of such hands are very straight and very
+elastic, but not supple like young snakes, as some fingers are, and the
+cushion of the hand is not over full nor heavy, nor yet shrunken and
+undeveloped as in the wasted hands of old Asiatic races.
+
+In outward appearance there was that sort of inherited likeness between
+mother and daughter which is apt to strike strangers more than persons
+of the same family. Mrs. Bowring had been beautiful in her youth--far
+more beautiful than Clare--but her face had been weaker, in spite of the
+regularity of the features and their faultless proportion. Life had given
+them an acquired strength, but not of the lovely kind, and the complexion
+was faded, and the hair had darkened, and the eyes had paled. Some faces
+are beautified by suffering. Mrs. Bowring's face was not of that class.
+It was as though a thin, hard mask had been formed and closely moulded
+upon it, as the action of the sea overlays some sorts of soft rock with a
+surface thin as paper but as hard as granite. In spite of the hardness,
+the features were not really strong. There was refinement in them,
+however, of the same kind which the daughter had, and as much, though
+less pleasing. A fern--a spray of maiden's-hair--loses much of its beauty
+but none of its refinement when petrified in limestone or made fossil in
+coal.
+
+As they sat there, side by side, mother and daughter, where they had sat
+every day for a week or more, they had very little to say. They had
+exhausted the recapitulation of Clare's illness, during the first days
+of her convalescence. It was not the first time that they had been in
+Amalfi, and they had enumerated its beauties to each other, and renewed
+their acquaintance with it from a distance, looking down from the
+terrace upon the low-lying town, and the beach and the painted boats,
+and the little crowd that swarmed out now and then like ants, very busy
+and very much in a hurry, running hither and thither, disappearing
+presently as by magic, and leaving the shore to the sun and the sea. The
+two had spoken of a little excursion to Ravello, and they meant to go
+thither as soon as they should be strong enough; but that was not yet.
+And meanwhile they lived through the quiet days, morning, meal times,
+evening, bed time, and round again, through the little hotel's programme
+of possibility; eating what was offered them, but feasting royally on
+air and sunshine and spring sweetness; moistening their lips in strange
+southern wines, but drinking deep draughts of the rich southern
+air-life; watching the people of all sorts and of many conditions, who
+came and stayed a day and went away again, but social only in each
+other's lives, and even that by sympathy rather than in speech. A corner
+of life's show was before them, and they kept their places on the
+vine-sheltered terrace and looked on. But it seemed as though nothing
+could ever possibly happen there to affect the direction of their own
+quietly moving existence.
+
+Seeing that her daughter did not say anything in answer to the remark
+about the past being written in a foreign language, Mrs. Bowring looked
+at the distant sky-haze thoughtfully for a few moments, then opened her
+book again where her thin forefinger had kept the place, and began to
+read. There was no disappointment in her face at not being understood,
+for she had spoken almost to herself and had expected no reply. No
+change of expression softened or accentuated the quiet hardness which
+overspread her naturally gentle face. But the thought was evidently
+still present in her mind, for her attention did not fix itself upon her
+book, and presently she looked at her daughter, as the latter bent her
+head over the little bag she was making.
+
+The young girl felt her mother's eyes upon her, looked up herself, and
+smiled faintly, almost mechanically, as before. It was a sort of habit
+they both had--a way of acknowledging one another's presence in the
+world. But this time it seemed to Clare that there was a question in the
+look, and after she had smiled she spoke.
+
+"No," she said, "I don't understand how anybody can forget the past. It
+seems to me that I shall always remember why I did things, said things,
+and thought things. I should, if I lived a hundred years, I'm quite
+sure."
+
+"Perhaps you have a better memory than I," answered Mrs. Bowring. "But
+I don't think it is exactly a question of memory either. I can remember
+what I said, and did, and thought, well--twenty years ago. But it seems
+to me very strange that I should have thought, and spoken, and acted,
+just as I did. After all isn't it natural? They tell us that our bodies
+are quite changed in less time than that."
+
+"Yes--but the soul does not change," said Clare with conviction.
+
+"The soul--"
+
+Mrs. Bowring repeated the word, but said nothing more, and her still,
+blue eyes wandered from her daughter's face and again fixed themselves
+on an imaginary point of the far southern distance.
+
+"At least," said Clare, "I was always taught so."
+
+She smiled again, rather coldly, as though admitting that such teaching
+might not be infallible after all.
+
+"It is best to believe it," said her mother quietly, but in a colourless
+voice. "Besides," she added, with a change of tone, "I do believe it,
+you know. One is always the same, in the main things. It is the point of
+view that changes. The best picture in the world does not look the same
+in every light, does it?"
+
+"No, I suppose not. You may like it in one light and not in another,
+and in one place and not in another."
+
+"Or at one time of life, and not at another," added Mrs. Bowring,
+thoughtfully.
+
+"I can't imagine that." Clare paused a moment. "Of course you are
+thinking of people," she continued presently, with a little more
+animation. "One always means people, when one talks in that way. And
+that is what I cannot quite understand. It seems to me that if I liked
+people once I should always like them."
+
+Her mother looked at her.
+
+"Yes--perhaps you would," she said, and she relapsed into silence.
+
+Clare's colour did not change. No particular person was in her thoughts,
+and she had, as it were, given her own general and inexperienced opinion
+of her own character, quite honestly and without affectation.
+
+"I don't know which are the happier," said Mrs. Bowring at last, "the
+people who change, or the people who can't."
+
+"You mean faithful or unfaithful people, I suppose," observed the young
+girl with grave innocence.
+
+A very slight flush rose in Mrs. Bowring's thin cheeks, and the quiet
+eyes grew suddenly hard, but Clare was busy with her work again and did
+not see.
+
+"Those are big words," said the older woman in a low voice.
+
+"Well--yes--of course!" answered Clare. "So they ought to be! It is
+always the main question, isn't it? Whether you can trust a person or
+not, I mean."
+
+"That is one question. The other is, whether the person deserves to be
+trusted."
+
+"Oh--it's the same thing!"
+
+"Not exactly."
+
+"You know what I mean, mother. Besides, I don't believe that any one who
+can't trust is really to be trusted. Do you?"
+
+"My dear Clare!" exclaimed Mrs. Bowring. "You can't put life into a
+nutshell, like that!"
+
+"No. I suppose not, though if a thing is true at all it must be always
+true."
+
+"Saving exceptions."
+
+"Are there any exceptions to truth?" asked Clare incredulously. "Truth
+isn't grammar--nor the British Constitution."
+
+"No. But then, we don't know everything. What we call truth is what we
+know. It is only what we know. All that we don't know, but which is, is
+true, too--especially, all that we don't know about people with whom we
+have to live."
+
+"Oh--if people have secrets!" The young girl laughed idly. "But you and
+I, for instance, mother--we have no secrets from each other, have we?
+Well? Why should any two people who love each other have secrets? And if
+they have none, why, then, they know all that there is to be known about
+one another, and each trusts the other, and has a right to be trusted,
+because everything is known--and everything is the whole truth. It seems
+to me that is simple enough, isn't it?"
+
+Mrs. Bowring laughed in her turn. It was rather a hard little laugh, but
+Clare was used to the sound of it, and joined in it, feeling that she
+had vanquished her mother in argument, and settled one of the most
+important questions of life for ever.
+
+"What a pretty steamer!" exclaimed Mrs. Bowring suddenly.
+
+"It's a yacht," said Clare after a moment. "The flag is English, too. I
+can see it distinctly."
+
+She laid down her work, and her mother closed her book upon her
+forefinger again, and they watched the graceful white vessel as she
+glided slowly in from the Conca, which she had rounded while they had
+been talking.
+
+"It's very big, for a yacht," observed Mrs. Bowring. "They are coming
+here."
+
+"They have probably come round from Naples to spend a day," said Clare.
+"We are sure to have them up here. What a nuisance!"
+
+"Yes. Everybody comes up here who comes to Amalfi at all. I hope they
+won't stay long."
+
+"There is no fear of that," answered Clare. "I heard those people saying
+the other day that this is not a place where a vessel can lie any length
+of time. You know how the sea sometimes breaks on the beach."
+
+Mrs. Bowring and her daughter desired of all things to be quiet. The
+visitors who came, stayed a few days at the hotel, and went away again,
+were as a rule tourists or semi-invalids in search of a climate, and
+anything but noisy. But people coming in a smart English yacht would
+probably be society people, and as such Mrs. Bowring wished that they
+would keep away. They would behave as though the place belonged to them,
+so long as they remained; they would get all the attention of the
+proprietor and of the servants for the time being; and they would make
+everybody feel shabby and poor.
+
+The Bowrings were poor, indeed, but they were not shabby. It was perhaps
+because they were well aware that nobody could mistake them for average
+tourists that they resented the coming of a party which belonged to what
+is called society. Mrs. Bowring had a strong aversion to making new
+acquaintances, and even disliked being thrown into the proximity of
+people who might know friends of hers, who might have heard of her, and
+who might talk about her and her daughter. Clare said that her mother's
+shyness in this respect was almost morbid; but she had unconsciously
+caught a little of it herself, and, like her mother, she was often quite
+uselessly on her guard against strangers, of the kind whom she might
+possibly be called upon to know, though she was perfectly affable and at
+her ease with those whom she looked upon as undoubtedly her social
+inferiors.
+
+They were not mistaken in their prediction that the party from the yacht
+would come up to the Cappuccini. Half an hour after the yacht had
+dropped anchor the terrace was invaded. They came up in twos and threes,
+nearly a dozen of them, men and women, smart-looking people with
+healthy, sun-burnt faces, voices loud from the sea as voices become on a
+long voyage--or else very low indeed. By contrast with the frequenters
+of Amalfi they all seemed to wear overpoweringly good clothes and
+perfectly new hats and caps, and their russet shoes were resplendent.
+They moved as though everything belonged to them, from the wild crests
+of the hills above to the calm blue water below, and the hotel servants
+did their best to foster the agreeable illusion. They all wanted chairs,
+and tables, and things to drink, and fruit. One very fair little lady
+with hard, restless eyes, and clad in white serge, insisted upon having
+grapes, and no one could convince her that grapes were not ripe in May.
+
+"It's quite absurd!" she objected. "Of course they're ripe! We had the
+most beautiful grapes at breakfast at Leo Cairngorm's the other day, so
+of course they must have them here. Brook! Do tell the man not to be
+absurd!"
+
+"Man!" said the member of the party she had last addressed. "Do not be
+absurd!"
+
+"Sì, Signore," replied the black-whiskered Amalfitan servant with
+alacrity.
+
+"You see!" cried the little lady triumphantly. "I told you so! You must
+insist with these people. You can always get what you want. Brook,
+where's my fan?"
+
+She settled upon a straw chair--like a white butterfly. The others
+walked on towards the end of the terrace, but the young man whom she
+called Brook stood beside her, slowly lighting a cigarette, not five
+paces from Mrs. Bowring and Clare.
+
+"I'm sure I don't know where your fan is," he said, with a short laugh,
+as he threw the end of the match over the wall.
+
+"Well then, look for it!" she answered, rather sharply. "I'm awfully
+hot, and I want it."
+
+He glanced at her before he spoke again.
+
+"I don't know where it is," he said quietly, but there was a shade of
+annoyance in his face.
+
+"I gave it to you just as we were getting into the boat," answered the
+lady in white. "Do you mean to say that you left it on board?"
+
+"I think you must be mistaken," said the young man. "You must have given
+it to somebody else."
+
+"It isn't likely that I should mistake you for any one else--especially
+to-day."
+
+"Well--I haven't got it. I'll get you one in the hotel, if you'll have
+patience for a moment."
+
+He turned and strode along the terrace towards the house. Clare Bowring
+had been watching the two, and she looked after the man as he moved
+rapidly away. He walked well, for he was a singularly well-made young
+fellow, who looked as though he were master of every inch of himself.
+She had liked his brown face and bright blue eyes, too, and somehow she
+resented the way in which the little lady ordered him about. She looked
+round and saw that her mother was watching him too. Then, as he
+disappeared, they both looked at the lady. She too had followed him with
+her eyes, and as she turned her face sideways to the Bowrings Clare
+thought that she was biting her lip, as though something annoyed her or
+hurt her. She kept her eyes on the door. Presently the young man
+reappeared, bearing a palm-leaf fan in his hand and blowing a cloud of
+cigarette smoke into the air. Instantly the lady smiled, and the smile
+brightened as he came near.
+
+"Thank you--dear," she said as he gave her the fan.
+
+The last word was spoken in a lower tone, and could certainly not have
+been heard by the other members of the party, but it reached Clare's
+ears, where she sat.
+
+"Not at all," answered the young man quietly.
+
+But as he spoke he glanced quickly about him, and his eyes met Clare's.
+She fancied that she saw a look of startled annoyance in them, and he
+coloured a little under his tan. He had a very manly face, square and
+strong. He bent down a little and said something in a low voice. The
+lady in white half turned her head, impatiently, but did not look quite
+round. Clare saw, however, that her expression had changed again, and
+that the smile was gone.
+
+"If I don't care, why should you?" were the next words Clare heard,
+spoken impatiently and petulantly.
+
+The man who answered to the name of Brook said nothing, but sat down on
+the parapet of the terrace, looking out over his shoulder to seaward. A
+few seconds later he threw away his half-smoked cigarette.
+
+"I like this place," said the lady in white, quite audibly. "I think I
+shall send on board for my things and stay here."
+
+The young man started as though he had been struck, and faced her in
+silence. He could not help seeing Clare Bowring beyond her.
+
+"I'm going indoors, mother," said the young girl, rising rather
+abruptly. "I'm sure it must be time for tea. Won't you come too?"
+
+The young man did not answer his companion's remark, but turned his face
+away again and looked seaward, listening to the retreating footsteps of
+the two ladies.
+
+On the threshold of the hotel Clare felt a strong desire to look back
+again and see whether he had moved, but she was ashamed of it and went
+in, holding her head high and looking straight before her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The people from the yacht belonged to that class of men and women whose
+uncertainty, or indifference, about the future leads them to take
+possession of all they can lay hands on in the present, with a view to
+squeezing the world like a lemon for such enjoyment as it may yield. So
+long as they tarried at the old hotel, it was their private property.
+The Bowrings were forgotten; the two English old maids had no existence;
+the Russian invalid got no more hot water for his tea; the plain but
+obstinately inquiring German family could get no more information; even
+the quiet young French couple--a honeymoon couple--sank into
+insignificance. The only protest came from an American, whose wife was
+ill and never appeared, and who staggered the landlord by asking what he
+would sell the whole place for on condition of vacating the premises
+before dinner.
+
+"They will be gone before dinner," the proprietor answered.
+
+But they did not go. When it was already late somebody saw the moon
+rise, almost full, and suggested that the moonlight would be very fine,
+and that it would be amusing to dine at the hotel table and spend the
+evening on the terrace and go on board late.
+
+"I shall," said the little lady in white serge, "whatever the rest of
+you do. Brook! Send somebody on board to get a lot of cloaks and shawls
+and things. I am sure it is going to be cold. Don't go away! I want you
+to take me for a walk before dinner, so as to be nice and hungry, you
+know."
+
+For some reason or other, several of the party laughed, and from their
+tone one might have guessed that they were in the habit of laughing, or
+were expected to laugh, at the lady's speeches. And every one agreed
+that it would be much nicer to spend the evening on the terrace, and
+that it was a pity that they could not dine out of doors because it
+would be far too cool. Then the lady in white and the man called Brook
+began to walk furiously up and down in the fading light, while the lady
+talked very fast in a low voice, except when she was passing within
+earshot of some of the others, and the man looked straight before him,
+answering occasionally in monosyllables.
+
+Then there was more confusion in the hotel, and the Russian invalid
+expressed his opinion to the two English old maids, with whom he
+fraternised, that dinner would be an hour late, thanks to their
+compatriots. But they assumed an expression appropriate when speaking of
+the peerage, and whispered that the yacht must belong to the Duke of
+Orkney, who, they had read, was cruising in the Mediterranean, and that
+the Duke was probably the big man in grey clothes who had a gold
+cigarette case. But in all this they were quite mistaken. And their
+repeated examinations of the hotel register were altogether fruitless,
+because none of the party had written their names in it. The old maids,
+however, were quite happy and resigned to waiting for their dinner. They
+presently retired to attempt for themselves what stingy nature had
+refused to do for them in the way of adornment, for the dinner was
+undoubtedly to be an occasion of state, and their eyes were to see the
+glory of a lord.
+
+The party sat together at one end of the table, which extended the whole
+length of the high and narrow vaulted hall, while the guests staying in
+the hotel filled the opposite half. Most of the guests were more subdued
+than usual, and the party from the yacht seemed noisy by contrast. The
+old maids strained their ears to catch a name here and there. Clare and
+her mother talked little. The Russian invalid put up a single eyeglass,
+looked long and curiously at each of the new comers in turn, and then
+did not vouchsafe them another glance. The German family criticised the
+food severely, and then got into a fierce discussion about Bismarck and
+the Pope, in the course of which they forgot the existence of their
+fellow-diners, but not of their dinner.
+
+Clare could not help glancing once or twice at the couple that had
+attracted her attention, and she found herself wondering what their
+relation to each other could be, and whether they were engaged to be
+married. Somebody called the lady in white "Mrs. Crosby." Then somebody
+else called her "Lady Fan"--which was very confusing. "Brook" never
+called her anything. Clare saw him fill his glass and look at Lady Fan
+very hard before he drank, and then Lady Fan did the same thing.
+Nevertheless they seemed to be perpetually quarrelling over little
+things. When Brook was tired of being bullied, he calmly ignored his
+companion, turned from her, and talked in a low tone to a dark woman who
+had been a beauty and was the most thoroughly well-dressed of the
+extremely well-dressed party. Lady Fan bit her lip for a moment, and
+then said something at which all the others laughed--except Brook and
+the advanced beauty, who continued to talk in undertones.
+
+To Clare's mind there was about them all, except Brook, a little dash
+of something which was not "quite, quite," as the world would have
+expressed it. In her opinion Lady Fan was distinctly disagreeable,
+whoever she might be--as distinctly so as Brook was the contrary. And
+somehow the girl could not help resenting the woman's way of treating
+him. It offended her oddly and jarred upon her good taste, as something
+to which she was not at all accustomed in her surroundings. Lady Fan was
+very exquisite in her outward ways, and her speech was of the proper
+smartness. Yet everything she did and said was intensely unpleasant to
+Clare.
+
+The Bowrings and the regular guests finished their dinner before the
+yachting party, and rose almost in a body, with a clattering of their
+light chairs on the tiled floor. Only the English old maids kept their
+places a little longer than the rest, and took some more filberts and
+half a glass of white wine, each. They could not keep their eyes from
+the party at the other end of the table, and their faces grew a little
+redder as they sat there. Clare and her mother had to go round the long
+table to get out, being the last on their side, and they were also the
+last to reach the door. Again the young girl felt that strong desire to
+turn her head and look back at Brook and Lady Fan. She noticed it this
+time, as something she had never felt until that afternoon, but she
+would not yield to it. She walked on, looking straight at the back of
+her mother's head. Then she heard quick footsteps on the tiles behind
+her, and Brook's voice.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he was saying, "you have dropped your shawl."
+
+She turned quickly, and met his eyes as he stopped close to her, holding
+out the white chudder which had slipped to the floor unnoticed when she
+had risen from her seat. She took it mechanically and thanked him.
+Instinctively looking past him down the long hall, she saw that the
+little lady in white had turned in her seat and was watching her. Brook
+made a slight bow and was gone again in an instant. Then Clare followed
+her mother and went out.
+
+"Let us go out behind the house," she said when they were in the broad
+corridor. "There will be moonlight there, and those people will
+monopolise the terrace when they have finished dinner."
+
+At the western end of the old monastery there is a broad open space,
+between the buildings and the overhanging rocks, at the base of which
+there is a deep recess, almost amounting to a cave, in which stands a
+great black cross planted in a pedestal of whitewashed masonry. A few
+steps lead up to it. As the moon rose higher the cross was in the
+shadow, while the platform and the buildings were in the full light.
+
+The two women ascended the steps and sat down upon a stone seat.
+
+"What a night!" exclaimed the young girl softly.
+
+Her mother silently bent her head, but neither spoke again for some
+time. The moonlight before them was almost dazzling, and the air was
+warm. Beyond the stone parapet, far below, the tideless sea was silent
+and motionless under the moon. A crooked fig-tree, still leafless,
+though the little figs were already shaped on it, cast its intricate
+shadow upon the platform. Very far away, a boy was singing a slow minor
+chant in a high voice. The peace was almost disquieting--there was
+something intensely expectant in it, as though the night were in love,
+and its heart beating.
+
+Clare sat still, her hand upon her mother's thin wrist, her lips just
+parted a little, her eyes wide and filled with moon-dreams. She had
+almost lost herself in unworded fancies when her mother moved and spoke.
+
+"I had quite forgotten a letter I was writing," she said. "I must finish
+it. Stay here, and I will come back again presently."
+
+She rose, and Clare watched her slim dark figure and the long black
+shadow that moved with it across the platform towards the open door of
+the hotel. But when it had disappeared the white fancies came flitting
+back through the silent light, and in the shade the young eyes fixed
+themselves quietly to meet the vision and see it all, and to keep it for
+ever if she could.
+
+She did not know what it was that she saw, but it was beautiful, and
+what she felt was on a sudden as the realisation of something she had
+dimly desired in vain. Yet in itself it was nothing realised; it was
+perhaps only the certainty of longing for something all heart and no
+name, and it was happiness to long for it. For the first intuition of
+love is only an exquisite foretaste, a delight in itself, as far from
+the bitter hunger of love starving as a girl's faintness is from a cruel
+death. The light was dazzling, and yet it was full of gentle things that
+smiled, somehow, without faces. She was not very imaginative, perhaps,
+else the faces might have come too, and voices, and all, save the one
+reality which had as yet neither voice nor face, nor any name. It was
+all the something that love was to mean, somewhere, some day--the airy
+lace of a maiden life-dream, in which no figure was yet wrought amongst
+the fancy-threads that the May moon was weaving in the soft spring
+night. There was no sadness in it, at all, for there was no memory, and
+without memory there can be no sadness, any more than there can be fear
+where there is no anticipation, far or near. Most happiness is really of
+the future, and most grief, if we would be honest, is of the past.
+
+The young girl sat still and dreamed that the old world was as young as
+she, and that in its soft bosom there were exquisite sweetnesses
+untried, and soft yearnings for a beautiful unknown, and little pulses
+that could quicken with foretasted joy which only needed face and name
+to take angelic shape of present love. The world could not be old while
+she was young.
+
+And she had her youth and knew it, and it was almost all she had. It
+seemed much to her, and she had no unsatisfiable craving for the world's
+stuff in which to attire it. In that, at least, her mother had been
+wise, teaching her to believe and to enjoy, rather than to doubt and
+criticise, and if there had been anything to hide from her it had been
+hidden, even beyond suspicion of its presence. Perhaps the armour of
+knowledge is of little worth until doubt has shaken the heart and
+weakened the joints, and broken the terrible steadfastness of perfect
+innocence in the eyes. Clare knew that she was young, she felt that the
+white dream was sweet, and she believed that the world's heart was
+clean and good. All good was natural and eternal, lofty and splendid as
+an archangel in the light. God had made evil as a background of shadows
+to show how good the light was. Every one could come and stand in the
+light if he chose, for the mere trouble of moving. It seemed so simple.
+She wondered why everybody could not see it as she did.
+
+A flash of white in the white moonlight disturbed her meditations. Two
+people had come out of the door and were walking slowly across the
+platform side by side. They were not speaking, and their footsteps
+crushed the light gravel sharply as they came forward. Clare recognised
+Brook and Lady Fan. Seated in the shadow on one side of the great black
+cross and a little behind it, she could see their faces distinctly, but
+she had no idea that they were dazzled by the light and could not see
+her at all in her dark dress. She fancied that they were looking at her
+as they came on.
+
+The shadow of the rock had crept forward upon the open space, while she
+had been dreaming. The two turned, just before they reached it, and then
+stood still, instead of walking back.
+
+"Brook--" began Lady Fan, as though she were going to say something.
+
+But she checked herself and looked up at him quickly, chilled already by
+his humour. Clare thought that the woman's voice shook a little, as she
+pronounced the name. Brook did not turn his head nor look down.
+
+"Yes?" he said, with a sort of interrogation. "What were you going to
+say?" he asked after a moment's pause.
+
+She seemed to hesitate, for she did not answer at once. Then she glanced
+towards the hotel and looked down.
+
+"You won't come back with us?" she asked, at last, in a pleading voice.
+
+"I can't," he answered. "You know I can't. I've got to wait for them
+here."
+
+"Yes, I know. But they are not here yet. I don't believe they are coming
+for two or three days. You could perfectly well come on to Genoa with
+us, and get back by rail."
+
+"No," said Brook quietly, "I can't."
+
+"Would you, if you could?" asked the lady in white, and her tone began
+to change again.
+
+"What a question!" he laughed drily.
+
+"It is an odd question, isn't it, coming from me?" Her voice grew hard,
+and she stopped. "Well--you know what it means," she added abruptly.
+"You may as well answer it and have it over. It is very easy to say you
+would not, if you could. I shall understand all the rest, and you will
+be saved the trouble of saying things--things which I should think you
+would find it rather hard to say."
+
+"Couldn't you say them, instead?" he asked slowly, and looking at her
+for the first time. He spoke gravely and coldly.
+
+"I!" There was indignation, real or well affected, in the tone.
+
+"Yes, you," answered the man, with a shade less coldness, but as gravely
+as before. "You never loved me."
+
+Lady Fan's small white face was turned to his instantly, and Clare could
+see the fierce, hurt expression in the eyes and about the quivering
+mouth. The young girl suddenly realised that she was accidentally
+overhearing something which was very serious to the two speakers. It
+flashed upon her that they had not seen her where she sat in the shadow,
+and she looked about her hastily in the hope of escaping unobserved. But
+that was impossible. There was no way of getting out of the recess of
+the rock where the cross stood, except by coming out into the light, and
+no way of reaching the hotel except by crossing the open platform.
+
+Then she thought of coughing, to call attention to her presence. She
+would rise and come forward, and hurry across to the door. She felt that
+she ought to have come out of the shadows as soon as the pair had
+appeared, and that she had done wrong in sitting still. But then, she
+told herself with perfect justice that they were strangers, and that
+she could not possibly have foreseen that they had come there to
+quarrel.
+
+They were strangers, and she did not even know their names. So far as
+they were concerned, and their feelings, it would be much more pleasant
+for them if they never suspected that any one had overheard them than if
+she were to appear in the midst of their conversation, having evidently
+been listening up to that point. It will be admitted that, being a
+woman, she had a choice; for she knew that if she had been in Lady Fan's
+place she should have preferred never to know that any one had heard
+her. She fancied what she should feel if any one should cough
+unexpectedly behind her when she had just been accused by the man she
+loved of not loving him at all. And of course the little lady in white
+loved Brook--she had called him "dear" that very afternoon. But that
+Brook did not love Lady Fan was as plain as possible.
+
+There was certainly no mean curiosity in Clare to know the secrets of
+these strangers. But all the same, she would not have been a human girl,
+of any period in humanity's history, if she had not been profoundly
+interested in the fate of the woman before her. That afternoon she would
+have thought it far more probable that the woman should break the man's
+heart than that she should break her own for him. But now it looked
+otherwise. Clare thought there was no mistaking the first tremor of the
+voice, the look of the white face, and the indignation of the tone
+afterwards. With a man, the question of revealing his presence as a
+third person would have been a point of honour. In Clare's case it was a
+question of delicacy and kindness as from one woman to another.
+
+Nevertheless, she hesitated, and she might have come forward after all.
+Ten slow seconds had passed since Brook had spoken. Then Lady Fan's
+little figure shook, her face turned away, and she tried to choke down
+one small bitter sob, pressing her handkerchief desperately to her lips.
+
+"Oh, Brook!" she cried, a moment later, and her tiny teeth tore the edge
+of the handkerchief audibly in the stillness.
+
+"It's not your fault," said the man, with an attempt at gentleness in
+his voice. "I couldn't blame you, if I were brute enough to wish to."
+
+"Blame me! Oh, really--I think you're mad, you know!"
+
+"Besides," continued the young man, philosophically, "I think we ought
+to be glad, don't you?"
+
+"Glad?"
+
+"Yes--that we are not going to break our hearts now that it's over."
+
+Clare thought his tone horribly business-like and indifferent.
+
+"Oh no! We sha'n't break our hearts any more! We are not children." Her
+voice was thin and bitter, with a crying laugh in it.
+
+"Look here, Fan!" said Brook suddenly. "This is all nonsense. We agreed
+to play together, and we've played very nicely, and now you have to go
+home, and I have got to stay here, whether I like it or not. Let us be
+good friends and say good-bye, and if we meet again and have nothing
+better to do, we can play again if we please. But as for taking it in
+this tragical way--why, it isn't worth it."
+
+The young girl crouching in the shadow felt as though she had been
+struck, and her heart went out with indignant sympathy to the little
+lady in white.
+
+"Do you know? I think you are the most absolutely brutal, cynical
+creature I ever met!" There was anger in the voice, now, and something
+more--something which Clare could not understand.
+
+"Well, I'm sorry," answered the man. "I don't mean to be brutal, I'm
+sure, and I don't think I'm cynical either. I look at things as they
+are, not as they ought to be. We are not angels, and the millennium
+hasn't come yet. I suppose it would be bad for us if it did, just now.
+But we used to be very good friends last year. I don't see why we
+shouldn't be again."
+
+"Friends! Oh no!"
+
+Lady Fan turned from him and made a step or two alone, out through the
+moonlight, towards the house. Brook did not move. Perhaps he knew that
+she would come back, as indeed she did, stopping suddenly and turning
+round to face him again.
+
+"Brook," she began more softly, "do you remember that evening up at the
+Acropolis--at sunset? Do you remember what you said?"
+
+"Yes, I think I do."
+
+"You said that if I could get free you would marry me."
+
+"Yes." The man's tone had changed suddenly.
+
+"Well--I believed you, that's all."
+
+Brook stood quite still, and looked at her quietly. Some seconds passed
+before she spoke again.
+
+"You did not mean it?" she asked sorrowfully.
+
+Still he said nothing.
+
+"Because you know," she continued, her eyes fixed on his, "the position
+is not at all impossible. All things considered, I suppose I could have
+a divorce for the asking."
+
+Clare started a little in the dark. She was beginning to guess something
+of the truth she could not understand. The man still said nothing, but
+he began to walk up and down slowly, with folded arms, along the edge of
+the shadow before Lady Fan as she stood still, following him with her
+eyes.
+
+"You did not mean a word of what you said that afternoon? Not one word?"
+She spoke very slowly and distinctly.
+
+He was silent still, pacing up and down before her. Suddenly, without a
+word, she turned from him and walked quickly away, towards the hotel. He
+started and stood still, looking after her--then he also made a step.
+
+"Fan!" he called, in a tone she could hear, but she went on. "Mrs.
+Crosby!" he called again.
+
+She stopped, turned, and waited. It was clear that Lady Fan was a
+nickname, Clare thought.
+
+"Well?" she asked.
+
+Clare clasped her hands together in her excitement, watching and
+listening, and holding her breath.
+
+"Don't go like that!" exclaimed Brook, going forward and holding out one
+hand.
+
+"Do you want me?" asked the lady in white, very gently, almost
+tenderly. Clare did not understand how any woman could have so little
+pride, but she pitied the little lady from her heart.
+
+Brook went on till he came up with Lady Fan, who did not make a step to
+meet him. But just as he reached her she put out her hand to take his.
+Clare thought he was relenting, but she was mistaken. His voice came
+back to her clear and distinct, and it had a very gentle ring in it.
+
+"Fan, dear," he said, "we have been very fond of each other in our
+careless way. But we have not loved each other. We may have thought that
+we did, for a moment, now and then. I shall always be fond of you, just
+in that way. I'll do anything for you. But I won't marry you, if you get
+a divorce. It would be utter folly. If I ever said I would, in so many
+words--well, I'm ashamed of it. You'll forgive me some day. One says
+things--sometimes--that one means for a minute, and then, afterwards,
+one doesn't mean them. But I mean what I am saying now."
+
+He dropped her hand, and stood looking at her, and waiting for her to
+speak. Her face, as Clare saw it, from a distance now, looked whiter
+than ever. After an instant she turned from him with a quick movement,
+but not towards the hotel.
+
+She walked slowly towards the stone parapet of the platform. As she
+went, Clare again saw her raise her handkerchief and press it to her
+lips, but she did not bend her head. She went and leaned on her elbows
+on the parapet, and her hands pulled nervously at the handkerchief as
+she looked down at the calm sea far below. Brook followed her slowly,
+but just as he was near, she, hearing his footsteps, turned and leaned
+back against the low wall.
+
+"Give me a cigarette," she said in a hard voice. "I'm nervous--and I've
+got to face those people in a moment."
+
+Clare started again in sheer surprise. She had expected tears, fainting,
+angry words, a passionate appeal--anything rather than what she heard.
+Brook produced a silver case which gleamed in the moonlight. Lady Fan
+took a cigarette, and her companion took another. He struck a match and
+held it up for her in the still air. The little flame cast its red glare
+into their faces. The young girl had good eyes, and as she watched them
+she saw the man's expression was grave and stern, a little sad, perhaps,
+but she fancied that there was the beginning of a scornful smile on the
+woman's lips. She understood less clearly then than ever what manner of
+human beings these two strangers might be.
+
+For some moments they smoked in silence, the lady in white leaning back
+against the parapet, the man standing upright with one hand in his
+pocket, holding his cigarette in the other, and looking out to sea. Then
+Lady Fan stood up, too, and threw her cigarette over the wall.
+
+"It's time to be going," she said, suddenly. "They'll be coming after us
+if we stay here."
+
+But she did not move. Sideways she looked up into his face. Then she
+held out her hand.
+
+"Good-bye, Brook," she said, quietly enough, as he took it.
+
+"Good-bye," he murmured in a low voice, but distinctly.
+
+Their hands stayed together after they had spoken, and still she looked
+up to him in the moonlight. Suddenly he bent down and kissed her on the
+forehead--in an odd, hasty way.
+
+"I'm sorry, Fan, but it won't do," he said.
+
+"Again!" she answered. "Once more, please!" And she held up her face.
+
+He kissed her again, but less hastily, Clare thought, as she watched
+them. Then, without another word, they walked towards the hotel, side by
+side, close together, so that their hands almost touched. When they were
+not ten paces from the door, they stopped again and looked at each
+other.
+
+At that moment Clare saw her mother's dark figure on the threshold. The
+pair must have heard her steps, for they separated a little and
+instantly went on, passing Mrs. Bowring quickly. Clare sat still in her
+place, waiting for her mother to come to her. She feared lest, if she
+moved, the two might come back for an instant, see her, and understand
+that they had been watched. Mrs. Bowring went forward a few steps.
+
+"Clare!" she called.
+
+"Yes," answered the young girl softly. "Here I am."
+
+"Oh--I could not see you at all," said her mother. "Come down into the
+moonlight."
+
+The young girl descended the steps, and the two began to walk up and
+down together on the platform.
+
+"Those were two of the people from the yacht that I met at the door,"
+said Mrs. Bowring. "The lady in white serge, and that good-looking young
+man."
+
+"Yes," Clare answered. "They were here some time. I don't think they saw
+me."
+
+She had meant to tell her mother something of what had happened, in the
+hope of being told that she had done right in not revealing her
+presence. But on second thoughts she resolved to say nothing about it.
+To have told the story would have seemed like betraying a confidence,
+even though they were strangers to her.
+
+"I could not help wondering about them this afternoon," said Mrs.
+Bowring. "She ordered him about in a most extraordinary way, as though
+he had been her servant. I thought it in very bad taste, to say the
+least of it. Of course I don't know anything about their relations, but
+it struck me that she wished to show him off, as her possession."
+
+"Yes," answered Clare, thoughtfully. "I thought so too."
+
+"Very foolish of her! No man will stand that sort of thing long. That
+isn't the way to treat a man in order to keep him."
+
+"What is the best way?" asked the young girl idly, with a little laugh.
+
+"Don't ask me!" answered Mrs. Bowring quickly, as they turned in their
+walk. "But I should think--" she added, a moment later, "I don't
+know--but I should think--" she hesitated.
+
+"What?" inquired Clare, with some curiosity.
+
+"Well, I was going to say, I should think that a man would wish to feel
+that he is holding, not that he is held. But then people are so
+different! One can never tell. At all events, it is foolish to wish to
+show everybody that you own a man, so to say."
+
+Mrs. Bowring seemed to be considering the question, but she evidently
+found nothing more to say about it, and they walked up and down in
+silence for a long time, each occupied with her own thoughts. Then all
+at once there was a sound of many voices speaking English, and trying to
+give orders in Italian, and the words "Good-bye, Brook!" sounded several
+times above the rest. Little by little, all grew still again.
+
+"They are gone at last," said Mrs. Bowring, with a sigh of relief.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Clare Bowring went to her room that night feeling as though she had been
+at the theatre. She could not get rid of the impression made upon her by
+the scene she had witnessed, and over and over again, as she lay awake,
+with the moonbeams streaming into her room, she went over all she had
+seen and heard on the platform. It had, at least, been very like the
+theatre. The broad, flat stage, the somewhat conventionally picturesque
+buildings, the strip of far-off sea, as flat as a band of paint, the
+unnaturally bright moonlight, the two chief figures going through a love
+quarrel in the foreground, and she herself calmly seated in the shadow,
+as in the darkened amphitheatre, and looking on unseen and unnoticed.
+
+But the two people had not talked at all as people talked on the stage
+in any piece Clare had ever seen. What would have been the "points" in a
+play had all been left out, and instead there had been abrupt pauses and
+awkward silences, and then, at what should have been the supreme moment,
+the lady in white had asked for a cigarette. And the two hasty little
+kisses that had a sort of perfunctory air, and the queer, jerky
+"good-byes," and the last stop near the door of the hotel--it all had an
+air of being very badly done. It could not have been a success on the
+stage, Clare thought.
+
+And yet this was a bit of life, of the real, genuine life of two people
+who had been in love, and perhaps were in love still, though they might
+not know it. She had been present at what must, in her view, have been a
+great crisis in two lives. Such things, she thought, could not happen
+more than once in a lifetime--twice, perhaps. Her mother had been
+married twice, so Clare admitted a second possibility. But not more than
+that.
+
+The situation, too, as she reviewed it, was nothing short of romantic.
+Here was a young man who had evidently been making love to a married
+woman, and who had made her believe that he loved her, and had made her
+love him too. Clare remembered the desperate little sob, and the
+handkerchief twice pressed to the pale lips. The woman was married, and
+yet she actually loved the man enough to think of divorcing her husband
+in order to marry him. Then, just when she was ready, he had turned and
+told her in the most heartless way that it had been all play, and that
+he would not marry her under any circumstances. It seemed monstrous to
+the innocent girl that they should even have spoken of marriage, until
+the divorce was accomplished. Then, of course, it would have been all
+right. Clare had been brought up with modern ideas about divorce in
+general, as being a fair and just thing in certain circumstances. She
+had learned that it could not be right to let an innocent woman suffer
+all her life because she had married a brute by mistake. Doubtless that
+was Lady Fan's case. But she should have got her divorce first, and then
+she might have talked of marriage afterwards. It was very wrong of her.
+
+But Lady Fan's thoughtlessness--or wickedness, as Clare thought she
+ought to call it--sank into insignificance before the cynical
+heartlessness of the man. It was impossible ever to forget the cool way
+in which he had said she ought not to take it so tragically, because it
+was not worth it. Yet he had admitted that he had promised to marry her
+if she got a divorce. He had made love to her, there on the Acropolis,
+at sunset, as she had said. He even granted that he might have believed
+himself in earnest for a few moments. And now he told her that he was
+sorry, but that "it would not do." It had evidently been all his fault,
+for he had found nothing with which to reproach her. If there had been
+anything, Clare thought, he would have brought it up in self-defence.
+She could not suspect that he would almost rather have married Lady Fan,
+and ruined his life, than have done that. Innocence cannot even guess at
+sin's code of honour--though sometimes it would be in evil case without
+it. Brook had probably broken Lady Fan's heart that night, thought the
+young girl, though Lady Fan had said with such a bitter, crying laugh
+that they were not children and that their hearts could not break.
+
+And it all seemed very unreal, as she looked back upon it. The situation
+was certainly romantic, but the words had been poor beyond her
+imagination, and the actors had halted in their parts, as at a first
+rehearsal.
+
+Then Clare reflected that of course neither of them had ever been in
+such a situation before, and that, if they were not naturally eloquent,
+it was not surprising that they should have expressed themselves in
+short, jerky sentences. But that was only an excuse she made to herself
+to account for the apparent unreality of it all. She turned her cheek to
+a cool end of the pillow and tried to go to sleep.
+
+She tried to bring back the white dreams she had dreamt when she had sat
+alone in the shadow before the other two had come out to quarrel. She
+did her best to bring back that vague, soft joy of yearning for
+something beautiful and unknown. She tried to drop the silver veil of
+fancy-threads woven by the May moon between her and the world. But it
+would not come. Instead of it, she saw the flat platform, the man and
+woman standing in the unnatural brightness, and the woman's desperate
+little face when he had told her that she had never loved him. The dream
+was not white any more.
+
+So that was life. That was reality. That was the way men treated women.
+She thought she began to understand what faithlessness and
+unfaithfulness meant. She had seen an unfaithful man, and had heard him
+telling the woman he had made love him that he never could love her any
+more. That was real life.
+
+Clare's heart went out to the little lady in white. By this time she was
+alone in her cabin, and her pillow was wet with tears. Brook doubtless
+was calmly asleep, unless he were drinking or doing some of those
+vaguely wicked things which, in the imagination of very simple young
+girls, fill up the hours of fast men, and help sometimes to make those
+very men "interesting." But after what she had seen Clare felt that
+Brook could never interest her under imaginable circumstances. He was
+simply a "brute," as the lady in white had told him, and Clare wished
+that some woman could make him suffer for his sins and expiate the
+misdeeds which had made that little face so desperate and that short
+laugh so bitter.
+
+She wished, though she hardly knew it, that she had done anything rather
+than have sat there in the shadow, all through the scene. She had lost
+something that night which it would be hard indeed to find again. There
+was a big jagged rent in the drop-curtain of illusions before her
+life-stage, and through it she saw things that troubled her and would
+not be forgotten.
+
+She had no memory of her own of which the vivid brightness or the
+intimate sadness could diminish the force of this new impression.
+Possibly, she was of the kind that do not easily fall in love, for she
+had met during the past two years more than one man whom many a girl of
+her age and bringing up might have fancied. Some of them might have
+fallen in love with her, if she had allowed them, or if she had felt the
+least spark of interest in them and had shown it. But she had not. Her
+manner was cold and over-dignified for her years, and she had very
+little vanity together with much pride--too much of the latter, perhaps,
+to be ever what is called popular. For "popular" persons are generally
+those who wish to be such; and pride and the love of popularity are at
+opposite poles of the character-world. Proud characters set love high
+and their own love higher, while a vain woman will risk her heart for a
+compliment, and her reputation for the sake of having a lion in her
+leash, if only for a day. Clare Bowring had not yet been near to loving,
+and she had nothing of her own to contrast with this experience in which
+she had been a mere spectator. It at once took the aspect of a
+generality. This man and this woman were probably not unlike most men
+and women, if the truth were known, she thought. And she had seen the
+real truth, as few people could ever have seen it--the supreme crisis of
+a love-affair going on before her very eyes, in her hearing, at her
+feet, the actors having no suspicion of her presence. It was, perhaps,
+the certainty that she could not misinterpret it all which most
+disgusted her, and wounded something in her which she had never defined,
+but which was really a sort of belief that love must always carry with
+it something beautiful, whether joyous, or tender, or tragic. Of that,
+there had been nothing in what she had seen. Only the woman's face came
+back to her, and hurt her, and she felt her own heart go out to poor
+Lady Fan, while it hardened against Brook with an exaggerated hatred, as
+though he had insulted and injured all living women.
+
+It was probable that she was to see this man during several days to
+come. The idea struck her when she was almost asleep, and it waked her
+again, with a start. It was quite certain that he had stayed behind,
+when the others had gone down to the yacht, for she had heard the voices
+calling out "Good-bye, Brook!" Besides he had said repeatedly to the
+lady in white that he must stay. He was expecting his people. It was
+quite certain that Clare must see him during the next day or two. It was
+not impossible that he might try to make her mother's acquaintance and
+her own. The idea was intensely disagreeable to her. In the first place,
+she hated him beforehand for what he had done, and, secondly, she had
+once heard his secret. It was one thing, so long as he was a total
+stranger. It would be quite another, if she should come to know him. She
+had a vague thought of pretending to be ill, and staying in her room as
+long as he remained in the place. But in that case she should have to
+explain matters to her mother. She should not like to do that. The
+thought of the difficulty disturbed her a little while longer. Then, at
+last, she fell asleep, tired with what she had felt, and seen, and
+heard.
+
+The yacht sailed before daybreak, and in the morning the little hotel
+had returned to its normal state of peace. The early sun blazed upon the
+white walls above, and upon the half-moon, beach below, and shot
+straight into the recess in the rocks where Clare had sat by the old
+black cross in the dark. The level beams ran through her room, too, for
+it faced south-east, looking across the gulf; and when she went to the
+window and stood in the sunshine, her flaxen hair looked almost white,
+and the good southern warmth brought soft colour to the northern girl's
+cheeks. She was like a thin, fair angel, standing there on the high
+balcony, looking to seaward in the calm air. That, at least, was what a
+fisherman from Praiano thought, as he turned his hawk-eyes upwards,
+standing to his oars and paddling slowly along, top-heavy in his tiny
+boat. But no native of Amalfi ever mistook a foreigner for an angel.
+
+Everything was quiet and peaceful again, and there seemed to be neither
+trace nor memory of the preceding day's invasion. The English old maids
+were early at their window, and saw with disappointment that the yacht
+was gone. They were never to know whether the big man with the gold
+cigarette case had been the Duke of Orkney or not. But order was
+restored, and they got their tea and toast without difficulty. The
+Russian invalid was slicing a lemon into his cup on the vine-sheltered
+terrace, and the German family, having slept on the question of the Pope
+and Bismarck, were ruddy with morning energy, and were making an early
+start for a place in the hills where the Professor had heard that there
+was an inscription of the ninth century.
+
+The young girl stood still on her balcony, happily dazed for a few
+moments by the strong sunshine and the clear air. It is probably the
+sensation enjoyed for hours together by a dog basking in the sun, but
+with most human beings it does not last long--the sun is soon too hot
+for the head, or too bright for the eyes, or there is a draught, or the
+flies disturb one. Man is not capable of as much physical enjoyment as
+the other animals, though perhaps his enjoyment is keener during the
+first moments. Then comes thought, restlessness, discontent, change,
+effort, and progress, and the history of man's superiority is the
+journal of his pain.
+
+For a little while, Clare stood blinking in the sunshine, smitten into a
+pleasant semi-consciousness by the strong nature around her. Then she
+thought of Brook and the lady in white, and of all she had been a
+witness of in the evening, and the colour of things changed a little,
+and she turned away and went between the little white and red curtains
+into her room again. Life was certainly not the same since she had heard
+and seen what a man and a woman could say and be. There were certain new
+impressions, where there had been no impression at all, but only a
+maiden readiness to receive the beautiful. What had come was not
+beautiful, by any means, and the thought of it darkened the air a
+little, so that the day was not to be what it might have been. She
+realised how she was affected, and grew impatient with herself. After
+all, it would be the easiest thing in the world to avoid the man, even
+if he stayed some time. Her mother was not much given to making
+acquaintance with strangers.
+
+And it would have been easy enough, if the man himself had taken the
+same view. He, however, had watched the Bowrings on the preceding
+evening, and had made up his mind that they were "human beings," as he
+put it; that is to say, that they belonged to his own class, whereas
+none of the people at the upper end of the table had any claim to be
+counted with the social blessed. He was young, and though he knew how to
+amuse himself alone, and had all manner of manly tastes and
+inclinations, he preferred pleasant society to solitude, and his
+experience told him that the society of the Bowrings would in all
+probability be pleasant. He therefore determined that he would try to
+know them at once, and the determination had already been formed in his
+mind when he had run after Clare to give her the shawl she had dropped.
+
+He got up rather late, and promptly marched out upon the terrace under
+the vines, smoking a briar-root pipe with that solemn air whereby the
+Englishman abroad proclaims to the world that he owns the scenery. There
+is something almost phenomenal about an Englishman's solid
+self-satisfaction when he is alone with his pipe. Every nation has its
+own way of smoking. There is a hasty and vicious manner about the
+Frenchman's little cigarette of pungent black tobacco; the Italian
+dreams over his rat-tail cigar; the American either eats half of his
+Havana while he smokes the other, or else he takes a frivolous delight
+in smoking delicately and keeping the white ash whole to the end; the
+German surrounds himself with a cloud, and, god-like, meditates within
+it; there is a sacrificial air about the Asiatic's narghileh, as the
+thin spire rises steadily and spreads above his head; but the
+Englishman's short briar-root pipe has a powerful individuality of its
+own. Its simplicity is Gothic, its solidity is of the Stone Age, he
+smokes it in the face of the higher civilisation, and it is the badge of
+the conqueror. A man who asserts that he has a right to smoke a pipe
+anywhere, practically asserts that he has a right to everything. And it
+will be admitted that Englishmen get a good deal.
+
+Moreover, as soon as the Englishman has finished smoking he generally
+goes and does something else. Brook knocked the ashes out of his pipe,
+and immediately went in search of the head waiter, to whom he explained
+with some difficulty that he wished to be placed next to the two ladies
+who sat last on the side away from the staircase at the public table.
+The waiter tried to explain that the two ladies, though they had been
+some time in the hotel, insisted upon being always last on that side
+because there was more air. But Brook was firm, and he strengthened his
+argument with coin, and got what he wanted. He also made the waiter
+point out to him the Bowrings' name on the board which held the names of
+the guests. Then he asked the way to Ravello, turned up his trousers
+round his ankles, and marched off at a swinging pace down the steep
+descent towards the beach, which he had to cross before climbing the
+hill to the old town. Nothing in his outward manner or appearance
+betrayed that he had been through a rather serious crisis on the
+preceding evening.
+
+That was what struck Clare Bowring when, to her dismay, he sat down
+beside her at the midday meal. She could not help glancing at him as he
+took his seat. His eyes were bright, his face, browned by the sun, was
+fresh and rested. There was not a line of care or thought on his
+forehead. The young girl felt that she was flushing with anger. He saw
+her colour, and took it for a sign of shyness. He made a sort of
+apologetic movement of the head and shoulders towards her which was not
+exactly a bow--for to an Englishman's mind a bow is almost a
+familiarity--but which expressed a kind of vague desire not to cause any
+inconvenience.
+
+The colour deepened a little in Clare's face, and then disappeared. She
+found something to say to her mother, on her other side, which it would
+hardly have been worth while to say at all under ordinary circumstances.
+Mrs. Bowring had glanced at the man while he was taking his seat, and
+her eyebrows had contracted a little. Later she looked furtively past
+her daughter at his profile, and then stared a long time at her plate.
+As for him, he began to eat with conscious strength, as healthy young
+men do, but he watched his opportunity for doing or saying anything
+which might lead to a first acquaintance.
+
+To tell the truth, however, he was in no hurry. He knew how to make
+himself comfortable, and it was an important element in his comfort to
+be seated next to the only persons in the place with whom he should care
+to associate. That point being gained, he was willing to wait for
+whatever was to come afterwards. He did not expect in any case to gain
+more than the chance of a little pleasant conversation, and he was not
+troubled by any youthful desire to shine in the eyes of the fair girl
+beside whom he found himself, beyond the natural wish to appear well
+before women in general, which modifies the conduct of all natural and
+manly young men when women are present at all.
+
+As the meal proceeded, however, he was surprised to find that no
+opportunity presented itself for exchanging a word with his neighbour.
+He had so often found it impossible to avoid speaking with strangers at
+a public table that he had taken the probability of some little incident
+for granted, and caught himself glancing surreptitiously at Clare's
+plate to see whether there were nothing wanting which he might offer
+her. But he could not think of anything. The fried sardines were
+succeeded by the regulation braised beef with the gluey brown sauce
+which grows in most foreign hotels. That, in its turn, was followed by
+some curiously dry slices of spongecake, each bearing a bit of pink and
+white sugar frosting, and accompanied by fresh orange marmalade, which
+Brook thought very good, but which Clare refused. And then there was
+fruit--beautiful oranges, uncanny apples, and walnuts--and the young man
+foresaw the near end of the meal, and wished that something would
+happen. But still nothing happened at all.
+
+He watched Clare's hands as she prepared an orange in the Italian
+fashion, taking off the peel at one end, then passing the knife twice
+completely round at right angles, and finally stripping the peel away in
+four neat pieces. The hands were beautiful in their way, too thin,
+perhaps, and almost too white from recent illness, but straight and
+elastic, with little blue veins at the sides of the finger-joints and
+exquisite nails that were naturally polished. The girl was clever with
+her fingers, she could not help seeing that her neighbour was watching
+her, and she peeled the orange with unusual skill and care. It was a
+good one, too, and the peel separated easily from the deep yellow fruit.
+
+"How awfully jolly!" exclaimed the young man, unconsciously, in genuine
+admiration.
+
+He was startled by the sound of his own voice, for he had not meant to
+speak, and the blood rushed to his sunburnt face. Clare's eyes flashed
+upon him in a glance of surprise, and the colour rose in her cheeks
+also. She was evidently not pleased, and he felt that he had been guilty
+of a breach of English propriety. When an Englishman does a tactless
+thing he generally hastens to make it worse, becomes suddenly shy, and
+flounders.
+
+"I--I beg your pardon," stammered Brook. "I really didn't mean to
+speak--that is--you did it so awfully well, you know!"
+
+"It's the Italian way," Clare answered, beginning to quarter the orange.
+
+She felt that she could not exactly be silent after he had apologised
+for admiring her skill. But she remembered that she had felt some vanity
+in what she had been doing, and had done it with some unnecessary
+ostentation. She hoped that he would not say anything more, for the
+sound of his voice reminded her of what she had heard him say to the
+lady in white, and she hated him with all her heart.
+
+But the young man was encouraged by her sufficiently gracious answer,
+and was already glad of what he had done.
+
+"Do all Italians do it that way?" he asked boldly.
+
+"Generally," answered the young girl, and she began to eat the orange.
+
+Brook took another from the dish before him.
+
+"Let me see," he said, turning it round and round. "You cut a slice off
+one end." He began to cut the peel.
+
+"Not too deep," said Clare, "or you will cut into the fruit."
+
+"Oh--thanks, awfully. Yes, I see. This way?"
+
+He took the end off, and looked at her for approval. She nodded
+gravely, and then turned away her eyes. He made the two cuts round the
+peel, crosswise, and looked to her again, but she affected not to see
+him.
+
+"Oh--might I ask you--" he began. She looked at his orange again,
+without a smile. "Please don't think me too dreadfully rude," he said.
+"But it was so pretty, and I'm tremendously anxious to learn. Was it
+this way?"
+
+His fingers teased the peel, and it began to come off. He raised his
+eyes with another look of inquiry.
+
+"Yes. That's all right," said Clare calmly.
+
+She was going to look away again, when she reflected that since he was
+so pertinacious it would be better to see the operation finished once
+for all. Then she and her mother would get up and go away, as they had
+finished. But he wished to push his advantage.
+
+"And now what does one do?" he asked, for the sake of saying something.
+
+"One eats it," answered Clare, half impatiently.
+
+He stared at her a moment and then broke into a laugh, and Clare, very
+much to her own surprise and annoyance, laughed too, in spite of
+herself. That broke the ice. When two people have laughed together over
+something one of them has said, there is no denying the acquaintance.
+
+"It was really awfully kind of you!" he exclaimed, his eyes still
+laughing. "It was horridly rude of me to say anything at all, but I
+really couldn't help it. If I could get anybody to introduce me, so that
+I could apologise properly, I would, you know, but in this place--"
+
+He looked towards the German family and the English old maids, in a
+helpless sort of way, and then laughed again.
+
+"I don't think it's necessary," said Clare rather coldly.
+
+"No--I suppose not," he answered, growing graver at once. "And I think
+it is allowed--isn't it?--to speak to one's neighbour at a table d'hôte,
+you know. Not but what it was awfully rude of me, all the same," he
+added hastily.
+
+"Oh no. Not at all."
+
+Clare stared at the wall opposite and leaned back in her chair.
+
+"Oh! thanks awfully! I was afraid you might think so, you know."
+
+Mrs. Bowring leaned forward as her daughter leaned back. Seeing that the
+latter had fallen into conversation with the stranger, she was too much
+a woman of the world not to speak to him at once in order to avoid any
+awkwardness when they next met, for he could not possibly have spoken
+first to her across the young girl.
+
+"Is it your first visit to Amalfi?" she inquired, with as much
+originality as is common in such cases.
+
+Brook leaned forward too, and looked over at the elder woman.
+
+"Yes," he answered, "I was with a party, and they dropped me here last
+night. I was to meet my people here, but they haven't turned up yet, so
+I'm seeing the sights. I went up to Ravello this morning--you know, that
+place on the hill. There's an awfully good view from there, isn't
+there?"
+
+Clare thought his fluency developed very quickly when he spoke to her
+mother. As he leaned forward she could not help seeing his face, and she
+looked at him closely, for the first time, and with some curiosity. He
+was handsome, and had a wonderfully frank and good-humoured expression.
+He was not in the least a "beauty" man--she thought he might be a
+soldier or a sailor, and a very good specimen of either. Furthermore, he
+was undoubtedly a gentleman, so far as a man is to be judged by his
+outward manner and appearance. In her heart she had already set him down
+as little short of a villain. The discrepancy between his looks and what
+she thought of him disturbed her. It was unpleasant to feel that a man
+who had acted as he had acted last night could look as fresh, and
+innocent, and unconcerned as he looked to-day. It was disagreeable to
+have him at her elbow. Either he had never cared a straw for poor Lady
+Fan, and in that case he had almost broken her heart out of sheer
+mischief and love of selfish amusement, or else, if he had cared for her
+at all, he was a pitiably fickle and faithless creature--something much
+more despicable in the eyes of most women than the most heartless cynic.
+One or the other he must be, thought Clare. In either case he was bad,
+because Lady Fan was married, and it was wicked to make love to married
+women. There was a directness about Clare's view which would either have
+made the man laugh or would have hurt him rather badly. She wondered
+what sort of expression would come over his handsome face if she were
+suddenly to tell him what she knew. The idea took her by surprise, and
+she smiled to herself as she thought of it.
+
+Yet she could not help glancing at him again and again, as he talked
+across her with her mother, making very commonplace remarks about the
+beauty of the place. Very much in spite of herself, she wished to know
+him better, though she already hated him. His face attracted her
+strangely, and his voice was pleasant, close to her ear. He had not in
+the least the look of the traditional lady-killer, of whom the tradition
+seems to survive as a moral scarecrow for the education of the young,
+though the creature is extinct among Anglo-Saxons. He was, on the
+contrary, a manly man, who looked as though he would prefer tennis to
+tea and polo to poetry--and men to women for company, as a rule. She
+felt that if she had not heard him talking with the lady in white she
+should have liked him very much. As it was, she said to herself that she
+wished she might never see him again--and all the time her eyes returned
+again and again to his sunburnt face and profile, till in a few minutes
+she knew his features by heart.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+A chance acquaintance may, under favourable circumstances, develop
+faster than one brought about by formal introduction, because neither
+party has been previously led to expect anything of the other. There is
+no surer way of making friendship impossible than telling two people
+that they are sure to be such good friends, and are just suited to each
+other. The law of natural selection applies to almost everything we want
+in the world, from food and climate to a wife.
+
+When Clare and her mother had established themselves as usual on the
+terrace under the vines that afternoon, Brook came and sat beside them
+for a while. Mrs. Bowring liked him and talked easily with him, but
+Clare was silent and seemed absent-minded. The young man looked at her
+from time to time with curiosity, for he was not used to being treated
+with such perfect indifference as she showed to him. He was not spoilt,
+as the phrase goes, but he had always been accustomed to a certain
+amount of attention, when he met new people, and, without being in the
+least annoyed, he thought it strange that this particular young lady
+should seem not even to listen to what he said.
+
+Mrs. Bowring, on the other hand, scarcely took her eyes from his face
+after the first ten minutes, and not a word he spoke escaped her. By
+contrast with her daughter's behaviour, her earnest attention was very
+noticeable. By degrees she began to ask him questions about himself.
+
+"Do you expect your people to-morrow?" she inquired.
+
+Clare looked up quickly. It was very unlike her mother to show even that
+small amount of curiosity about a stranger. It was clear that Mrs.
+Bowring had conceived a sudden liking for the young man.
+
+"They were to have been here to-day," he answered indifferently. "They
+may come this evening, I suppose, but they have not even ordered rooms.
+I asked the man there--the owner of the place, I suppose he is."
+
+"Then of course you will wait for them," suggested Mrs. Bowring.
+
+"Yes. It's an awful bore, too. That is--" he corrected himself
+hastily--"I mean, if I were to be here without a soul to speak to, you
+know. Of course, it's different, this way."
+
+"How?" asked Mrs. Bowring, with a brighter smile than Clare had seen on
+her face for a long time.
+
+"Oh, because you are so kind as to let me talk to you," answered the
+young man, without the least embarrassment.
+
+"Then you are a social person?" Mrs. Bowring laughed a little. "You
+don't like to be alone?"
+
+"Oh no! Not when I can be with nice people. Of course not. I don't
+believe anybody does. Unless I'm doing something, you know--shooting, or
+going up a hill, or fishing. Then I don't mind. But of course I would
+much rather be alone than with bores, don't you know? Or--or--well, the
+other kind of people."
+
+"What kind?" asked Mrs. Bowring.
+
+"There are only two kinds," answered Brook, gravely. "There is our
+kind--and then there is the other kind. I don't know what to call them,
+do you? All the people who never seem to understand exactly what we are
+talking about nor why we do things--and all that. I call them 'the other
+kind.' But then I haven't a great command of language. What should you
+call them?"
+
+"Cads, perhaps," suggested Clare, who had not spoken for a long time.
+
+"Oh no, not exactly," answered the young man, looking at her. "Besides,
+'cads' doesn't include women, does it? A gentleman's son sometimes
+turns out a most awful cad, a regular 'bounder.' It's rare, but it does
+happen sometimes. A mere cad may know, and understand all right, but
+he's got the wrong sort of feeling inside of him about most things. For
+instance--you don't mind? A cad may know perfectly well that he ought
+not to 'kiss and tell'--but he will all the same. The 'other kind,' as I
+call them, don't even know. That makes them awfully hard to get on
+with."
+
+"Then, of the two, you prefer the cad?" inquired Clare coolly.
+
+"No. I don't know. They are both pretty bad. But a cad may be very
+amusing, sometimes."
+
+"When he kisses and tells?" asked the young girl viciously.
+
+Brook looked at her, in quick surprise at her tone.
+
+"No," he answered quietly. "I didn't mean that. The clowns in the circus
+represent amusing cads. Some of them are awfully clever, too," he added,
+turning the subject. "Some of those fiddling fellows are extraordinary.
+They really play very decently. They must have a lot of talent, when you
+think of all the different things they do besides their feats of
+strength--they act, and play the fiddle, and sing, and dance--"
+
+"You seem to have a great admiration for clowns," observed Clare in an
+indifferent tone.
+
+"Well--they are amusing, aren't they? Of course, it isn't high art, and
+that sort of thing, but one laughs at them, and sometimes they do very
+pretty things. One can't be always on one's hind legs, doing Hamlet, can
+one? There's a limit to the amount of tragedy one can stand during life.
+After all, it is better to laugh than to cry."
+
+"When one can," said Mrs. Bowring thoughtfully.
+
+"Some people always can, whatever happens," said the young girl.
+
+"Perhaps they are right," answered the young man. "Things are not often
+so serious as they are supposed to be. It's like being in a house that's
+supposed to be haunted--on All Hallow E'en, for instance--it's awfully
+gruesome and creepy at night when the wind moans and the owls screech.
+And then, the next morning, one wonders how one could have been such an
+idiot. Other things are often like that. You think the world's coming to
+an end--and then it doesn't, you know. It goes on just the same. You are
+rather surprised at first, but you soon get used to it. I suppose that
+is what is meant by losing one's illusions."
+
+"Sometimes the world stops for an individual and doesn't go on again,"
+said Mrs. Bowring, with a faint smile.
+
+"Oh, I suppose people do break their hearts sometimes," returned Brook,
+somewhat thoughtfully. "But it must be something tremendously serious,"
+he added with instant cheerfulness. "I don't believe it happens often.
+Most people just have a queer sensation in their throat for a minute,
+and they smoke a cigarette for their nerves, and go away and think of
+something else."
+
+Clare looked at him, and her eyes flashed angrily, for she remembered
+Lady Fan's cigarette and the preceding evening. He remembered it too,
+and was thinking of it, for he smiled as he spoke and looked away at the
+horizon as though he saw something in the air. For the first time in her
+life the young girl had a cruel impulse. She wished that she were a
+great beauty, or that she possessed infinite charm, that she might
+revenge the little lady in white and make the man suffer as he deserved.
+At one moment she was ashamed of the wish, and then again it returned,
+and she smiled as she thought of it.
+
+She was vaguely aware, too, that the man attracted her in a way which
+did not interfere with her resentment against him. She would certainly
+not have admitted that he was interesting to her on account of Lady
+Fan--but there was in her a feminine willingness to play with the fire
+at which another woman had burned her wings. Almost all women feel that,
+until they have once felt too much themselves. The more innocent and
+inexperienced they are, the more sure they are, as a rule, of their own
+perfect safety, and the more ready to run any risk.
+
+Neither of the women answered the young man's rather frivolous assertion
+for some moments. Then Mrs. Bowring looked at him kindly, but with a
+far-away expression, as though she were thinking of some one else.
+
+"You are young," she said gently.
+
+"It's true that I'm not very old," he answered. "I was five-and-twenty
+on my last birthday."
+
+"Five-and-twenty," repeated Mrs. Bowring very slowly, and looking at the
+distance, with the air of a person who is making a mental calculation.
+
+"Are you surprised?" asked the young man, watching her.
+
+She started a little.
+
+"Surprised? Oh dear no! Why should I be?"
+
+And again she looked at him earnestly, until, realising what she was
+doing, she suddenly shut her eyes, shook herself almost imperceptibly,
+and took out some work which she had brought out with her.
+
+"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I thought you might fancy I was a good deal older
+or younger. But I'm always told that I look just my age."
+
+"I think you do," answered Mrs. Bowring, without looking up.
+
+Clare glanced at his face again. It was natural, under the
+circumstances, though she knew his features by heart already. She met
+his eyes, and for a moment she could not look away from them. It was as
+though they fixed her against her will, after she had once met them.
+There was nothing extraordinary about them, except that they were very
+bright and clear. With an effort she turned away, and the faint colour
+rose in her face.
+
+"I am nineteen," she said quietly, as though she were answering a
+question.
+
+"Indeed?" exclaimed Brook, not thinking of anything else to say.
+
+Mrs. Bowring looked at her daughter in considerable surprise. Then Clare
+blushed painfully, realising that she had spoken without any intention
+of speaking, and had volunteered a piece of information which had
+certainly not been asked. It was very well, being but nineteen years
+old; but she was oddly conscious that if she had been forty she should
+have said so in just the same absent-minded way, at that moment.
+
+"Nineteen and six are twenty-five, aren't they?" asked Mrs. Bowring
+suddenly.
+
+"Yes, I believe so," answered the young man, with a laugh, but a good
+deal surprised in his turn, for the question seemed irrelevant and
+absurd in the extreme. "But I'm not good at sums," he added. "I was an
+awful idiot at school. They used to call me Log. That was short for
+logarithm, you know, because I was such a log at arithmetic. A fellow
+gave me the nickname one day. It wasn't very funny, so I punched his
+head. But the name stuck to me. Awfully appropriate, anyhow, as it
+turned out."
+
+"Did you punch his head because it wasn't funny?" asked Clare, glad of
+the turn in the conversation.
+
+"Oh--I don't know--on general principles. He was a diabolically clever
+little chap, though he wasn't very witty. He came out Senior Wrangler at
+Cambridge. I heard he had gone mad last year. Lots of those clever chaps
+do, you know. Or else they turn parsons and take pupils for a living.
+I'd much rather be stupid, myself. There's more to live for, when you
+don't know everything. Don't you think so?"
+
+Both women laughed, and felt that the man was tactful. They were also
+both reflecting, of themselves and of each other, that they were not
+generally silly women, and they wondered how they had both managed to
+say such foolish things, speaking out irrelevantly what was passing in
+their minds.
+
+"I think I shall go for a walk," said Brook, rising rather abruptly.
+"I'll go up the hill for a change. Thanks awfully. Good-bye!"
+
+He lifted his hat and went off towards the hotel. Mrs. Bowring looked
+after him, but Clare leaned back in her seat and opened a book she had
+with her. The colour rose and fell in her cheeks, and she kept her eyes
+resolutely bent down.
+
+"What a nice fellow!" exclaimed Mrs. Bowring when the young man was out
+of hearing. "I wonder who he is."
+
+"What difference can it make, what his name is?" asked Clare, still
+looking down.
+
+"What is the matter with you, child?" Mrs. Bowring asked. "You talk so
+strangely to-day!"
+
+"So do you, mother. Fancy asking him whether nineteen and six are
+twenty-five!"
+
+"For that matter, my dear, I thought it very strange that you should
+tell him your age, like that."
+
+"I suppose I was absent-minded. Yes! I know it was silly, I don't know
+why I said it. Do you want to know his name? I'll go and see. It must be
+on the board by this time, as he is stopping here."
+
+She rose and was going, when her mother called her back.
+
+"Clare! Wait till he is gone, at all events! Fancy, if he saw you!"
+
+"Oh! He won't see me! If he comes that way I'll go into the office and
+buy stamps."
+
+Clare went in and looked over the square board with its many little
+slips for the names of the guests. Some were on visiting cards and some
+were written in the large, scrawling, illiterate hand of the head
+waiter. Some belonged to people who were already gone. It looked well,
+in the little hotel, to have a great many names on the list. Some
+seconds passed before Clare found that of the new-comer.
+
+"Mr. Brook Johnstone."
+
+Brook was his first name, then. It was uncommon. She looked at it
+fixedly. There was no address on the small, neatly engraved card. While
+she was looking at it a door opened quietly behind her, in the opposite
+side of the corridor. She paid no attention to it for a moment; then,
+hearing no footsteps, she instinctively turned. Brook Johnstone was
+standing on the threshold watching her. She blushed violently, in her
+annoyance, for he could not doubt but that she was looking for his name.
+He saw and understood, and came forward naturally, with a smile. He had
+a stick in his hand.
+
+"That's me," he said, with a little laugh, tapping his card on the
+board with the head of his stick. "If I'd had an ounce of manners I
+should have managed to tell you who I was by this time. Won't you excuse
+me, and take this for an introduction? Johnstone--with an E at the
+end--Scotch, you know."
+
+"Thanks," answered Clare, recovering from her embarrassment. "I'll tell
+my mother." She hesitated a moment. "And that's us," she added, laughing
+rather nervously and pointing out one of the cards. "How grammatical we
+are, aren't we?" she laughed, while he stooped and read the name which
+chanced to be at the bottom of the board.
+
+"Well--what should one say? 'That's we.' It sounds just as badly. And
+you can't say 'we are that,' can you? Besides, there's no one to hear
+us, so it makes no difference. I don't suppose that you--you and Mrs.
+Bowring--would care to go for a walk, would you?"
+
+"No," answered Clare, with sudden coldness. "I don't think so, thank
+you. We are not great walkers."
+
+They went as far as the door together. Johnstone bowed and walked off,
+and Clare went back to her mother.
+
+"He caught me," she said, in a tone of annoyance. "You were quite right.
+Then he showed me his name himself, on the board. It's Johnstone--Mr.
+Brook Johnstone, with an E--he says that he is Scotch. Why--mother!
+Johnstone! How odd! That was the name of--"
+
+She stopped short and looked at her mother, who had grown unnaturally
+pale during the last few seconds.
+
+"Yes, dear. That was the name of my first husband."
+
+Mrs. Bowring spoke in a low voice, looking down at her work. But her
+hands trembled violently, and she was clearly making a great effort to
+control herself. Clare watched her anxiously, not at all understanding.
+
+"Mother dear, what is it?" she asked. "The name is only a
+coincidence--it's not such an uncommon name, after all--and besides--"
+
+"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Bowring, in a dull tone. "It's a mere
+coincidence--probably no relation. I'm nervous, to-day."
+
+Her manner seemed unaccountable to her daughter, except on the
+supposition that she was ill. She very rarely spoke of her first
+husband, by whom she had no children. When she did, she mentioned his
+name gravely, as one speaks of dead persons who have been dear, but that
+was all. She had never shown anything like emotion in connection with
+the subject, and the young girl avoided it instinctively, as most
+children, of whose parents the one has been twice married, avoid the
+mention of the first husband or wife, who was not their father or
+mother.
+
+"I wish I understood you!" exclaimed Clare.
+
+"There's nothing to understand, dear," said Mrs. Bowring, still very
+pale. "I'm nervous--that's all."
+
+Before long she left Clare by herself and went indoors, and locked
+herself into her room. The rooms in the old hotel were once the cells of
+the monks, small vaulted chambers in which there is barely space for the
+most necessary furniture. During nearly an hour Mrs. Bowring paced up
+and down, a beat of fourteen feet between the low window and the locked
+door. At last she stopped before the little glass, and looked at
+herself, and smoothed her streaked hair.
+
+"Nineteen and six--are twenty-five," she said slowly in a low voice, and
+her eyes stared into their own reflection rather wildly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Brook Johnstone's people did not come on the next day, nor on the day
+after that, but he expressed no surprise at the delay, and did not again
+say that it was a bore to have to wait for them. Meanwhile he spent a
+great deal of his time with the Bowrings, and the acquaintance ripened
+quickly towards intimacy, without passing near friendship, as such
+acquaintance sometimes will, when it springs up suddenly in the shallow
+ground of an out-of-the-way hotel on the Continent.
+
+"For Heaven's sake don't let that man fall in love with you, Clare!"
+said Mrs. Bowring one morning, with what seemed unnecessary vehemence.
+
+Clare's lip curled scornfully as she thought of poor Lady Fan.
+
+"There isn't the slightest danger of that!" she answered. "Any more than
+there is of my falling in love with him," she added.
+
+"Are you sure of that?" asked her mother. "You seem to like him.
+Besides, he is very nice, and very good-looking."
+
+"Oh yes--of course he is. But one doesn't necessarily fall in love with
+every nice and good-looking man one meets."
+
+Thereupon Clare cut the conversation short by going off to her own room.
+She had been expecting for some time that her mother would make some
+remark about the growing intimacy with young Johnstone. To tell the
+truth, Mrs. Bowring had not the slightest ground for anxiety in any
+previous attachment of her daughter. She was beginning to wonder whether
+Clare would ever show any preference for any man.
+
+But she did not at all wish to marry her at present, for she felt that
+life without the girl would be unbearably lonely. On the other hand,
+Clare had a right to marry. They were poor. A part of their little
+income was the pension that Mrs. Bowring had been fortunate enough to
+get as the widow of an officer killed in action, but that would cease at
+her death, as poor Captain Bowring's allowance from his family had
+ceased at his death. The family had objected to the marriage from the
+first, and refused to do anything for his child after he was gone. It
+would go hard with Clare if she were left alone in the world with what
+her mother could leave her. On the other hand, that little, or the
+prospect of it, was quite safe, and would make a great difference to
+her, as a married woman. The two lived on it, with economy. Clare could
+certainly dress very well on it if she married a rich man, but she could
+as certainly not afford to marry a poor one.
+
+As for this young Johnstone, he had not volunteered much information
+about himself, and, though Mrs. Bowring sometimes asked him questions,
+she was extremely careful not to ask any which could be taken in the
+nature of an inquiry as to his prospects in life, merely because that
+might possibly suggest to him that she was thinking of her daughter. And
+when an Englishman is reticent in such matters, it is utterly impossible
+to guess whether he be a millionaire or a penniless younger son.
+Johnstone never spoke of money, in any connection. He never said that he
+could afford one thing or could not afford another. He talked a good
+deal of shooting and sport, but never hinted that his father had any
+land. He never mentioned a family place in the country, nor anything of
+the sort. He did not even tell the Bowrings to whom the yacht belonged
+in which he had come, though he frequently alluded to things which had
+been said and done by the party during a two months' cruise, chiefly in
+eastern waters.
+
+The Bowrings were quite as reticent about themselves, and each respected
+the other's silence. Nevertheless they grew intimate, scarcely knowing
+how the intimacy developed. That is to say, they very quickly became
+accustomed, all three, to one another's society. If Johnstone was out of
+the hotel first, of an afternoon, he moped about with his pipe in an
+objectless way, as though he had lost something, until the Bowrings came
+out. If he was writing letters and they appeared first, they talked in
+detached phrases and looked often towards the door, until he came and
+sat down beside them.
+
+On the third evening, at dinner, he seemed very much amused at
+something, and then, as though he could not keep the joke to himself, he
+told his companions that he had received a telegram from his father, in
+answer to one of his own, informing him that he had made a mistake of a
+whole fortnight in the date, and must amuse himself as he pleased in the
+interval.
+
+"Just like me!" he observed. "I got the letter in Smyrna or somewhere--I
+forget--and I managed to lose it before I had read it through. But I
+thought I had the date all right. I'm glad, at all events. I was tired
+of those good people, and it's ever so much pleasanter here."
+
+Clare's gentle mouth hardened suddenly as she thought of Lady Fan.
+Johnstone had been thoroughly tired of her. That was what he meant when
+he spoke of "those good people."
+
+"You get tired of people easily, don't you?" she inquired coldly.
+
+"Oh no--not always," answered Johnstone.
+
+By this time he was growing used to her sudden changes of manner and to
+the occasional scornful speeches she made. He could not understand them
+in the least, as may be imagined, and having considerable experience he
+set them down to the score of a certain girlish shyness, which showed
+itself in no other way. He had known women whose shyness manifested
+itself in saying disagreeable things for which they were sometimes sorry
+afterwards.
+
+"No," he added reflectively. "I don't think I'm a very fickle person."
+
+Clare turned upon him the terrible innocence of her clear blue eyes. She
+thought she knew the truth about him too, and that he could not look her
+in the face. But she was mistaken. He met her glance fearlessly and
+quietly, with a frank smile and a little wonder at its fixed scrutiny.
+She would not look away, rude though she might seem, nor be stared out
+of countenance by a man whom she believed to be false and untrue. But
+his eyes were very bright, and in a few seconds they began to dazzle
+her, and she felt her eyelids trembling violently. It was a new
+sensation, and a very unpleasant one. It seemed to her that the man had
+suddenly got some power over her. She made a strong effort and turned
+away her face, and again she blushed with annoyance.
+
+"I beg your pardon," Johnstone said quickly, in a very low voice. "I
+didn't mean to be so rude."
+
+Clare said nothing as she sat beside him, but she looked at the opposite
+wall, and her hand made an impatient little gesture as the fingers lay
+on the edge of the table. Possibly, if her mother had not been on her
+other side, she might have answered him. As it was, she felt that she
+could not speak just then. She was very much disturbed, as though
+something new and totally unknown had got hold of her. It was not only
+that she hated the man for his heartlessness, while she felt that he had
+some sort of influence over her, which was more than mere attraction.
+There was something beyond, deep down in her heart, which was nameless,
+and painful, but which she somehow felt that she wanted. And aside from
+it all, she was angry with him for having stared her out of countenance,
+forgetting that when she had turned upon him she had meant to do the
+same by him, feeling quite sure that he could not look her in the face.
+
+They spoke little during the remainder of the meal, for Clare was quite
+willing to show that she was angry, though she had little right to be.
+After all, she had looked at him, and he had looked at her. After dinner
+she disappeared, and was not seen during the remainder of the evening.
+
+When she was alone, however, she went over the whole matter
+thoughtfully, and she made up her mind that she had been hasty. For she
+was naturally just. She said to herself that she had no claim to the
+man's secrets, which she had learned in a way of which she was not at
+all proud; and that if he could keep his own counsel, he, on his side,
+had a right to do so. The fact that she knew him to be heartless and
+faithless by no means implied that he was also indiscreet, though when
+an individual has done anything which we think bad we easily suppose
+that he may do every other bad thing imaginable. Johnstone's discretion,
+at least, was admirable, now that she thought of it. His bright eyes and
+frank look would have disarmed any suspicion short of the certainty she
+possessed. There had not been the least contraction of the lids, the
+smallest change in the expression of his mouth, not the faintest
+increase of colour in his young face.
+
+So much the worse, thought the young girl suddenly. He was not only bad.
+He was also an accomplished actor. No doubt his eyes had been as steady
+and bright and his whole face as truthful when he had made love to Lady
+Fan at sunset on the Acropolis. Somehow, the allusion to that scene had
+produced a vivid impression on Clare's mind, and she often found herself
+wondering what he had said, and how he had looked just then.
+
+Her resentment against him increased as she thought it all over, and
+again she felt a longing to be cruel to him, and to make him suffer just
+what he had made Lady Fan endure.
+
+Then she was suddenly and unexpectedly overcome by a shamed sense of her
+inability to accomplish any such act of justice. It was as though she
+had already tried, and had failed, and he had laughed in her face and
+turned away. It seemed to her that there could be nothing in her which
+could appeal to such a man. There was Lady Fan, much older, with plenty
+of experience, doubtless; and she had been deceived, and betrayed, and
+abandoned, before the young girl's very eyes. What chance could such a
+mere girl possibly have? It was folly, and moreover it was wicked of her
+to think of such things. She would be willingly lowering herself to his
+level, trying to do the very thing which she despised and hated in him,
+trying to outwit him, to out-deceive him, to out-betray him. One side
+of her nature, at least, revolted against any such scheme. Besides, she
+could never do it.
+
+She was not a great beauty; she was not extraordinarily clever--not
+clever at all, she said to herself in her sudden fit of humility; she
+had no "experience." That last word means a good deal more to most young
+girls than they can find in it after life's illogical surprises have
+taught them the terrible power of chance and mood and impulse.
+
+She glanced at her face in the mirror, and looked away. Then she glanced
+again. The third time she turned to the glass she began to examine her
+features in detail. Lady Fan was a fair woman, too. But, without vanity,
+she had to admit that she was much better-looking than Lady Fan. She was
+also much younger and fresher, which should be an advantage, she
+thought. She wished that her hair were golden instead of flaxen; that
+her eyes were dark instead of blue; that her cheeks were not so thin,
+and her throat a shade less slender. Nevertheless, she would have been
+willing to stand any comparison with the little lady in white. Of
+course, compared with the famous beauties, some of whom she had seen,
+she was scarcely worth a glance. Doubtless, Brook Johnstone knew them
+all.
+
+Then she gazed into her own eyes. She did not know that a woman, alone,
+may look into her own eyes and blush and turn away. She looked long and
+steadily, and quite quietly. After all, they looked dark, for the pupils
+were very large and the blue iris was of that deep colour which borders
+upon violet. There was something a little unusual in them, too, though
+she could not quite make out what it was. Why did not all women look
+straight before them as she did? There must be some mysterious reason.
+It was a pity that her eyelashes were almost white. Yet they, too, added
+something to the peculiarity of that strange gaze.
+
+"They are like periwinkles in a snowstorm!" exclaimed Clare, tired of
+her own face; and she turned from the mirror and went to bed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+The first sign that two people no longer stand to each other in the
+relation of mere acquaintances is generally that the tones of their
+voices change, while they feel a slight and unaccountable constraint
+when they happen to be left alone together.
+
+Two days passed after the little incident which had occurred at dinner
+before Clare and Johnstone were momentarily face to face out of Mrs.
+Bowring's sight. At first Clare had not been aware that her mother was
+taking pains to be always present when the young man was about, but when
+she noticed the fact she at once began to resent it. Such constant
+watchfulness was unlike her mother, un-English, and almost unnatural.
+When they were all seated together on the terrace, if Mrs. Bowring
+wished to go indoors to write a letter or to get something she invented
+some excuse for making her daughter go with her, and stay with her till
+she came out again. A French or Italian mother could not have been more
+particular or careful, but a French or Italian girl would have been
+accustomed to such treatment, and would not have seen anything unusual
+in it. But Mrs. Bowring had never acted in such a way before now, and it
+irritated the young girl extremely. She felt that she was being treated
+like a child, and that Johnstone must see it and think it ridiculous. At
+last Clare made an attempt at resistance, out of sheer contrariety.
+
+"I don't want to write letters!" she answered impatiently. "I wrote two
+yesterday. It is hot indoors, and I would much rather stay here!"
+
+Mrs. Bowring went as far as the parapet, and looked down at the sea for
+a moment. Then she came back and sat down again.
+
+"It's quite true," she said. "It is hot indoors. I don't think I shall
+write, after all."
+
+Brook Johnstone could not help smiling a little, though he turned away
+his face to hide his amusement. It was so perfectly evident that Mrs.
+Bowring was determined not to leave Clare alone with him that he must
+have been blind not to see it. Clare saw the smile, and was angry. She
+was nineteen years old, she had been out in the world, the terrace was a
+public place, Johnstone was a gentleman, and the whole thing was absurd.
+She took up her work and closed her lips tightly.
+
+Johnstone felt the awkwardness, rose suddenly, and said he would go for
+a walk. Clare raised her eyes and nodded as he lifted his hat. He was
+still smiling, and her resentment deepened. A moment later, mother and
+daughter were alone. Clare did not lay down her work, nor look up when
+she spoke.
+
+"Really, mother, it's too absurd!" she exclaimed, and a little colour
+came to her cheeks.
+
+"What is absurd, my dear?" asked Mrs. Bowring, affecting not to
+understand.
+
+"Your abject fear of leaving me for five minutes with Mr. Johnstone. I'm
+not a baby. He was laughing. I was positively ashamed! What do you
+suppose could have happened, if you had gone in and written your letters
+and left us quietly here? And it happens every day, you know! If you
+want a glass of water, I have to go in with you."
+
+"My dear! What an exaggeration!"
+
+"It's not an exaggeration, mother--really. You know that you wouldn't
+leave me with him for five minutes, for anything in the world."
+
+"Do you wish to be left alone with him, my dear?" asked Mrs. Bowring,
+rather abruptly.
+
+Clare was indignant.
+
+"Wish it? No! Certainly not! But if it should happen naturally, by
+accident, I should not get up and run away. I'm not afraid of the man,
+as you seem to be. What can he do to me? And you have no idea how
+strangely you behave, and what ridiculous excuses you invent for me.
+The other day you insisted on my going in to look for a train in the
+time-tables when you know we haven't the slightest intention of going
+away for ever so long. Really--you're turning into a perfect duenna. I
+wish you would behave naturally, as you always used to do."
+
+"I think you exaggerate," said Mrs. Bowring. "I never leave you alone
+with men you hardly know--"
+
+"You can't exactly say that we hardly know Mr. Johnstone, when he has
+been with us, morning, noon, and night, for nearly a week, mother."
+
+"My dear, we know nothing about him--"
+
+"If you are so anxious to know his father's Christian name, ask him. It
+wouldn't seem at all odd. I will, if you like."
+
+"Don't!" cried Mrs. Bowring, with unusual energy. "I mean," she added in
+a lower tone and looking away, "it would be very rude--he would think it
+very strange. In fact, it is merely idle curiosity on my part--really, I
+would much rather not know."
+
+Clare looked at her mother in surprise.
+
+"How oddly you talk!" she exclaimed. Then her tone changed. "Mother
+dear--is anything the matter? You don't seem quite--what shall I say?
+Are you suffering, dearest? Has anything happened?"
+
+She dropped her work, and leaned forward, her hand on her mother's, and
+gazing into her face with a look of anxiety.
+
+"No, dear," answered Mrs. Bowring. "No, no--it's nothing. Perhaps I'm a
+little nervous--that's all."
+
+"I believe the air of this place doesn't suit you. Why shouldn't we go
+away at once?"
+
+Mrs. Bowring shook her head and protested energetically.
+
+"No--oh no! I wouldn't go away for anything. I like the place immensely,
+and we are both getting perfectly well here. Oh no! I wouldn't think of
+going away."
+
+Clare leaned back in her seat again. She was devotedly fond of her
+mother, and she could not but see that something was wrong. In spite of
+what she said, Mrs. Bowring was certainly not growing stronger, though
+she was not exactly ill. The pale face was paler, and there was a worn
+and restless look in the long-suffering, almost colourless eyes.
+
+"I'm sorry I made such a fuss about Mr. Johnstone," said Clare softly,
+after a short pause.
+
+"No, darling," answered her mother instantly. "I dare say I have been a
+little over careful. I don't know--I had a sort of presentiment that you
+might take a fancy to him."
+
+"I know. You said so the first day. But I sha'n't, mother. You need not
+be at all afraid. He is not at all the sort of man to whom I should ever
+take a fancy, as you call it."
+
+"I don't see why not," said Mrs. Bowring thoughtfully.
+
+"Of course--it's hard to explain." Clare smiled. "But if that is what
+you are afraid of, you can leave us alone all day. My 'fancy' would be
+quite, quite different."
+
+"Very well, darling. At all events, I'll try not to turn into a duenna."
+
+Johnstone did not appear again until dinner, and then he was unusually
+silent, only exchanging a remark with Clare now and then, and not once
+leaning forward to say a few words to Mrs. Bowring as he generally did.
+The latter had at first thought of exchanging places with her daughter,
+but had reflected that it would be almost a rudeness to make such a
+change after the second day.
+
+They went out upon the terrace, and had their coffee there. Several of
+the other people did the same, and walked slowly up and down under the
+vines. Mrs. Bowring, wishing to destroy as soon as possible the
+unpleasant impression she had created, left the two together, saying
+that she would get something to put over her shoulders, as the air was
+cool.
+
+Clare and Johnstone stood by the parapet and looked at each other. Then
+Clare leaned with her elbows on the wall and stared in silence at the
+little lights on the beach below, trying to make out the shapes of the
+boats which were hauled up in a long row. Neither spoke for a long time,
+and Clare, at least, felt unpleasantly the constraint of the unusual
+silence.
+
+"It is a beautiful place, isn't it?" observed Johnstone at last, for the
+sake of hearing his own voice.
+
+"Oh yes, quite beautiful," answered the young girl in a
+half-indifferent, half-discontented tone, and the words ended with a
+sort of girlish sniff.
+
+Again there was silence. Johnstone, standing up beside her, looked
+towards the hotel, to see whether Mrs. Bowring were coming back. But she
+was anxious to appear indifferent to their being together, and was in no
+hurry to return. Johnstone sat down upon the wall, while Clare leaned
+over it.
+
+"Miss Bowring!" he said suddenly, to call her attention.
+
+"Yes?" She did not look up; but to her own amazement she felt a queer
+little thrill at the sound of his voice, for it had not its usual tone.
+
+"Don't you think I had better go to Naples?" he asked.
+
+Clare felt herself start a little, and she waited a moment before she
+said anything in reply. She did not wish to betray any astonishment in
+her voice. Johnstone had asked the question under a sudden impulse; but
+a far wiser and more skilful man than himself could not have hit upon
+one better calculated to precipitate intimacy. Clare, on her side, was
+woman enough to know that she had a choice of answers, and to see that
+the answer she should choose must make a difference hereafter. At the
+same time, she had been surprised, and when she thought of it afterwards
+it seemed to her that the question itself had been an impertinent one,
+merely because it forced her to make an answer of some sort. She decided
+in favour of making everything as clear as possible.
+
+"Why?" she asked, without looking round.
+
+At all events she would throw the burden of an elucidation upon him. He
+was not afraid of taking it up.
+
+"It's this," he answered. "I've rather thrust my acquaintance upon you,
+and, if I stay here until my people come, I can't exactly change my seat
+and go and sit at the other end of the table, nor pretend to be busy all
+day, and never come out here and sit with you, after telling you
+repeatedly that I have nothing on earth to do. Can I?"
+
+"Why should you?"
+
+"Because Mrs. Bowring doesn't like me."
+
+Clare rose from her elbows and stood up, resting her hands upon the
+wall, but still looking down at the lights on the beach.
+
+"I assure you, you're quite mistaken," she answered, with quiet
+emphasis. "My mother thinks you're very nice."
+
+"Then why--" Johnstone checked himself, and crumbled little bits of
+mortar from the rough wall with his thumbs.
+
+"Why what?"
+
+"I don't know whether I know you well enough to ask the question, Miss
+Bowring."
+
+"Let's assume that you do--for the sake of argument," said Clare, with a
+short laugh, as she glanced at his face, dimly visible in the falling
+darkness.
+
+"Thanks awfully," he answered, but he did not laugh with her. "It isn't
+exactly an easy thing to say, is it? Only--I couldn't help noticing--I
+hope you'll forgive me, if you think I'm rude, won't you? I couldn't
+help noticing that your mother was most awfully afraid of leaving us
+alone for a minute, you know--as though she thought I were a suspicious
+character, don't you know? Something of that sort. So, of course, I
+thought she didn't like me. Do you see? Tremendously cheeky of me to
+talk in this way, isn't it?"
+
+"Do you know? It is, rather." Clare was more inclined to laugh than
+before, but she only smiled in the dark.
+
+"Well, it would be, of course, if I didn't happen to be so painfully
+respectable."
+
+"Painfully respectable! What an expression!" This time, Clare laughed
+aloud.
+
+"Yes. That's just it. Well, I couldn't exactly tell Mrs. Bowring that,
+could I? Besides, one isn't vain of being respectable. I couldn't say,
+Please, Mrs. Bowring, my father is Mr. Smith, and my mother was a Miss
+Brown, of very good family, and we've got five hundred a year in
+Consols, and we're not in trade, and I've been to a good school, and am
+not at all dangerous. It would have sounded so--so uncalled for, don't
+you know? Wouldn't it?"
+
+"Very. But now that you've explained it to me, I suppose I may tell my
+mother, mayn't I? Let me see. Your father is Mr. Smith, and your mother
+was a Miss Brown--"
+
+"Oh, please--no!" interrupted Johnstone. "I didn't mean it so very
+literally. But it is just about that sort of thing--just like anybody
+else. Only about our not being in trade, I'm not so sure of that. My
+father is a brewer. Brewing is not a profession, so I suppose it must be
+a trade, isn't it?"
+
+"You might call it a manufacture," suggested Clare.
+
+"Yes. It sounds better. But that isn't the question, you know. You'll
+see my people when they come, and then you'll understand what I
+mean--they really are tremendously respectable."
+
+"Of course!" assented the young girl. "Like the party you came with on
+the yacht. That kind of people."
+
+"Oh dear no!" exclaimed Johnstone. "Not at all those kind of people.
+They wouldn't like it at all, if you said so."
+
+"Ah! indeed!" Clare was inclined to laugh again.
+
+"The party I came with belong rather to a gay set. Awfully nice, you
+know," he hastened to add, "and quite the people one knows at home. But
+my father and mother--oh no! they are quite different--the difference
+between whist and baccarat, you know, if you understand that sort of
+thing--old port and brandy and soda--both very good in their way, but
+quite different."
+
+"I should think so."
+
+"Then--" Johnstone hesitated again. "Then, Miss Bowring--you don't think
+that your mother really dislikes me, after all?"
+
+"Oh dear no! Not in the least. I've heard her say all sorts of nice
+things about you."
+
+"Really? Then I think I'll stay here. I didn't want to be a nuisance,
+you know--always in the way."
+
+"You're not in the way," answered Clare.
+
+Mrs. Bowring came back with her shawl, and the rest of the evening
+passed off as usual. Later, when she was alone, the young girl
+remembered all the conversation, and she saw that it had been in her
+power to make Johnstone leave Amalfi. While she was wondering why she
+had not done so, since she hated him for what she knew of him, she fell
+asleep, and the question remained unanswered. In the morning she told
+the substance of it all to her mother, and ended by telling her that
+Johnstone's father was a brewer.
+
+"Of course," answered Mrs. Bowring absently. "I know that." Then she
+realised what she had said, and glanced at Clare with an odd, scared
+look.
+
+Clare uttered an exclamation of surprise.
+
+"Mother! Why, then--you knew all about him! Why didn't you tell me?"
+
+A long silence followed, during which Mrs. Bowring sat with her face
+turned from her daughter. Then she raised her hand and passed it slowly
+over her forehead, as though trying to collect her thoughts.
+
+"One comes across very strange things in life, my dear," she said at
+last. "I am not sure that we had not better go away, after all. I'll
+think about it."
+
+Beyond this Clare could get no information, nor any explanation of the
+fact that Mrs. Bowring should have known something about Brook
+Johnstone's father. The girl made a guess, of course. The elder
+Johnstone must be a relation of her mother's first husband; though,
+considering that Mrs. Bowring had never seen Brook before now, and that
+the latter had never told her anything about his father, it was hard to
+see how she could be so sure of the fact. Possibly, Brook strongly
+resembled his father's family. That, indeed, was the only admissible
+theory. But all that Clare knew and could put together into reasonable
+shape could not explain why her mother so much disliked leaving her
+alone with the man, even for five minutes.
+
+In this, however, Mrs. Bowring changed suddenly, after the first evening
+when she had left them on the terrace. She either took a totally
+different view of the situation, or else she was ashamed of seeming to
+watch them all the time, and the consequence was that during the next
+three or four days they were very often together without her.
+
+Johnstone enjoyed the young girl's society, and did not pretend to deny
+the fact in his own thoughts. Whatever mischief he might have been in
+while on the yacht, his natural instincts were simple and honest. In a
+certain way, Clare was a revelation to him of something to which he had
+never been accustomed, and which he had most carefully avoided. He had
+no sisters, and as a boy he had not been thrown with girls. He was an
+only son, and his mother, a very practical woman, had warned him as he
+grew up that he was a great match, and had better avoid young girls
+altogether until he saw one whom he should like to marry, though how he
+was to see that particular one, if he avoided all alike, was a question
+into which his mother did not choose to enter. Having first gone into
+society upon this principle, however, and having been at once taken up
+and made much of by an extremely fashionable young woman afflicted with
+an elderly and eccentric husband, it was not likely that Brook would
+return to the threshold of the schoolroom for women's society. He went
+on as he had begun in his first "salad" days, and at five-and-twenty he
+had the reputation of having done more damage than any of his young
+contemporaries, while he had never once shown the slightest inclination
+to marry. His mother, always a practical woman, did not press the
+question of marriage, deeming that with his disposition he would stand a
+better chance of married peace when he had expended a good deal of what
+she called his vivacity; and his father, who came of very long-lived
+people, always said that no man should take a wife before he was thirty.
+As Brook did not gamble immoderately, nor start a racing stable, nor
+propose to manage an opera troupe, the practical lady felt that he was
+really a very good young man. His father liked him for his own sake; but
+as Adam Johnstone had been gay in his youth, in spite of his sober
+Scotch blood, even beyond the bounds of ordinary "fastness," the fact of
+his being fond of Brook was not of itself a guarantee that the latter
+was such a very good young man as his mother said that he was. Somehow
+or other Brook had hitherto managed to keep clear of any entanglement
+which could hamper his life, probably by virtue of that hardness which
+he had shown to poor Lady Fan, and which had so strongly prejudiced
+Clare Bowring against him. His father said cynically that the lad was
+canny. Hitherto he had certainly shown that he could be selfish; and
+perhaps there is less difference between the meanings of the Scotch and
+English words than most people suppose.
+
+Daily and almost hourly intercourse with such a young girl as Clare was
+a totally new experience to Brook Johnstone, and there were moments
+when he hardly recognised himself for the man who had landed from the
+yacht ten days earlier, and who had said good-bye to Lady Fan on the
+platform behind the hotel.
+
+Hitherto he had always known in a day or two whether he was inclined to
+make love to a woman or not. An inclination to make love and the
+satisfaction of it had been, so far, his nearest approach to being in
+love at all. Nor, when he had felt the inclination, had he ever
+hesitated. Like a certain great English statesman of similar
+disposition, he had sometimes been repulsed, but he never remembered
+having given offence. For he possessed that tactful intuition which
+guides some men through life in their intercourse with women. He rarely
+spoke the first word too soon, and if he were going to speak at all he
+never spoke too late--which error is, of the two, by far the greater. He
+was young, perhaps, to have had such experience; but in the social world
+of to-day it is especially the fashion for men to be extremely young,
+even to youthfulness, and lack of years is no longer the atrocious crime
+which Pitt would neither attempt to palliate or deny. We have just
+emerged from a period of wrinkles and paint, during which we were told
+that age knew everything and youth nothing. The explosion into nonsense
+of nine tenths of all we were taught at school and college has given
+our children a terrible weapon against us; and women, who are all
+practical in their own way, prefer the blundering whole-heartedness of
+youth to the skilful tactics and over-effective effects of the
+middle-aged love-actor. In this direction, at least, the breeze that
+goes before the dawn of a new century is already blowing. Perhaps it is
+a good sign--but a sign of some sort it certainly is.
+
+Brook Johnstone felt that he was in an unfamiliar position, and he tried
+to analyse his own feelings. He was perfectly honest about it, but he
+had very little talent for analysis. On the other hand, he had a very
+keen sense of what we roughly call honour. Clare was not Lady Fan, and
+would probably never get into that category. Clare belonged amongst the
+women whom he respected, and he respected them all, with all his heart.
+They included all young girls, and his mother, and all young women who
+were happily married. It will be admitted that, for a man who made no
+pretence to higher virtues, Brook was no worse than his contemporaries,
+and was better than a great many.
+
+Be that as it may, in lack of any finer means of discrimination, he
+tried to define his own position with regard to Clare Bowring very
+simply and honestly. Either he was falling in love, or he was not.
+Secondly, Clare was either the kind of girl whom he should like to
+marry, spoken of by his practical mother--or she was not.
+
+So far, all was extremely plain. The trouble was that he could not find
+any answers to the questions. He could not in the least be sure that he
+was falling in love, because he knew that he had never really been in
+love in his life. And as for saying at once that Clare was, or was not,
+the girl whom he should like to marry, how in the world could he tell
+that, unless he fell in love with her? Of course he did not wish to
+marry her unless he loved her. But he conceived it possible that he
+might fall in love with her and then not wish to marry her after all,
+which, in his simple opinion, would have been entirely despicable. If
+there were any chance of that, he ought to go away at once. But he did
+not know whether there were any chance of it or not. He could go away in
+any case, in order to be on the safe side; but then, there was no reason
+in the world why he should not marry her, if he should love her, and if
+she would marry him. The question became very badly mixed, and under the
+circumstances he told himself that he was splitting hairs on the
+mountains he had made of his molehills. He determined to stay where he
+was. At all events, judging from all signs with which he was
+acquainted, Clare was very far indeed from being in love with him, so
+that in this respect his sense of honour was perfectly safe and
+undisturbed.
+
+Having set his mind at rest in this way, he allowed himself to talk with
+her as he pleased. There was no reason why he should hamper himself in
+conversation, so long as he said nothing calculated to make an
+impression--nothing which could come under the general head of "making
+love." The result was that he was much more agreeable than he supposed.
+Clare's innocent eyes watched him, and her mind was divided about him.
+
+She was utterly young and inexperienced, but she was a woman, and she
+believed him to be false, faithless, and designing. She had no idea of
+the broad distinction he drew between all good and innocent women like
+herself, and all the rest whom he considered lawful prey. She concluded
+therefore, very rashly, that he was simply pursuing his usual tactics, a
+main part of which consisted in seeming perfectly unaffected and natural
+while only waiting for a faint sign of encouragement in order then to
+play the part of the passionate lover.
+
+The generalisations of youth are terrible. What has failed once is
+despicably damned for ever. What is true to-day is true enough to-morrow
+to kill all other truths outright. The man whose hand has shaken once
+is a coward; he who has fought one battle is to be the hero of seventy.
+Life is a forest of inverted pyramids, for the young; upon every point
+is balanced a gigantic weight of top-heavy ideals, spreading
+base-upwards.
+
+To Clare, everything Johnstone said or did was the working of a
+faithless intention towards its end. It was clear enough that he sought
+her and stayed with her as long as he could, day by day. Therefore he
+intended to make love to her, sooner or later, and then, when he was
+tired, he would say good-bye to her just as he had said good-bye to Lady
+Fan, and break her heart, and have one story more to laugh over when he
+was alone. It was quite clear that he could not mean anything else,
+after what she had seen.
+
+All the same, he pleased her when he was with her, and attracted her
+oddly. She told herself that unless he had some unusual qualities he
+could not possibly break hearts for pastime, as he undoubtedly did, from
+year's end to year's end. She studied the question, and reached the
+conclusion that his strength was in his eyes. They were the most frank,
+brave, good-humoured, clear, unaffected eyes she had ever seen, but she
+could not look at them long. There was no reason why she should, indeed,
+but she hated to feel that she could not, if she chose. Whenever she
+tried, she at once had the feeling that he had power over her, to make
+her do things she did not wish to do. That was probably the way in which
+he had influenced Lady Fan and the other women, probably a dozen,
+thought Clare. If they were really as honest as they seemed, she thought
+she should have been able to meet them without the least sensation of
+nervousness.
+
+One day she caught herself wishing that he had never done the thing she
+so hated. She was too honest to attribute to him outward defects which
+he did not possess, and she could not help thinking what a fine fellow
+he would be if he were not so bad. She might have liked him very much,
+then. But as it was, it was impossible that she should ever not hate
+him. Then she smiled to herself, as she thought how surprised he would
+be if he could guess what she thought of him.
+
+But there was no probability of that, for she felt that she had no right
+to know what she knew, and so she treated him always, as she thought,
+with the same even, indifferent civility. But not seldom she knew that
+she was wickedly wishing that he might really fall in love with her and
+find out that men could break their hearts as well as women. She should
+like to fight with him, with his own weapons, for the glory of all her
+sex, and make him thoroughly miserable for his sins. It could not be
+wrong to wish that, after what she had seen, but it would be very wrong
+to try and make him fall in love, just with that intention. That would
+be almost as bad as what he had done; not quite so bad, of course,
+because it would serve him right, but yet a deed which she might be
+ashamed to remember.
+
+She herself felt perfectly safe. She was neither sentimental nor
+susceptible, for if she had been one or the other she must by this time
+have had some "experience," as she vaguely called it. But she had not.
+She had never even liked any man so much as she liked this man whom she
+hated. This was not a contradiction of facts, which, as Euclid teaches
+us, is impossible. She liked him for what she saw, and she hated him for
+what she knew.
+
+One day, when Mrs. Bowring was present, the conversation turned upon a
+recent novel in which the hero, after making love to a woman, found that
+he had made a mistake, and promptly made love to her sister, whom he
+married in the end.
+
+"I despise that sort of man!" cried Clare, rather vehemently, and
+flashing her eyes upon Johnstone.
+
+For a moment she had thought that she could surprise him, that he would
+look away, or change colour, or in some way betray his most guilty
+conscience. But he did not seem in the least disturbed, and met her
+glance as calmly as ever.
+
+"Do you?" he asked with an indifferent laugh. "Why? The fellow was
+honest, at all events. He found that he didn't love the one to whom he
+was engaged, and that he did love the other. So he set things straight
+before it was too late, and married the right one. He was a very
+sensible man, and it must have taken courage to be so honest about it."
+
+"Courage!" exclaimed the young girl in high scorn. "He was a brute and a
+coward!"
+
+"Dear me!" laughed Brook. "Don't you admit that a man may ever make a
+mistake?"
+
+"When a man makes a mistake of that sort, he should either cut his
+throat, or else keep his word to the woman and try to make her happy."
+
+"That's a violent view--really! It seems to me that when a man has made
+a mistake the best thing to do is to go and say so. The bigger the
+mistake, the harder it is to acknowledge it, and the more courage it
+needs. Don't you think so, Mrs. Bowring?"
+
+"The mistake of all mistakes is a mistake in marriage," said the elder
+woman, looking away. "There is no remedy for that, but death."
+
+"Yes," answered Clare. "But don't you think that I'm right? It's what
+you say, after all--"
+
+"Not exactly, my dear. No man who doesn't love a woman can make her
+happy for long."
+
+"Well--a man who makes a woman think that he loves her, and then leaves
+her for some one else, is a brute, and a beast, and a coward, and a
+wretch, and a villain--and I hate him, and so do all women!"
+
+"That's categorical!" observed Brook, with a laugh. "But I dare say you
+are quite right in theory, only practice is so awfully different, you
+know. And a woman doesn't thank a man for pretending to love her."
+
+Clare's eyes flashed almost savagely, and her lip curled in scorn.
+
+"There's only one right," she said. "I don't know how many wrongs there
+are--and I don't want to know!"
+
+"No," answered Brook, gravely enough. "And there is no reason why you
+ever should."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+"You seemed to be most tremendously in earnest yesterday, when we were
+talking about that book," observed Brook on the following afternoon.
+
+"Of course I was," answered Clare. "I said just what I thought."
+
+They were walking together along the high road which leads from Amalfi
+towards Salerno. It is certainly one of the most beautiful roads in
+Europe, and in the whole world. The chain of rocky heights dashes with
+wild abruptness from its five thousand feet straight to the dark-blue
+sea, bristling with sharp needles and spikes of stone, rough with a
+chaos of brown boulders, cracked from peak to foot with deep torn
+gorges. In each gorge nestles a garden of orange and lemons and
+pomegranates, and out of the stones there blows a perfume of southern
+blossom through all the month of May. The sea lies dark and clear below,
+ever tideless, often still as a woodland pool; then, sometimes, it rises
+suddenly in deep-toned wrath, smiting the face of the cliff, booming
+through the low-mouthed caves, curling its great green curls and
+combing them out to frothing ringlets along the strips of beach, winding
+itself about the rock of Conca in a heavily gleaming sheet and whirling
+its wraith of foam to heaven, the very ghost of storm.
+
+And in the face of those rough rocks, high above the water, is hewn a
+way that leads round the mountain's base, many miles along it, over the
+sharp-jutting spurs, and in between the boulders and the needles, down
+into the gardens of the gorges and past the dark towers whence watchmen
+once descried the Saracen's ill-boding sail and sent up their warning
+beacon of smoke by day and fire by night.
+
+It is the most beautiful road in the world, in its infinite variety, in
+the grandeur above and the breadth below, and the marvellous rich
+sweetness of the deep gardens--passing as it does out of wilderness into
+splendour, out of splendour into wealth of colour and light and odour,
+and again out to the rugged strength of the loneliness beyond.
+
+Clare and Johnstone had exchanged idle phrases for a while, until they
+had passed Atrani and the turn where the new way leads up to Ravello,
+and were fairly out on the road. They were both glad to be out together
+and walking, for Clare had grown stronger, and was weary of always
+sitting on the terrace, and Johnstone was tired of taking long walks
+alone, merely for the sake of being hungry afterwards, and of late had
+given it up altogether. Mrs. Bowring herself was glad to be alone for
+once, and made little or no objection, and so the two had started in the
+early afternoon.
+
+Johnstone's remark had been premeditated, for his curiosity had been
+aroused on the preceding day by Clare's words and manner. But after she
+had given him her brief answer she said no more, and they walked on in
+silence for a few moments.
+
+"Yes," said Johnstone at last, as though he had been reflecting, "you
+generally say what you think. I didn't doubt it at the time. But you
+seem rather hard on the men. Women are all angels, of course--"
+
+"Not at all!" interrupted Clare. "Some of us are quite the contrary."
+
+"Well, it's a generally accepted thing, you know. That's what I mean.
+But it isn't generally accepted that men are. If you take men into
+consideration at all, you must make some allowances."
+
+"I don't see why. You are much stronger than we are. You all think that
+you have much more pride. You always say that you have a sense of honour
+which we can't understand. I should think that with all those advantages
+you would be much too proud to insist upon our making allowances for
+you."
+
+"That's rather keen, you know," answered Brook, with a laugh. "All the
+same, it's a woman's occupation to be good, and a man has a lot of other
+things to do besides. That's the plain English of it. When a woman isn't
+good she falls. When a man is bad, he doesn't--it's his nature."
+
+"Oh--if you begin by saying that all men are bad! That's an odd way out
+of it."
+
+"Not at all. Good men and bad women are the exceptions, that's all--in
+the way you mean goodness and badness."
+
+"And how do you think I mean goodness and badness? It seems to me that
+you are taking a great deal for granted, aren't you?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know," said Brook, growing vague on a sudden. "Those are
+rather hard things to talk about."
+
+"I like to talk about them. How do you think I understand those two
+words?"
+
+"I don't know," repeated Johnstone, still more vaguely. "I suppose your
+theory is that men and women are exactly equal, and that a man shouldn't
+do what a woman ought not to do--and all that, you know. I don't exactly
+know how to put it."
+
+"I don't see why what is wrong for a woman should be right for a man,"
+said Clare. "The law doesn't make any difference, does it? A man goes to
+prison for stealing or forging, and so does a woman. I don't see why
+society should make any distinction about other things. If there were a
+law against flirting, it would send the men to prison just like the
+women, wouldn't it?"
+
+"What an awful idea!" laughed Brook.
+
+"Yes, but in theory--"
+
+"Oh, in theory it's all right. But in practice we men are not wrapped in
+cotton and tied up with pink ribbons from the day we are born to the day
+we are married. I--I don't exactly know how to explain what I mean, but
+that's the general idea. Among poor people--I believe one mustn't say
+the lower classes any more--well, with them it isn't quite the same. The
+women don't get so much care and looking after, when they are young, you
+know--that sort of thing. The consequence is, that there's much more
+equality between men and women. I believe the women are worse, and the
+men are better--it's my opinion, at all events. I dare say it isn't
+worth much. It's only what I see at home, you know."
+
+"But the working people don't flirt!" exclaimed Clare. "They drink, and
+that sort of thing--"
+
+"Yes, lots of them drink, men and women. And as for flirting--they
+don't call it flirting, but in their way I dare say it's very much the
+same thing. Only, in our part of the country, a man who flirts, if you
+call it so, gets just as bad a name as a woman. You see, they have all
+had about the same bringing up. But with us it's quite different. A girl
+is brought up in a cage, like a turtle dove, with nothing to do except
+to be good, while a boy is sent to a public school when he is eleven or
+twelve, which is exactly the same as sending him to hell, except that he
+has the certainty of getting away."
+
+"But boys don't learn to flirt at Eton," observed the young girl.
+
+"Well--no," answered Johnstone. "But they learn everything else, except
+Latin and Greek, and they go to a private tutor to learn those things
+before they go to the university."
+
+"You mean that they learn to drink and gamble, and all that?" asked
+Clare.
+
+"Oh--more or less--a little of everything that does no good--and then
+you expect us afterwards to be the same as you are, who have been
+brought up by your mothers at home. It isn't fair, you know."
+
+"No," answered Clare, yielding. "It isn't fair. That strikes me as the
+best argument you have used yet. But it doesn't make it right, for all
+that. And why shouldn't men be brought up to be good, just as women
+are?"
+
+Brook laughed.
+
+"That's quite another matter. Only a paternal government could do
+that--or a maternal government. We haven't got either, so we have to do
+the best we can. I only state the fact, and you are obliged to admit it.
+I can't go back to the reason. The fact remains. In certain ways, at a
+certain age, all men as a rule are bad, and all women, on the whole, are
+good. Most of you know it, and you judge us accordingly and make
+allowances. But you yourself don't seem inclined to be merciful. Perhaps
+you'll be less hard-hearted when you are older."
+
+"I'm not hard-hearted!" exclaimed Clare, indignantly. "I'm only just.
+And I shall always be the same, I'm sure."
+
+"If I were a Frenchman," said Brook, "I should be polite, and say that I
+hoped so. As I'm not, and as it would be rude to say that I didn't
+believe it, I'll say nothing. Only to be what you call just, isn't the
+way to be liked, you know."
+
+"I don't want to be liked," Clare answered, rather sharply. "I hate what
+are called popular people!"
+
+"So do I. They are generally awful bores, don't you know? They want to
+keep the thing up and be liked all the time."
+
+"Well--if one likes people at all, one ought to like them all the time,"
+objected Clare, with unnecessary contrariety.
+
+"That was the original point," observed Brook. "That was your objection
+to the man in the book--that he loved first one sister and then the
+other. Poor chap! The first one loved him, and the second one prayed for
+him! He had no luck!"
+
+"A man who will do that sort of thing is past praying for!" retorted the
+young girl. "It seems to me that when a man makes a woman believe that
+he loves her, the best thing he can do is to be faithful to her
+afterwards."
+
+"Yes--but supposing that he is quite sure that he can't make her
+happy--"
+
+"Then he had no right to make love to her at all."
+
+"But he didn't know it at first. He didn't find out until he had known
+her a long time."
+
+"That makes it all the worse," exclaimed Clare with conviction, but
+without logic.
+
+"And while he was trying to find out, she fell in love with him,"
+continued Brook. "That was unlucky, but it wasn't his fault, you know--"
+
+"Oh yes, it was--in that book at least. He asked her to marry him
+before he had half made up his mind. Really, Mr. Johnstone," she
+continued, almost losing her temper, "you defend the man almost as
+though you were defending yourself!"
+
+"That's rather a hard thing to say to a man, isn't it?"
+
+Johnstone was young enough to be annoyed, though he was amused.
+
+"Then why do you defend the man?" asked Clare, standing still at a turn
+of the road and facing him.
+
+"I won't, if we are going to quarrel about a ridiculous book," he
+answered, looking at her. "My opinion's not worth enough for that."
+
+"If you have an opinion at all, it's worth fighting for."
+
+"I don't want to fight, and I won't fight with you," he answered,
+beginning to laugh.
+
+"With me or with any one else--"
+
+"No--not with you," he said with sudden emphasis.
+
+"Why not with me?"
+
+"Because I like you very much," he answered boldly, and they stood
+looking at each other in the middle of the road.
+
+Clare had started in surprise, and the colour rose slowly to her face,
+but she would not take her eyes from his. For the first time it seemed
+to her that he had no power over her.
+
+"I'm sorry," she answered. "For I don't like you."
+
+"Are you in earnest?" He could not help laughing.
+
+"Yes." There was no mistaking her tone.
+
+Johnstone's face changed, and for the first time in their acquaintance
+he was the one to turn his eyes away.
+
+"I'm sorry too," he said quietly. "Shall we turn back?" he asked after a
+moment's pause.
+
+"No, I want to walk," answered Clare.
+
+She turned from him, and began to walk on in silence. For some time
+neither spoke. Johnstone was puzzled, surprised, and a little hurt, but
+he attributed what she had said to his own roughness in telling her that
+he liked her, though he could not see that he had done anything so very
+terrible. He had spoken spontaneously, too, without the least thought of
+producing an impression, or of beginning to make love to her. Perhaps he
+owed her an apology. If she thought so, he did, and it could do no harm
+to try.
+
+"I'm very sorry, if I have offended you just now," he said gently. "I
+didn't mean to."
+
+"You didn't offend me," answered Clare. "It isn't rude to say that one
+likes a person."
+
+"Oh--I beg your pardon--I thought perhaps--"
+
+He hesitated, surprised by her very unexpected answer. He could not
+imagine what she wanted.
+
+"Because I said that I didn't like you?" she asked.
+
+"Well--yes."
+
+"Then it was I who offended you," answered the young girl. "I didn't
+mean to, either. Only, when you said that you liked me, I thought you
+were in earnest, you know, and so I wanted to be quite honest, because I
+thought it was fairer. You see, if I had let you think that I liked you,
+you might have thought we were going to drift into being friends, and
+that's impossible, you know--because I never did like you, and I never
+shall. But that needn't prevent our walking together, and talking, and
+all that. At least, I don't mean that it should. That's the reason why I
+won't turn back just yet--"
+
+"But how in the world can you enjoy walking and talking with a man you
+don't like?" asked Johnstone, who was completely at sea, and began to
+think that he must be dreaming.
+
+"Well--you are awfully good company, you know, and I can't always be
+sitting with my mother on the terrace, though we love each other
+dearly."
+
+"You are the most extraordinary person!" exclaimed Johnstone, in
+genuine bewilderment. "And of course your mother dislikes me too,
+doesn't she?"
+
+"Not at all," answered Clare. "You asked me that before, and I told you
+the truth. Since then, she likes you better and better. She is always
+saying how nice you are."
+
+"Then I had better always talk to her," suggested Brook, feeling for a
+clue.
+
+"Oh, I shouldn't like that at all!" cried the young girl, laughing.
+
+"And yet you don't like me. This is like twenty questions. You must have
+some very particular reason for it," he added thoughtfully. "I suppose I
+must have done some awful thing without knowing it. I wish you would
+tell me. Won't you, please? Then I'll go away."
+
+"No," Clare answered. "I won't tell you. But I have a reason. I'm not
+capricious. I don't take violent dislikes to people for nothing. Let it
+alone. We can talk very pleasantly about other things. Since you are
+good enough to like me, it might be amusing to tell me why. If you have
+any good reason, you know, you won't stop liking me just because I don't
+like you, will you?"
+
+She glanced sideways at him as she spoke, and he was watching her and
+trying to understand her, for the revelation of her dislike had come
+upon him very suddenly. She was on the right as they walked, and he saw
+her against the light sky, above the line of the low parapet. Perhaps
+the light behind her dazzled him; at all events, he had a strange
+impression for a moment. She seemed to have the better of him, and to be
+stronger and more determined than he. She seemed taller than she was,
+too, for she was on the higher part of the road, in the middle of it.
+For an instant he felt precisely what she so often felt with him, that
+she had power over him. But he did not resent the sensation as she did,
+though it was quite as new to him.
+
+Nevertheless, he did not answer her, for she had spoken only half in
+earnest, and he himself was not just then inclined to joke for the mere
+sake of joking. He looked down at the road under his feet, and he knew
+all at once that Clare attracted him much more than he had imagined. The
+sidelong glance she had bestowed upon him had fascination in it. There
+was an odd charm about her girlish contrariety and in her frank avowal
+that she did not like him. Her dislike roused him. He did not choose to
+be disliked by her, especially for some absurd trifle in his behaviour,
+which he had not even noticed when he had made the mistake, whatever it
+might be.
+
+He walked along in silence, and he was aware of her light tread and the
+soft sound of her serge skirt as she moved. He wished her to like him,
+and wished that he knew what to do to change her mind. But that would
+not be easy, since he did not know the cause of her dislike. Presently
+she spoke again, and more gravely.
+
+"I should not have said that. I'm sorry. But of course you knew that I
+wasn't in earnest."
+
+"I don't know why you should not have said it," he answered. "As a
+matter of fact, you are quite right. I don't like you any the less
+because you don't like me. Liking isn't a bargain with cash on delivery.
+I think I like you all the more for being so honest. Do you mind?"
+
+"Not in the least. It's a very good reason." Clare smiled, and then
+suddenly looked grave again, wondering whether it would not be really
+honest to tell him then and there that she had overheard his last
+interview with Lady Fan.
+
+But she reflected that it could only make him feel uncomfortable.
+
+"And another reason why I like you is because you are combative," he
+said thoughtfully. "I'm not, you know. One always admires the qualities
+one hasn't oneself."
+
+"And you are not combative? You don't like to be in the opposition?"
+
+"Not a bit! I'm not fond of fighting. I systematically avoid a row."
+
+"I shouldn't have thought that," said Clare, looking at him again. "Do
+you know? I think most people would take you for a soldier."
+
+"Do I look as though I would seek the bubble reputation at the cannon's
+mouth?" Brook laughed. "Am I full of strange oaths?"
+
+"Oh, that's ridiculous, you know!" exclaimed Clare. "I mean, you look as
+though you would fight."
+
+"I never would if I could help it. And so far I have managed 'to help
+it' very well. I'm naturally mild, I think. You are not, you know. I
+don't mean to be rude, but I think you are pugnacious--'combative' is
+prettier."
+
+"My father was a soldier," said the girl, with some pride.
+
+"And mine is a brewer. There's a lot of inheritable difference between
+handling gunpowder and brewing mild ale. Like father, like son. I shall
+brew mild ale too. If you could have charged at Balaclava, you would. By
+the way, it isn't the beer that you object to? Please tell me. I
+shouldn't mind at all, and I'd much rather know that it was only that."
+
+"How absurd!" cried Clare with scorn. "As though it made any
+difference!"
+
+"Well--what is it, then?" asked Brook with sudden impatience. "You have
+no right to hate me without telling me why."
+
+"No right?" The young girl turned on him half fiercely, and then
+laughed. "You haven't a standing order from Heaven to be liked by the
+whole human race, you know!"
+
+"And if I had, you would be the solitary exception, I suppose,"
+suggested Johnstone with a rather discontented smile.
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"Is there anything I could do to make you change your mind? Because, if
+it were anything in reason, I'd do it."
+
+"It's rather a pity that you should put in the condition of its being in
+reason," answered Clare, as her lip curled. "But there isn't anything.
+You may just as well give it up at once."
+
+"I won't."
+
+"It's a waste of time, I assure you. Besides, it's mere vanity. It's
+only because everybody likes you--so you think that I should too."
+
+"Between us, we are getting at my character at last," observed Brook
+with some asperity. "You've discovered my vanity, now. By-and-by we
+shall find out some more good qualities."
+
+"Perhaps. Each one will be a step in our acquaintance, you know. Steps
+may lead down, as well as up. We are walking down hill on this road
+just now, and it's steep. Look at that unfortunate mule dragging that
+cart up hill towards us! That's like trying to be friends, against odds.
+I wish the man would not beat the beast like that, though! What brutes
+these people are!"
+
+Her dark blue eyes fixed themselves keenly on the sight, and the pupils
+grew wide and angry. The cart was a hundred yards away, coming up the
+road, piled high with sacks of potatoes, and drawn by one wretched mule.
+The huge carter was sprawling on the front sacks, yelling a tuneless
+chant at the top of his voice. He was a black-haired man, with a hideous
+mouth, and his face was red with wine. As he yelled his song he flogged
+his miserable beast with a heavy whip, accenting his howls with cruel
+blows. Clare grew pale with anger as she came nearer and saw it all more
+distinctly. The mule's knees bent nearly double at every violent step,
+its wide eyes were bright red all round, its white tongue hung out, and
+it gasped for breath. The road was stony, too, besides being steep, for
+it had been lately mended and not rolled.
+
+"Brute!" exclaimed Clare, in a low voice, and her face grew paler.
+
+Johnstone said nothing, and his face did not change as they advanced.
+
+"Don't you see?" cried the young girl. "Can't you do anything? Can't
+you stop him?"
+
+"Oh yes. I think I can do that," answered Brook indifferently. "It is
+rather rough on the mule."
+
+"Rough! It's brutal, it's beastly, it's cowardly, it's perfectly
+inhuman!"
+
+At that moment the unfortunate animal stumbled, struggled to recover
+itself as the lash descended pitilessly upon its thin flanks, and then
+fell headlong and tumbled upon its side. The heavy cart pulled back,
+half turning, so that the shafts were dragged sideways across the mule,
+whose weight prevented the load from rolling down hill. The carrier
+stopped singing and swore, beating the beast with all his might, as it
+lay still gasping for breath.
+
+"Ah, assassin! Ah, carrion! I will teach thee! Curses on the dead of thy
+house!" he roared.
+
+Brook and Clare were coming nearer.
+
+"That's not very intelligent of the fellow," observed Johnstone
+indifferently. "He had much better get down."
+
+"Oh, stop it, stop it!" cried the young girl, suffering acutely for the
+helpless creature.
+
+But the man had apparently recognised the impossibility of producing any
+impression unless he descended from his perch. He threw the whip to the
+ground and slid off the sacks. He stood looking at the mule for a
+moment, and then kicked it in the back with all his might. Then, just as
+Johnstone and Clare came up, he went round to the back of the cart,
+walking unsteadily, for he was evidently drunk. The two stopped by the
+parapet and looked on.
+
+"He's going to unload," said Johnstone. "That's sensible, at all
+events."
+
+The sacks, as usual in Italy, were bound to the cart by cords, which
+were fast in front, but which wound upon a heavy spindle at the back.
+The spindle had three holes in it, in which staves were thrust as
+levers, to turn it and hold the ropes taut. Two of the staves were
+tightly pressed against the load, while the third stood nearly upright
+in its hole.
+
+The man took the third stave, a bar of elm four feet long and as thick
+as a man's wrist, and came round to the mule again on the side away from
+Clare and Johnstone. He lifted the weapon high in air, and almost before
+they realised what horror he was perpetrating he had struck three or
+four tremendous blows upon the creature's back, making as many bleeding
+wounds. The mule kicked and shivered violently, and its eyes were almost
+starting from its head.
+
+Johnstone came up first, caught the stave in air as it was about to
+descend again, wrenched it out of the man's hands, and hurled it over
+Clare's head, across the parapet and into the sea. The man fell back a
+step, and his face grew purple with rage. He roared out a volley of
+horrible oaths, in a dialect perfectly incomprehensible even to Clare,
+who knew Italian well.
+
+"You needn't yell like that, my good man," said Johnstone, smiling at
+him.
+
+The man was big and strong, and drunk. He clenched his fists, and made
+for his adversary, head down, in the futile Italian fashion. The
+Englishman stepped aside, landed a left-handed blow behind his ear, and
+followed it up with a tremendous kick, which sent the fellow upon his
+face in the ditch under the rocks. Clare looked on, and her eyes
+brightened singularly, for she had fighting blood in her veins. The man
+seemed stunned, and lay still where he had fallen. Johnstone turned to
+the fallen mule, which lay bleeding and gasping under the shafts, and he
+began to unbuckle the harness.
+
+"Could you put a big stone behind the wheel?" he asked, as Clare tried
+to help him.
+
+He knew that the cart must roll back if it were not blocked, for he had
+noticed how it stood. Clare looked about for a stone, picked one up by
+the roadside, and went to the back of the cart, while Johnstone patted
+the mule's head, and busied himself with the buckles of the harness,
+bending low as he did so. Clare also bent down, trying to force the
+stone under the wheel, and did not notice that the carter was sitting up
+by the roadside, feeling for something in his pocket.
+
+An instant later he was on his feet. When Clare stood up, he was
+stepping softly up behind Johnstone. As he moved, she saw that he had an
+open clasp-knife in his right hand. Johnstone was still bending down
+unconscious of his danger. The young girl was light on her feet and
+quick, and not cowardly. The man was before her, halfway between her and
+Brook. She sprang with all her might, threw her arms round the drunken
+man's neck from behind, and dragged him backward. He struck wildly
+behind him with the knife, and roared out curses.
+
+"Quick!" cried Clare, in her high, clear voice. "He's got a knife!
+Quick!"
+
+But Johnstone had heard their steps, and was already upon him from
+before, while the young girl's arms tightened round his neck from
+behind. The fellow struck about him wildly with his blade, staggering
+backwards as Clare dragged upon him.
+
+"Let go, or you'll fall!" Brook shouted to her.
+
+As he spoke, dodging the knife, he struck the man twice in the face,
+left and right, in an earnest, business-like way. Clare caught herself
+by the wheel of the cart as she sprang aside, almost falling under the
+man's weight. A moment later, Brook was kneeling on his chest, having
+the knife in his hand and holding it near the carter's throat.
+
+"Lie still!" he said rather quietly, in English. "Give me the halter,
+please!" he said to Clare, without looking up. "It's hanging to the
+shaft there in a coil."
+
+Kneeling on the man's chest--to tell the truth, he was badly stunned,
+though not unconscious--Brook took two half-hitches with the halter
+round one wrist, passed the line under his neck as he lay, and hauled on
+it till the arm came under his side, then hitched the other wrist,
+passed the line back, hauled on it, and finally took two turns round the
+throat. Clare watched the operation, very pale and breathing hard.
+
+"He's drunk," observed Johnstone. "Otherwise I wouldn't tie him up, you
+know. Now, if you move," he said in English to his prisoner, "you'll
+strangle yourself."
+
+Thereupon he rose, forced the fellow to roll over, and hitched the fall
+of the line round both wrists again, and made it fast, so that the man
+lay, with his head drawn back by his own hands, which he could not move
+without tightening the rope round his neck.
+
+"He's frightened now," said Brook. "Let's get the poor mule out of
+that."
+
+In a few minutes he got the wretched beast free. It was ready enough to
+rise as soon as it felt that it could do so, and it struggled to its
+feet, badly hurt by the beating and bleeding in many places, but not
+seriously injured. The carter watched them as he lay on the road, half
+strangled, and cursed them in a choking voice.
+
+"And now, what in the world are we going to do with them?" asked Brook,
+rubbing the mule's nose. "It's a pretty bad case," he continued,
+thoughtfully. "The mule can't draw the load, the carter can't be allowed
+to beat the mule, and we can't afford to let the carter have his head.
+What the dickens are we to do?"
+
+He laughed a little. Then he suddenly looked hard at Clare, as though
+remembering something.
+
+"It was awfully plucky of you to jump on him in that way," he said.
+"Just at the right moment, too, by Jove! That devil would have got at me
+if you hadn't stopped him. Awfully plucky, upon my word! And I'm
+tremendously obliged, Miss Bowring, indeed I am!"
+
+"It's nothing to be grateful for, it seems to me," Clare answered. "I
+suppose there's nothing to be done but to sit down and wait until
+somebody comes. It's a lonely road, of course, and we may wait a long
+time."
+
+"I say," exclaimed Johnstone, "you've torn your frock rather badly! Look
+at it!"
+
+She drew her skirt round with her hand. There were long, clean rents in
+the skirt, on her right side.
+
+"It was his knife," she said, thoughtfully surveying the damage. "He
+kept trying to get at me with it. I'm sorry, for I haven't another serge
+skirt with me."
+
+Then she felt herself blushing, and turned away.
+
+"I'll just pin it up," she said, and she disappeared behind the cart
+rather precipitately.
+
+"By Jove! You have pretty good nerves!" observed Johnstone, more to
+himself than to her. "Shut up!" he cried to the carter, who was swearing
+again. "Stop that noise, will you?"
+
+He made a step angrily towards the man, for the sight of the slit frock
+had roused him again, when he thought what the knife might have done.
+The fellow was silent instantly, and lay quite still, for he knew that
+he should strangle himself if he moved.
+
+"I'll have you in prison before night," continued Johnstone, speaking
+English to him. "Oh yes! the _carabinieri_ will come, and you will go to
+_galera_--do you understand that?"
+
+He had picked up the words somewhere. The man began to moan and pray.
+
+"Stop that noise!" cried Brook, with slow emphasis.
+
+He was not far wrong in saying that the carabineers would come. They
+patrol the roads day and night, in pairs, as they patrol every high road
+and every mountain path in Italy, all the year round. And just then, far
+up the road down which Johnstone and Clare had come, two of them
+appeared in sight, recognisable a mile away by their snow-white
+crossbelts and gleaming accoutrements. There are twelve or fourteen
+thousand of them in the country, trained soldiers and picked men, by all
+odds the finest corps in the army. Until lately no man could serve in
+the carabineers who could not show documentary evidence that neither he
+nor his father nor his mother had ever been in prison even for the
+smallest offence. They are feared and respected, and it is they who have
+so greatly reduced brigandage throughout the country.
+
+Clare came back to Johnstone's side, having done what she could to pin
+the rents together.
+
+"It's all right now," she cried. "Here come the carabineers. They will
+take the man and his cart to the next village. Let me talk to them--I
+can speak Italian, you know."
+
+She was pale again, and very quiet. She had noticed that her hands
+trembled violently when she was pinning her frock, though they had been
+steady enough when they had gone round the man's throat.
+
+When the patrol men came up, she stepped forward and explained what had
+happened, clearly and briefly. There was the bleeding mule, Johnstone
+standing before it and rubbing its dusty nose; there was the knife;
+there was the man. With a modest gesture she showed them where her frock
+had been cut to shreds. Johnstone made remarks in English, reflecting
+upon the Italian character, which she did not think fit to translate.
+
+The carabineers were silent fellows with big moustaches--the one very
+dark, the other as fair as a Swede--they were clean, strong, sober men,
+with frank eyes, and they said very little. They asked the strangers'
+names, and Johnstone, at Clare's request, wrote her name on his card,
+and the address in Amalfi. One of them knew the carter for a bad
+character.
+
+"We will take care of him and his cart," said the dark man, who was the
+superior. "The signori may go in quiet."
+
+They untied the rope that bound the man. He rose trembling, and stood on
+his feet, for he knew that he was in their power. But they showed no
+intention of putting him in handcuffs.
+
+"Turn the cart round!" said the dark man.
+
+They helped the carter to do it, and blocked it with stones.
+
+"Put in the mule!" was the next order, and the carabineers held up the
+shafts while the man obeyed.
+
+Then both saluted Johnstone and Clare, and shouldered their short
+carbines, which had stood against the parapet.
+
+"Forward!" said the dark man, quietly.
+
+The carter took the mule by the head and started it gently enough. The
+creature understood, and was glad to go down hill; the wheels creaked,
+the cart moved, and the party went off, one of the carabineers marching
+on either side.
+
+Clare drew a long breath as she stood looking after them for a moment.
+
+"Let us go home," she said at last, and turned up the road.
+
+For some minutes they walked on in silence.
+
+"I think you probably saved my life at the risk of yours, Miss Bowring,"
+said Johnstone, at last, looking up. "Thank you very much."
+
+"Nonsense!" exclaimed the young girl, and she tried to laugh.
+
+"But you were telling me that you were not combative--that you always
+avoided a fight, you know, and that you were so mild, and all that. For
+a very mild man, Mr. Johnstone, who hates fighting, you are a good 'man
+of your hands,' as they say in the _Morte d'Arthur_."
+
+"Oh, I don't call that a fight!" answered Johnstone, contemptuously.
+"Why, my collar isn't even crumpled. As for my hands, if I could find a
+spring I would wash them, after touching that fellow."
+
+"That's the advantage of wearing gloves," observed Clare, looking at her
+own.
+
+They were both very young, and though they knew that they had been in
+great danger they affected perfect indifference about it to each other,
+after the manner of true Britons. But each admired the other, and Brook
+was suddenly conscious that he had never known a woman whom, in some
+ways, he thought so admirable as Clare Bowring, but both felt a singular
+constraint as they walked homeward.
+
+"Do you know?" Clare began, when they were near Amalfi, "I think we had
+better say nothing about it to my mother--that is, if you don't mind."
+
+"By all means," answered Brook. "I'm sure I don't want to talk about
+it."
+
+"No, and my mother is very nervous--you know--about my going off to walk
+without her. Oh, not about you--with anybody. You see, I'd been very ill
+before I came here."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+In obedience to Clare's expressed wish, Johnstone made no mention that
+evening of the rather serious adventure on the Salerno road. They had
+fallen into the habit of shaking hands when they bade each other
+good-night. When it was time, and the two ladies rose to withdraw,
+Johnstone suddenly wished that Clare would make some little sign to
+him--the least thing to show that this particular evening was not
+precisely what all the other evenings had been, that they were drawn a
+little closer together, that perhaps she would change her mind and not
+dislike him any more for that unknown reason at which he could not even
+guess.
+
+They joined hands, and his eyes met hers. But there was no unusual
+pressure--no little acknowledgment of a common danger past. The blue
+eyes looked at him straight and proudly, without softening, and the
+fresh lips calmly said good-night. Johnstone remained alone, and in a
+singularly bad humour for such a good-tempered man. He was angry with
+Clare for being so cold and indifferent, and he was ashamed of himself
+for wishing that she would admire him a little for having knocked down a
+tipsy carter. It was not much of an exploit. What she had done had been
+very much more remarkable. The man would not have killed him, of course,
+but he might have given him a very dangerous wound with that ugly
+clasp-knife. Clare's frock was cut to pieces on one side, and it was a
+wonder that she had escaped without a scratch. He had no right to expect
+any praise for what he had done, when she had done so much more.
+
+To tell the truth, it was not praise that he wanted, but a sign that she
+was not indifferent to him, or at least that she no longer disliked him.
+He was ashamed to own to himself that he was half in love with a young
+girl who had told him that she did not like him and would never even be
+his friend. Women had not usually treated him in that way, so far. But
+the fact remained, that she had got possession of his thoughts, and made
+him think about his actions when she was present. It took a good deal to
+disturb Brook Johnstone's young sleep, but he did not sleep well that
+night.
+
+As for Clare, when she was alone, she regretted that she had not just
+nodded kindly to him, and nothing more, when she had said good-night.
+She knew perfectly well that he expected something of the sort, and
+that it would have been natural, and quite harmless, without any
+possibility of consequence. She consoled herself by repeating that she
+had done quite right, as the vision of Lady Fan rose distinctly before
+her in a flood of memory's moonlight. Then it struck her, as the vision
+faded, that her position was a very odd one. Personally, she liked the
+man. Impersonally, she hated and despised him. At least she believed
+that she did, and that she should, for the sake of all women. To her, as
+she had known him, he was brave, kind, gentle in manner and speech,
+boyishly frank. As she had seen him that once, she had thought him
+heartless, cowardly, and cynical. She could not reconcile the two, and
+therefore, in her thoughts, she unconsciously divided him into two
+individualities--her Mr. Johnstone and Lady Fan's Brook. There was very
+little resemblance between them. Oddly enough, she felt a sort of pang
+for him, that he could ever have been the other man whom she had first
+seen. She was getting into a very complicated frame of mind.
+
+They met in the morning and exchanged greetings with unusual coldness.
+Brook asked whether she were tired; she said that she had done nothing
+to tire her, as though she resented the question; he said nothing in
+answer, and they both looked at the sea and thought it extremely dull.
+Presently Johnstone went off for a walk alone, and Clare buried herself
+in a book for the morning. She did not wish to think, because her
+thoughts were so very contradictory. It was easier to try and follow
+some one else's ideas. She found that almost worse than thinking, but,
+being very tenacious, she stuck to it and tried to read.
+
+At the midday meal they exchanged commonplaces, and neither looked at
+the other. Just as they left the dining-room a heavy thunderstorm broke
+overhead with a deluge of rain. Clare said that the thunder made her
+head ache, and she disappeared on pretence of lying down. Mrs. Bowring
+went to write letters, and Johnstone hung about the reading-room, and
+smoked a pipe in the long corridor, till he was sick of the sound of his
+own footsteps. Amalfi was all very well in fine weather, he reflected,
+but when it rained it was as dismal as penny whist, Sunday in London, or
+a volume of sermons--or all three together, he added viciously, in his
+thoughts. The German family had fallen back upon the guide book,
+Mommsen's _History of Rome_, and the _Gartenlaube_. The Russian invalid
+was presumably in his room, with a teapot, and the two English old maids
+were reading a violently sensational novel aloud to each other by turns
+in the hotel drawing-room. They stopped reading and got very red, when
+Johnstone looked in.
+
+It was a dreary afternoon, and he wished that something would happen.
+The fight on the preceding day had stirred his blood--and other things
+perhaps had contributed to his restless state of mind. He thought of
+Clare's torn frock, and he wished he had killed the carter outright. He
+reflected that, as the man was attacking him with a knife, he himself
+would have been acquitted.
+
+Late in the afternoon the sky cleared and the red light of the lowering
+sun struck the crests of the higher hills to eastward. Brook went out
+and smelled the earth-scented air, and the damp odour of the
+orange-blossoms. But that did not please him either, so he turned back
+and went through the long corridor to the platform at the back of the
+hotel. To his surprise he came face to face with Clare, who was walking
+briskly backwards and forwards, and saw him just as he emerged from the
+door. They both stood still and looked at each other with an odd little
+constraint, almost like anxiety, in their faces. There was a short,
+awkward silence.
+
+"Well?" said Clare, interrogatively, and raising her eyebrows a very
+little, as though wondering why he did not speak.
+
+"Nothing," Johnstone answered, turning his face seaward. "I wasn't
+going to say anything."
+
+"Oh!--you looked as though you were."
+
+"No," he said. "I came out to get a breath of air, that's all."
+
+"So did I. I--I think I've been out long enough. I'll go in." And she
+made a step towards the door.
+
+"Oh, please, don't!" he cried suddenly. "Can't we walk together a little
+bit? That is, if you are not tired."
+
+"Oh no! I'm not tired," answered the young girl with a cold little
+laugh. "I'll stay if you like--just a few minutes."
+
+"Thanks, awfully," said Brook in a shy, jerky way.
+
+They began to walk up and down, much less quickly than Clare had been
+walking when alone. They seemed to have nothing to say to each other.
+Johnstone remarked that he thought it would not rain again just then,
+and after some minutes of reflection Clare said that she remembered
+having seen two thunderstorms within an hour, with a clear sky between,
+not long ago. Johnstone also thought the matter over for some time
+before he answered, and then said that he supposed the clouds must have
+been somewhere in the meantime--an observation which did not strike
+either Clare or even himself as particularly intelligent.
+
+"I don't think you know much about thunderstorms," said Clare, after
+another silence.
+
+"I? No--why should I?"
+
+"I don't know. It's supposed to be just as well to know about things,
+isn't it?"
+
+"I dare say," answered Brook, indifferently. "But science isn't exactly
+in my line, if I have any line."
+
+They recrossed the platform in silence.
+
+"What is your line--if you have any?" Clare asked, looking at the ground
+as she walked, and perfectly indifferent as to his answer.
+
+"It ought to be beer," answered Brook, gravely. "But then, you know how
+it is--one has all sorts of experts, and one ends by taking their word
+for granted about it. I don't believe I have any line--unless it's in
+the way of out-of-door things. I'm fond of shooting, and I can ride
+fairly, you know, like anybody else."
+
+"Yes," said Clare, "you were telling me so the other day, you know."
+
+"Yes," Johnstone murmured thoughtfully, "that's true. Please excuse me.
+I'm always repeating myself."
+
+"I didn't mean that." Her tone changed a little. "You can be very
+amusing when you like, you know."
+
+"Thanks, awfully. I should like to be amusing now, for instance, but I
+can't."
+
+"Now? Why now?"
+
+"Because I'm boring you to madness, little by little, and I'm awfully
+sorry too, for I want you to like me--though you say you never will--and
+of course you can't like a bore, can you? I say, Miss Bowring, don't you
+think we could strike some sort of friendly agreement--to be friends
+without 'liking,' somehow? I'm beginning to hate the word. I believe
+it's the colour of my hair or my coat--or something--that you dislike
+so. I wish you'd tell me. It would be much kinder. I'd go to work and
+change it--"
+
+"Dye your hair?" Clare laughed, glad that the ice was broken again.
+
+"Oh yes--if you like," he answered, laughing too. "Anything to please
+you."
+
+"Anything 'in reason'--as you proposed yesterday."
+
+"No--anything in reason or out of it. I'm getting desperate!" He laughed
+again, but in his laughter there was a little note of something new to
+the young girl, a sort of understreak of earnestness.
+
+"It isn't anything you can change," said Clare, after a moment's
+hesitation. "And it certainly has nothing to do with your appearance, or
+your manners, or your tailor," she added.
+
+"Oh well, then, it's evidently something I've done, or said," Brook
+murmured, looking at her.
+
+But she did not return his glance, as they walked side by side; indeed,
+she turned her face from him a little, and she said nothing, for she was
+far too truthful to deny his assertion.
+
+"Then I'm right," he said, with an interrogation, after a long pause.
+
+"Don't ask me, please! It's of no importance after all. Talk of
+something else."
+
+"I don't agree with you," Brook answered. "It is very important to me."
+
+"Oh, nonsense!" Clare tried to laugh. "What difference can it make to
+you, whether I like you or not?"
+
+"Don't say that. It makes a great difference--more than I thought it
+could, in fact. One--one doesn't like to be misjudged by one's friends,
+you know."
+
+"But I'm not your friend."
+
+"I want you to be."
+
+"I can't."
+
+"You won't," said Brook, in a lower tone, and almost angrily. "You've
+made up your mind against me, on account of something you've guessed
+at, and you won't tell me what it is, so I can't possibly defend myself.
+I haven't the least idea what it can be. I never did anything
+particularly bad, I believe, and I never did anything I should be
+ashamed of owning. I don't like to say that sort of thing, you know,
+about myself, but you drive me to it. It isn't fair. Upon my word, it's
+not fair play. You tell a man he's a bad lot, like that, in the air, and
+then you refuse to say why you think so. Or else the whole thing is a
+sort of joke you've invented--if it is, it's awfully one-sided, it seems
+to me."
+
+"Do you really think me capable of anything so silly?" asked Clare.
+
+"No, I don't. That makes it all the worse, because it proves that you
+have--or think you have--something against me. I don't know much about
+law, but it strikes me as something tremendously like libel. Don't you
+think so yourself?"
+
+"Oh no! Indeed I don't. Libel means saying things against people,
+doesn't it? I haven't done that--"
+
+"Indeed you have! I mean, I beg your pardon for contradicting you like
+that--"
+
+"Rather flatly," observed Clare, as they turned in their walk, and their
+eyes met.
+
+"Well, I'm sorry, but since we are talking about it, I've got to say
+what I think. After all, I'm the person attacked. I have a right to
+defend myself."
+
+"I haven't attacked you," answered the young girl, gravely.
+
+"I won't be rude, if I can help it," said Brook, half roughly. "But I
+asked you if you disliked me for something I had done or said, and you
+couldn't deny it. That means that I have done or said something bad
+enough to make you say that you will never be my friend--and that must
+be something very bad indeed."
+
+"Then you think I'm not squeamish? It would have to be something very,
+very bad."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Thank you. Well, I thought it very bad. Anybody would, I should fancy."
+
+"I never did anything very, very bad, so you must be mistaken," answered
+Johnstone, exasperated.
+
+Clare said nothing, but walked along with her head rather high, looking
+straight before her. It had all happened before her eyes, on the very
+ground under her feet, on that platform. Johnstone knew that he had
+spoken roughly.
+
+"I say," he began, "was I rude? I'm awfully sorry." Clare stopped and
+stood still.
+
+"Mr. Johnstone, we sha'n't agree. I will never tell you, and you will
+never be satisfied unless I do. So it's a dead-lock."
+
+"You are horribly unjust," answered Brook, very much in earnest, and
+fixing his bright eyes on hers. "You seem to take a delight in
+tormenting me with this imaginary secret. After all, if it's something
+you saw me do, or heard me say, I must know of it and remember it, so
+there's no earthly reason why we shouldn't discuss it."
+
+There was again that fascination in his eyes, and she felt herself
+yielding.
+
+"I'll say one thing," she said. "I wish you hadn't done it!"
+
+She felt that she could not look away from him, and that he was getting
+her into his power. The colour rose in her face.
+
+"Please don't look at me!" she said suddenly, gazing helplessly into his
+eyes, but his steady look did not change.
+
+"Please--oh, please look away!" she cried, half-frightened and growing
+pale again.
+
+He turned from her, surprised at her manner.
+
+"I'm afraid you're not in earnest about this, after all," he said,
+thoughtfully. "If you meant what you said, why shouldn't you look at
+me?"
+
+She blushed scarlet again.
+
+"It's very rude to stare like that!" she said, in an offended tone.
+"You know that you've got something--I don't know what to call it--one
+can't look away when you look at one. Of course you know it, and you
+ought not to do it. It isn't nice."
+
+"I didn't know there was anything peculiar about my eyes," said Brook.
+"Indeed I didn't! Nobody ever told me so, I'm sure. By Jove!" he
+exclaimed, "I believe it's that! I've probably done it before--and
+that's why you--" he stopped.
+
+"Please don't think me so silly," answered Clare, recovering her
+composure. "It's nothing of the sort. As for that--that way you have of
+looking--I dare say I'm nervous since my illness. Besides--" she
+hesitated, and then smiled. "Besides, do you know? If you had looked at
+me a moment longer I should have told you the whole thing, and then we
+should both have been sorry."
+
+"I should not, I'm sure," said Brook, with conviction. "But I don't
+understand about my looking at you. I never tried to mesmerise any
+one--"
+
+"There is no such thing as mesmerism. It's all hypnotism, you know."
+
+"I don't know what they call it. You know what I mean. But I'm sure it's
+your imagination."
+
+"Oh yes, I dare say," answered the young girl with affected
+carelessness. "It's merely because I'm nervous."
+
+"Well, so far as I'm concerned, it's quite unconscious. I don't know--I
+suppose I wanted to see in your eyes what you were thinking about.
+Besides, when one likes a person, one doesn't think it so dreadfully
+rude to look at them--at him--I mean, at you--when one is in earnest
+about something--does one?"
+
+"I don't know," said Clare. "But please don't do it to me. It makes me
+feel awfully uncomfortable somehow. You won't, will you?" she asked,
+with a sort of appeal. "You would make me tell you everything--and then
+I should hate myself."
+
+"But I shouldn't hate you."
+
+"Oh yes, you would! You would hate me for knowing."
+
+"By Jove! It's too bad!" cried Brook. "But as for that," he added
+humbly, "nothing would make me hate you."
+
+"Nothing? You don't know!"
+
+"Yes, I do! You couldn't make me change my mind about you. I've grown
+to--to like you a great deal too much for that in this short time--a
+great deal more than is good for me, I believe," he added, with a sort
+of rough impulsiveness. "Not that I'm at all surprised, you know," he
+continued with an attempt at a laugh. "One can't see a person like you,
+most of the day, for ten days or a fortnight, without--well, you know,
+admiring you most tremendously--can one? I dare say you think that might
+be put into better English. But it's true all the same."
+
+A silence followed. The warm blood mantled softly in the girl's fair
+cheeks. She was taken by surprise with an odd little breath of
+happiness, as it were, suddenly blowing upon her, whence she knew not.
+It was so utterly new that she wondered at it, and was not conscious of
+the faint blush that answered it.
+
+"One gets awfully intimate in a few days," observed Brook, as though he
+had discovered something quite new.
+
+She nodded, but said nothing, and they still walked up and down. Then
+his words made her think of that sudden intimacy which had probably
+sprung up between him and Lady Fan on board the yacht, and her heart was
+hardened again.
+
+"It isn't worth while to be intimate, as you call it," she said at last,
+with a little sudden sharpness. "People ought never to be intimate,
+unless they have to live together--in the same place, you know. Then
+they can't exactly help it, I suppose."
+
+"Why should they? One can't exactly intrench oneself behind a wall with
+pistols and say 'Be my friend if you dare.' Life would be very
+uncomfortable, I should think."
+
+"Oh, you know what I mean! Don't be so awfully literal."
+
+"I was trying to understand," said Johnstone, with unusual meekness. "I
+won't, if you don't want me to. But I don't agree with you a bit. I
+think it's very jolly to be intimate--in this sort of way--or perhaps a
+little more so."
+
+"Intimate enemies? Enemies can be just as intimate as friends, you
+know."
+
+"I'd rather have you for my intimate enemy than not know you at all,"
+said Brook.
+
+"That's saying a great deal, Mr. Johnstone."
+
+Again she was pleased in a new way by what he said. And a temptation
+came upon her unawares. It was perfectly clear that he was beginning to
+make love to her. She thought of her reflections after she had seen him
+alone with Lady Fan, and of how she had wished that she could break his
+heart, and pay him back with suffering for the pain he had given another
+woman. The possibility seemed nearer now than then. At least, she could
+easily let him believe that she believed him, and then laugh at him and
+his acting. For of course it was acting. How could such a man be
+earnest? All at once the thought that he should respect her so little
+as to pretend to make love to her incensed her.
+
+"What an extraordinary idea!" she exclaimed rather scornfully. "You
+would rather be hated, than not known!"
+
+"I wasn't talking generalities--I was speaking of you. Please don't
+misunderstand me on purpose. It isn't kind."
+
+"Are you in need of kindness just now? You don't exactly strike one in
+that way, you know. But your people will be coming in a day or two, I
+suppose. I've no doubt they'll be kind to you, as you call it--whatever
+that may mean. One speaks of being kind to animals and servants, you
+know--that sort of thing."
+
+Nothing can outdo the brutality of a perfectly unaffected young girl
+under certain circumstances.
+
+"I don't class myself with either, thank you," said Brook, justly
+offended. "You certainly manage to put things in a new light sometimes.
+I feel rather like that mule we saw yesterday."
+
+"Oh--I thought you didn't class yourself with animals!" she laughed.
+
+"Have you any particular reason for saying horridly disagreeable
+things?" asked Brook coldly.
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"I didn't mean to be disagreeable--at least not so disagreeable as all
+that," said Clare at last. "I don't know why it is, but you have a
+talent for making me seem rude."
+
+"Force of example," suggested Johnstone.
+
+"No, I'll say that for you--you have very good manners."
+
+"Thanks, awfully. Considering the provocation, you know, that's an
+immense compliment."
+
+"I thought I would be 'kind' for a change. By the bye, what are we
+quarrelling about?" She laughed. "You began by saying something very
+nice to me, and then I told you that you were like the mule, didn't I?
+It's very odd! I believe you hypnotise me, after all."
+
+"At all events, if we were not intimate, you couldn't possibly say the
+things you do," observed Brook, already pacified.
+
+"And I suppose you would not take the things I say, so meekly, would
+you?"
+
+"I told you I was a very mild person," said Johnstone. "We were talking
+about it yesterday, do you remember?"
+
+"Oh yes! And then you illustrated your idea of meekness by knocking down
+the first man we met."
+
+"It was your fault," retorted Brook. "You told me to stop his beating
+the mule. So I did. Fortunately you stopped him from sticking a knife
+into me. Do you know? You have awfully good nerves. Most women would
+have screamed and run up a tree--or something. They would have got out
+of the way, at all events."
+
+"I think most women would have done precisely what I did," said Clare.
+"Why should you say that most women are cowards?"
+
+"I didn't," answered Brook. "But I refuse to quarrel about it. I meant
+to say that I admired you--I mean, what you did--well, more than
+anything."
+
+"That's a sweeping sort of compliment. Am I to return it?" She glanced
+at him and smiled.
+
+"You couldn't, with truth."
+
+"Of course I could. I don't remember ever seeing anything of that sort
+before, but I don't believe that anybody could have done it better. I
+admired you more than anything just then, you know." She laughed once
+more as she added the last words.
+
+"Oh, I don't expect you to go on admiring me. I'm quite satisfied, and
+grateful, and all that."
+
+"I'm glad you're so easily satisfied. Couldn't we talk seriously about
+something or other? It seems to me that we've been chaffing for half an
+hour, haven't we?"
+
+"It hasn't been all chaff, Miss Bowring," said Johnstone. "At least, not
+on my side."
+
+"Then I'm sorry," Clare answered. They relapsed into silence, as they
+walked their beat, to and fro. The sun had gone down, and it was already
+twilight on that side of the mountains. The rain had cooled the air, and
+the far land to southward was darkly distinct beyond the purple water.
+It was very chilly, and Clare was without a shawl, and Johnstone was
+hatless, but neither of them noticed that it was cool. Johnstone was the
+first to speak.
+
+"Is this sort of thing to go on for ever, Miss Bowring?" he asked
+gravely.
+
+"What?" But she knew very well what he meant.
+
+"This--this very odd footing we are on, you and I--are we never going to
+get past it?"
+
+"Oh--I hope not," answered Clare, cheerfully. "I think it's very
+pleasant, don't you? And most original. We are intimate enough to say
+all sorts of things, and I'm your enemy, and you say you are my friend.
+I can't imagine any better arrangement. We shall always laugh when we
+think of it--even years hence. You will be going away in a few days, and
+we shall stay here into the summer and we shall never see each other
+again, in all probability. We shall always look back on this time--as
+something quite odd, you know."
+
+"You are quite mistaken if you think that we shall never meet again,"
+said Johnstone.
+
+"I mean that it's very unlikely. You see we don't go home very often,
+and when we do we stop with friends in the country. We don't go much
+into society. And the rest of the time we generally live in Florence."
+
+"There is nothing to prevent me from coming to Florence--or living
+there, if I choose."
+
+"Oh no--I suppose not. Except that you would be bored to death. It's not
+very amusing, unless you happen to be fond of pictures, and you never
+said you were."
+
+"I should go to see you."
+
+"Oh--yes--you could call, and of course if we were at home we should be
+very glad to see you. But that would only occupy about half an hour of
+one day. That isn't much."
+
+"I mean that I should go to Florence simply for the sake of seeing you,
+and seeing you often--all the time, in fact."
+
+"Dear me! That would be a great deal, wouldn't it? I thought you meant
+just to call, don't you know?"
+
+"I'm in earnest, though it sounds very funny, I dare say," said
+Johnstone.
+
+"It sounds rather mad," answered Clare, laughing a little. "I hope you
+won't do anything of the kind, because I wouldn't see you more than
+once or twice. I'd have headaches and colds and concerts--all the things
+one has when one isn't at home to people. But my mother would be
+delighted. She likes you tremendously, you know, and you could go about
+to galleries together and read Ruskin and Browning--do you know the
+Statue and the Bust? And you could go and see Casa Guidi, where the
+Brownings lived, and you could drive up to San Miniato, and then, you
+know, you could drive up again and read more Browning and more Ruskin.
+I'm sure you would enjoy it to any extent. But I should have to go
+through a terrific siege of colds and headaches. It would be rather hard
+on me."
+
+"And harder on me," observed Brook, "and quite fearful for Mrs.
+Bowring."
+
+"Oh no! She would enjoy every minute of it. You forget that she likes
+you."
+
+"You are afraid I should forget that you don't."
+
+"I almost--oh, a long way from quite! I almost liked you yesterday when
+you thrashed the carter and tied him up so neatly. It was beautifully
+done--all those knots! I suppose you learned them on board of the yacht,
+didn't you?"
+
+"I've yachted a good deal," said Brook.
+
+"Generally with that party?" inquired Clare.
+
+"No. That was the first time. My father has an old tub he goes about
+in, and we sometimes go together."
+
+"Is he coming here in his 'old tub'?"
+
+"Oh no--he's lent her to a fellow who has taken her off to Japan, I
+believe."
+
+"Japan! Is it safe? In an 'old tub'!"
+
+"Oh, well--that's a way of talking, you know. She's a good enough boat,
+you know. My father went to New York in her, last year. She's a steamer,
+you know. I hate steamers. They are such dirty noisy things! But of
+course if you are going a long way, they are the only things."
+
+He spoke in a jerky way, annoyed and discomfited by her forcing the
+conversation off the track. Though he was aware that he had gone further
+than he intended, when he proposed to spend the winter in Florence.
+Moreover, he was very tenacious by nature, and had rarely been seriously
+opposed during his short life. Her persistent refusal to tell him the
+cause of her deep-rooted dislike exasperated him, while her frank and
+careless manner and good-fellowship fascinated him more and more.
+
+"Tell me all about the yacht," she said. "I'm sure she is a beauty,
+though you call her an old tub."
+
+"I don't want to talk about yachts," he answered, returning to the
+attack in spite of her. "I want to talk about the chances of seeing you
+after we part here."
+
+"There aren't any," replied the young girl carelessly. "What is the name
+of the yacht?"
+
+"Very commonplace--'Lucy,' that's all. I'll make chances if there are
+none--"
+
+"You mustn't say that 'Lucy' is commonplace. That's my mother's name."
+
+"I beg your pardon. I couldn't know that. It always struck me that it
+wasn't much of a name for a yacht, you know. That was all I meant. He's
+a queer old bird, my father; he always says he took it from the Bride of
+Lammermoor, Heaven knows why. But please--I really can't go away and
+feel that I'm not to see you again soon. You seem to think that I'm
+chaffing. I'm not. I'm very serious. I like you very much, and I don't
+see why one should just meet and then go off, and let that be the
+end--do you?"
+
+"I don't see why not," exclaimed Clare, hating the unexpected longing
+she felt to agree with him, and tell him to come and stay in Florence as
+much as he pleased. "Come--it's too cold here. I must be going in."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+Brook Johnstone had never been in the habit of observing his sensations
+nor of paying any great attention to his actions. He was not at all an
+actor, as Clare believed him to be, and the idea that he could ever have
+taken pleasure in giving pain would have made him laugh. Possibly, it
+would have made him very angry, but it certainly had no foundation at
+all in fact. He had been liked, loved, and made much of, not for
+anything he had ever taken the trouble to do, but partly for his own
+sake, and partly on account of his position. Such charm as he had for
+women lay in his frankness, good humour, and simplicity of character.
+That he had appeared to be changeable in his affection was merely due to
+the fact that he had never been in love. He vaguely recognised the fact
+in his inner consciousness, though he would have said that he had been
+in love half a dozen times; which only amounted to saying that women he
+had liked had been in love with him or had thought that they were, or
+had wished to have it thought that he loved them or had perhaps, like
+poor Lady Fan, been willing to risk a good deal on the bare chance of
+marrying one of the best of society's matches in the end. He was too
+young to look upon such affairs very seriously. When he had been tired
+of the game he had not lacked the courage to say so, and in most cases
+he had been forgiven. Lady Fan might prove an exception, but he hoped
+not. He was enormously far removed from being a saint, it is true, but
+it is due to him to repeat that he had drawn the line rigidly at a
+certain limit, and that all women beyond that line had been to him as
+his own mother, in thought and deed. Let those who have the right to
+cast stones--and the cruelty to do so--decide for themselves whether
+Brook Johnstone was a bad man at heart, or not. It need not be hinted
+that a proportion of the stone-throwing Pharisees owe their immaculate
+reputation to their conspicuous lack of attraction; the little band has
+a place apart and they stand there and lapidate most of us, and secretly
+wish that they had ever had the chance of being as bad as we are without
+being found out. But the great army of the pure in heart are mixed with
+us sinners in the fight, and though they may pray for us, they do not
+carp at our imperfections--and occasionally they get hit by the
+Pharisees just as we do, being rather whiter than we and therefore
+offering a more tempting mark for a jagged stone or a handful of pious
+mud. You may know the Pharisee by his intimate knowledge of the sins he
+has never committed.
+
+Besides, though the code of honour is not worth much as compared with
+the Ten Commandments, it is notably better than nothing, in the way of
+morality. It will keep a man from lying and evil speaking as well as
+from picking and stealing, and if it does not force him to honour all
+women as angels, it makes him respect a very large proportion of them as
+good women and therefore sacred, in a very practical way of sacredness.
+Brook Johnstone always was very careful in all matters where honour and
+his own feeling about honour were concerned. For that reason he had told
+Clare that he had never done anything very bad, whereas what she had
+seen him do was monstrous in her eyes. She had not reflected that she
+knew nothing about Lady Fan; and if she had heard half there was to be
+known she would not have understood. That night on the platform Lady Fan
+had given her own version of what had taken place on the Acropolis at
+sunset, and Brook had not denied anything. Clare did not reflect that
+Lady Fan might very possibly have exaggerated the facts very much in her
+statement of them, and that at such a time Brook was certainly not the
+man to argue the case, since it had manifestly been his only course to
+take all the apparent blame on himself. Even if he had known that Clare
+had heard the conversation, he could not possibly have explained the
+matter to her--not even if she had been an old woman--without telling
+all the truth about Lady Fan, and he was too honourable a man to do
+that, under any conceivable circumstances.
+
+He was decidedly and really in love with the girl. He knew it, because
+what he felt was not like anything he had ever felt before. It was
+anything but the pleasurable excitement to which he was accustomed.
+There might have been something of that if he had received even the
+smallest encouragement. But, do what he would, he could find none. The
+attraction increased, and the encouragement was daily less, he thought.
+Clare occasionally said things which made him half believe that she did
+not wholly dislike him. That was as much as he could say. He cudgelled
+his brains and wrung his memory to discover what he could have done to
+offend her, and he could not remember anything--which was not
+surprising. It was clear that she had never heard of him before he had
+come to Amalfi. He had satisfied himself of that by questions, otherwise
+he would naturally enough have come near the truth and guessed that she
+must have known of some affair in which he had been concerned, which she
+judged harshly from her own point of view.
+
+He was beginning to suffer, and he was not accustomed to suffering,
+least of all to any of the mental kind, for his life had always gone
+smoothly. He had believed hitherto that most people exaggerated, and
+worried themselves unnecessarily, but when he found it hard to sleep,
+and noticed that he had a dull, unsatisfied sort of misery with him all
+day long, he began to understand. He did not think that Clare could
+really enjoy teasing him, and, besides, it was not like mere teasing,
+either. She was evidently in earnest when she repeated that she did not
+like him. He knew her face when she was chaffing, and her tone, and the
+little bending of the delicate, swan-like throat, too long for perfect
+beauty, but not for perfect grace. When she was in earnest, her head
+rose, her eyes looked straight before her, and her voice sank to a
+graver note. He knew all the signs of truth, for with her it was always
+very near the surface, dwelling not in a deep well, but in clear water,
+as it were, open to the sky. Her truth was evidently truth, and her
+jesting was transparent as a child's.
+
+It looked a hopeless case, but he had no intention of considering it
+without hope, nor any inclination to relinquish his attempts. He did
+not tell himself in so many words that he wished to marry her, and
+intended to marry her, and would marry her, if it were humanly possible,
+and he assuredly made no such promises to himself. Nor did he look at
+her as he had looked at women in whom he had been momentarily
+interested, appreciating her good points of face and figure, cataloguing
+and compiling her attractions so as to admire them all in turn, forget
+none, and receive their whole effect.
+
+He had a restless, hungry craving that left him no peace, and that
+seemed to desire only a word, a look, the slightest touch of sympathy,
+to be instantly satisfied. And he could not get from her one softened
+glance, nor one sympathetic pressure of the hand, nor one word spoken
+more gravely than another, except the assurance of her genuine dislike.
+
+That was the only thing he had to complain of, but it was enough. He
+could not reproach her with having encouraged him, for she had told him
+the truth from the first. He had not quite believed her. So much the
+worse for him. If he had, and if he had gone to Naples to wait for his
+people, all this would not have happened, for he had not fallen in love
+at first sight. A fortnight of daily and almost hourly intercourse was
+very good and reasonable ground for being in love.
+
+He grew absent-minded, and his pipe went out unexpectedly, which always
+irritated him, and sometimes he did not take the trouble to light it
+again. He rose at dawn and went for long walks in the hills, with the
+idea that the early air and the lofty coolness would do him good, and
+with the acknowledged intention of doing his walking at an hour when he
+could not possibly be with Clare. For he could not keep away from her,
+whether Mrs. Bowring were with her or not. He was too much a man of the
+world to sit all day long before her, glaring at her in shy silence, as
+a boy might have done, and as he would have been content to do; so he
+took immense pains to be agreeable, when her mother was present, and
+Mrs. Bowring liked him, and said that he had really a most extraordinary
+talent for conversation. It was not that he ever said anything very
+memorable; but he talked most of the time, and always pleasantly,
+telling stories about people and places he had known, discussing the
+lighter books of the day, and affecting that profound ignorance of
+politics which makes some women feel at their ease, and encourages
+amusing discussion.
+
+Mrs. Bowring watched him when she was there with a persistency which
+might have made him nervous if he had not been wholly absorbed in her
+daughter. She evidently saw something in him which reminded her of some
+one or something. She had changed of late, and Clare was beginning to
+think that she must be ill, though she scouted the suggestion, and said
+that she was growing daily stronger. She had altogether relaxed her
+vigilance with regard to the two young people, and seemed willing that
+they should go where they pleased together, and sit alone together by
+the hour.
+
+"I dare say I watched him a good deal at first," she said to her
+daughter. "But I have made up my mind about him. He's a very good sort
+of young fellow, and I'm glad that you have a companion. You see I can't
+walk much, and now that you are getting better you need exercise. After
+all, one can always trust the best of one's own people. He's not falling
+in love with you, is he, dear? I sometimes fancy that he looks at you as
+though he were."
+
+"Nonsense, mother!" and Clare laughed intentionally. "But he's very good
+company."
+
+"It would be very unfortunate if he did," said Mrs. Bowring, looking
+away, and speaking almost to herself. "I am not sure that we should not
+have gone away--"
+
+"Really! If one is to be turned out of the most beautiful place in the
+world because a young Englishman chooses to stop in the same hotel!
+Besides, why in the world should he fall in love with me? He's used to
+a very different kind of people, I fancy."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Oh--the gay set--'a' gay set, I suppose, for there are probably more
+than one of them. They are quite different from us, you know."
+
+"That is no reason. On the contrary--men like variety and
+change--change, yes," repeated Mrs. Bowring, with an odd emphasis. "At
+all events, child, don't take a fancy to him!" she added. "Not that I'm
+much afraid of that. You are anything but 'susceptible,' my dear!" she
+laughed faintly.
+
+"You need not be in the least afraid," answered Clare. "But, after all,
+mother--just supposing the case--I can't see why it should be such an
+awful calamity if we took a fancy to each other. We belong to the same
+class of people, if not to the same set. He has enough money, and I'm
+not absolutely penniless, though we are as poor as church mice--"
+
+"For Heaven's sake, don't suggest such a thing!" cried Mrs. Bowring.
+
+Her face was white, and her lips trembled. There was a frightened look
+in her pale eyes, and she turned her face quickly to her daughter, and
+quickly away again.
+
+"Mother!" exclaimed the young girl, in surprise. "What in the world is
+the matter? I was only laughing--besides--" she stopped, puzzled. "Tell
+me the truth, mother," she continued suddenly. "You know about his
+people--his father is some connection of--of your first husband--there's
+some disgraceful story about them--tell me the truth. Why shouldn't I
+know?"
+
+"I hope you never will!" answered Mrs. Bowring, in a low voice that had
+a sort of horror in it.
+
+"Then there is something?" Clare herself turned a little paler as she
+asked the question.
+
+"Don't ask me--don't ask me!"
+
+"Something disgraceful?" The young girl leaned forward as she spoke, and
+her eyes were wide and anxious, forcing her mother to speak.
+
+"Yes--no," faltered Mrs. Bowring. "Nothing to do with this
+one--something his father did long ago."
+
+"Dishonourable?" asked Clare, her voice sinking lower and lower.
+
+"No--not as men look at it--oh, don't ask me! Please don't ask
+me--please don't, darling!"
+
+"Then his yacht is named after you," said the young girl in a flash of
+intelligence.
+
+"His yacht?" asked the elder woman excitedly. "What? I don't
+understand."
+
+"Mr. Johnstone told me that his father had a big steam yacht called the
+'Lucy'--mother, that man loved you, he loves you still."
+
+"Me? Oh no--no, he never loved me!" She laughed wildly, with quivering
+lips. "Don't, child--don't! For God's sake don't ask questions--you'll
+drive me mad! It's the secret of my life--the only secret I have from
+you--oh, Clare, if you love me at all--don't ask me!"
+
+"Mother, sweet! Of course I love you!"
+
+The young girl, very pale and wondering, kneeled beside the elder woman
+and threw her arms round her and drew down her face, kissing the white
+cheeks and the starting tears and the faded flaxen hair. The storm
+subsided, almost without breaking, for Mrs. Bowring was a brave woman
+and, in some ways, a strong woman, and whatever her secret might be, she
+had kept it long and well from her daughter.
+
+Clare knew her, and inwardly decided that the secret must have been
+worth keeping. She loved her mother far too well to hurt her with
+questions, but she was amazed at what she herself felt of resentful
+curiosity to know the truth about anything which could cast a shadow
+upon the man she disliked, as she thought so sincerely. Her mind worked
+like lightning, while her voice spoke softly and her hands sought those
+thin, familiar, gentle fingers which were an integral part of her world
+and life.
+
+Two possibilities presented themselves. Johnstone's father was a
+brother or near connection of her mother's first husband. Either she had
+loved him, been deceived in him, and had married the brother instead;
+or, having married, this man had hated her and fought against her, and
+harmed her, because she was his elder brother's wife, and he coveted the
+inheritance. In either case it was no fault of Brook's. The most that
+could be said would be that he might have his father's character. She
+inclined to the first of her theories. Old Johnstone had made love to
+her mother and had half broken her heart, before she had married his
+brother. Brook was no better--and she thought of Lady Fan. But she was
+strangely glad that her mother had said "not dishonourable, as men look
+at it." It had been as though a cruel hand had been taken from her
+throat, when she had heard that.
+
+"But, mother," she said presently, "these people are coming to-morrow or
+the next day--and they mean to stay, he says. Let us go away, before
+they come. We can come back afterwards--you don't want to meet them."
+
+Mrs. Bowring was calm again, or appeared to be so, whatever was passing
+in her mind.
+
+"I shall certainly not run away," she answered in a low, steady voice.
+"I will not run away and leave Adam Johnstone's son to tell his father
+that I was afraid to meet him, or his wife," she added, almost in a
+whisper. "I've been weak, sometimes, my dear--" her voice rose to its
+natural key again, "and I've made a mistake in life. But I won't be a
+coward--I don't believe I am, by nature, and if I were I wouldn't let
+myself be afraid now."
+
+"It would not be fear, mother. Why should you suffer, if you are going
+to suffer in meeting him? We had much better go away at once. When they
+have all left, we can come back."
+
+"And you would not mind going away to-morrow, and never seeing Brook
+Johnstone again?" asked Mrs. Bowring, quietly.
+
+"I? No! Why should I?"
+
+Clare meant to speak the truth, and she thought that it was the truth.
+But it was not. She grew a little paler a moment after the words had
+passed her lips, but her mother did not see the change of colour.
+
+"I'm glad of that, at all events," said the elder woman. "But I won't go
+away. No--I won't," she repeated, as though spurring her own courage.
+
+"Very well," answered the young girl. "But we can keep very much to
+ourselves all the time they are here, can't we? We needn't make their
+acquaintance--at least--" she stopped short, realising that it would be
+impossible to avoid knowing Brook's people if they were stopping in the
+same hotel.
+
+"Their acquaintance!" Mrs. Bowring laughed bitterly at the idea.
+
+"Oh--I forgot," said Clare. "At all events, we need not meet
+unnecessarily. That's what I mean, you know."
+
+There was a short pause, during which her mother seemed to be thinking.
+
+"I shall see him alone, for I have something to say to him," she said at
+last, as though she had come to a decision. "Go out, my dear," she
+added. "Leave me alone a little while. I shall be all right when it is
+time for luncheon."
+
+Her daughter left her, but she did not go out at once. She went to her
+own room and sat down to think over what she had seen and heard. If she
+went out she should probably find Johnstone waiting for her, and she did
+not wish to meet him just then. It was better to be alone. She would
+find out why the idea of not seeing him any more had hurt her after she
+had spoken.
+
+But that was not an easy matter at all. So soon as she tried to think of
+herself and her own feelings, she began to think of her mother. And when
+she endeavoured to solve the mystery and guess the secret, her thoughts
+flew off suddenly to Brook, and she wished that she were outside in the
+sunshine talking to him. And again, as the probable conversation
+suggested itself to her, she was glad that she was not with him, and she
+tried to think again. Then she forced herself to recall the scene with
+Lady Fan on the terrace, and she did her best to put him in the worst
+possible light, which in her opinion was a very bad light indeed. And
+his father before him--Adam--her mother had told her the name for the
+first time, and it struck her as an odd one--old Adam Johnstone had been
+a heart-breaker, and a faith-breaker, and a betrayer of women before
+Brook was in the world at all. Her theory held good, when she looked at
+it fairly, and her resentment grew apace. It was natural enough, for in
+her imagination she had always hated that first husband of her mother's
+who had come and gone before her father; and now she extended her hatred
+to this probable brother, and it had much more force, because the man
+was alive and a reality, and was soon to come and be a visible talking
+person. There was one good point about him and his coming. It helped her
+to revive her hatred of Brook and to colour it with the inheritance of
+some harm done to her own mother. That certainly was an advantage.
+
+But she should be very sorry not to see Brook any more, never to hear
+him talk to her again, never to look into his eyes--which, all the
+same, she so unreasonably dreaded. It was beyond her powers of analysis
+to reconcile her like and dislike. All the little logic she had said
+that it was impossible to like and dislike the same person at the same
+time. She seemed to have two hearts, and the one cried "Hate," while the
+other cried "Love." That was absurd, and altogether ridiculous, and
+quite contemptible.
+
+There they were, however, the two hearts, fighting it out, or at least
+altercating and threatening to fight and hurt her. Of course "love"
+meant "like"--it was a general term, well contrasting with "hate." As
+for really caring, beyond a liking for Brook Johnstone, she was sure
+that it was impossible. But the liking was strong. She exploded her
+difficulty at last with the bomb of a splendidly youthful quibble. She
+said to herself that she undoubtedly hated him and despised him, and
+that he was certainly the very lowest of living men for treating Lady
+Fan so badly--besides being a black sinner, a point which had less
+weight. And then she told herself that the cry of something in her to
+"like" instead of hating was simply the expression of what she might
+have felt, and should have felt, and should have had a right to have
+felt, had it not been for poor Lady Fan; but also of something which she
+assuredly did not feel, never could feel, and never meant to feel. In
+other words, she should have liked Brook if she had not had good cause
+to dislike him. She was satisfied with this explanation of her feelings,
+and she suddenly felt that she could go out and see him and talk to him
+without being inconsistent. She had forgotten to explain to herself why
+she wished him not to go away. She went out accordingly, and sat down on
+the terrace in the soft air.
+
+She glanced up and down, but Johnstone was not to be seen anywhere, and
+she wished that she had not come out after all. He had probably waited
+some time and had then gone for a walk by himself. She thought that he
+might have waited just a little longer before giving it up, and she half
+unconsciously made up her mind to requite him by staying indoors after
+luncheon. She had not even brought a book or a piece of work, for she
+had felt quite sure that he would be walking up and down as usual, with
+his pipe, looking as though he owned the scenery. She half rose to go
+in, and then changed her mind. She would give him one more chance and
+count fifty, before she went away, at a good quick rate.
+
+She began to count. At thirty-five her pace slackened. She stopped a
+long time at forty-five, and then went slowly to the end. But Johnstone
+did not come. Once again, she reluctantly decided--and she began
+slowly; and again she slackened speed and dragged over the last ten
+numbers. But he did not come.
+
+"Oh, this is ridiculous!" she exclaimed aloud to herself, as she rose
+impatiently from her seat.
+
+She felt injured, for her mother had sent her away, and there was no one
+to talk to her, and she did not care to think any more, lest the
+questions she had decided should again seem open and doubtful. She went
+into the hotel and walked down the corridor. He might be in the
+reading-room. She walked quickly, because she was a little ashamed of
+looking for him when she felt that he should be looking for her.
+Suddenly she stopped, for she heard him whistling somewhere. Whistling
+was his solitary accomplishment, and he did it very well. There was no
+mistaking the shakes and runs, and pretty bird-like cadences. She
+listened, but she bit her lip. He was light-hearted, at all events, she
+thought.
+
+The sound came nearer, and Brook suddenly appeared in the corridor, his
+hat on the back of his head, his hands in his pockets. As he caught
+sight of Clare the shrill tune ceased, and one hand removed the hat.
+
+"I've been looking for you everywhere, for the last two hours," he cried
+as he came along. "Good morning," he said as he reached her. "I was
+just going back to the terrace in despair."
+
+"It sounded more as though you were whistling for me," answered Clare,
+with a laugh, for she was instantly happy, and pacified, and peaceful.
+
+"Well--not exactly!" he answered. "But I did hope that you would hear me
+and know that I was about--wishing you would come."
+
+"I always come out in the morning," she replied with sudden demureness.
+"Indeed--I wondered where you were. Let us go out, shall we?"
+
+"We might go for a walk," suggested Brook.
+
+"It is too late."
+
+"Just a little walk--down to the town and across the bridge to Atrani,
+and back. Couldn't we?"
+
+"Oh, we could, of course. Very well--I've got a hat on, haven't I? All
+right. Come along!"
+
+"My people are coming to-day," said Brook, as they passed through the
+door. "I've just had a telegram."
+
+"To-day!" exclaimed Clare in surprise, and somewhat disturbed.
+
+"Yes, you know I have been expecting them at any moment. I fancy they
+have been knocking about, you know--seeing Pæstum and all that. They
+are such queer people. They always want to see everything--as though it
+mattered!"
+
+"There are only the two? Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone?"
+
+"Yes--that's all." Brook laughed a little as though she had said
+something amusing.
+
+"What are you laughing at?" asked Clare, naturally enough.
+
+"Oh, nothing. It's ridiculous--but it sounded funny--unfamiliar, I mean.
+My father has fallen a victim to knighthood, that's all. The affliction
+came upon him some time ago, and his name is Adam--of all the names in
+the world."
+
+"It was the first," observed Clare reassuringly. "It doesn't sound badly
+either--Sir Adam. I beg his pardon for calling him 'Mr.'" She laughed in
+her turn.
+
+"Oh, he wouldn't mind," said Brook. "He's not at all that sort. Do you
+know? I think you'll like him awfully. He's a fine old chap in his way,
+though he is a brewer. He's much bigger than I am, but he's rather odd,
+you know. Sometimes he'll talk like anything, and sometimes he won't
+open his lips. We aren't at all alike in that way. I talk all the time,
+I believe--rain or shine. Don't I bore you dreadfully sometimes?"
+
+"No--you never bore me," answered Clare with perfect truth.
+
+"I mean, when I talk as I did yesterday afternoon," said Johnstone with
+a shade of irritation.
+
+"Oh, that--yes! Please don't begin again, and spoil our walk!"
+
+But the walk was not destined to be a long one. A narrow, paved footway
+leads down from the old monastery to the shore, in zigzag, between low
+whitewashed walls, passing at last under some houses which are built
+across it on arches.
+
+Just as they came in sight a tall old man emerged from this archway,
+walking steadily up the hill. He was tall and bony, with a long grey
+beard, shaggy bent brows, keen dark eyes, and an eagle nose. He wore
+clothes of rough grey woollen tweed, and carried a grey felt hat in one
+long hand.
+
+A moment after he had come out of the arch he caught sight of Brook, and
+his rough face brightened instantly. He waved the grey hat and called
+out.
+
+"Hulloa, my boy! There you are, eh!"
+
+His voice was thin, like many Scotch voices, but it carried far, and had
+a manly ring in it. Brook did not answer, but waved his hat.
+
+"That's my father," he said in a low tone to Clare. "May I introduce
+him? And there's my mother--being carried up in the chair."
+
+A couple of lusty porters were carrying Lady Johnstone up the steep
+ascent. She was a fat lady with bright blue eyes, like her son's, and a
+much brighter colour. She had a parasol in one hand and a fan in the
+other, and she shook a little with every step the porters made. In the
+rear, a moment later, came other porters, carrying boxes and bags of all
+sizes. Then a short woman, evidently Lady Johnstone's maid, came quietly
+along by herself, stopping occasionally to look at the sea.
+
+Clare looked curiously at the party as they approached. Her first
+impulse had been to leave Brook and go back alone to warn her mother. It
+was not far. But she realised that it would be much better and wiser to
+face the introduction at once. In less than five minutes Sir Adam had
+reached them. He shook hands with Brook vigorously, and looked at him as
+a man looks who loves his son. Clare saw the glance, and it pleased her.
+
+"Let me introduce you to Miss Bowring," said Brook. "Mrs. Bowring and
+Miss Bowring are staying here, and have been awfully good to me."
+
+Sir Adam turned his keen eyes to Clare, as she held out her hand.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said, "but are you a daughter of Captain
+Bowring who was killed some years ago in Africa?"
+
+"Yes." She looked up to him inquiringly and distrustfully.
+
+His face brightened again and softened--then hardened singularly, all at
+once. She could not have believed that such features could change so
+quickly.
+
+"And my son says that your mother is here! My dear young lady--I'm very
+glad! I hope you mean to stay."
+
+The words were cordial. The tone was cold. Brook stared at his father,
+very much surprised to find that he knew anything of the Bowrings, for
+he himself had not mentioned them in his letters. But the porters,
+walking more slowly, had just brought his mother up to where the three
+stood, and waited, panting a little, and the chair swinging slightly
+from the shoulder-straps.
+
+"Dear old boy!" cried Lady Johnstone. "It is good to see you. No--don't
+kiss me, my dear--it's far too hot. Let me look at you."
+
+Sir Adam gravely introduced Clare. Lady Johnstone's fat face became
+stony as a red granite mummy case, and she bent her apoplectic neck
+stiffly.
+
+"Oh!" she ejaculated. "Very glad, I'm sure. Were you going for a walk?"
+she asked, turning to Brook, severely.
+
+"Yes, there was just time. I didn't know when to expect you. But if Miss
+Bowring doesn't mind, we'll give it up, and I'll install you. Your rooms
+are all ready."
+
+It was at once clear to Clare that Lady Johnstone had never heard the
+name of Bowring, and that she resented the idea of her son walking alone
+with any young girl.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Clare went directly to her mother's room. She had hardly spoken again
+during the few minutes while she had necessarily remained with the
+Johnstones, climbing the hill back to the hotel. At the door she had
+stood aside to let Lady Johnstone go in, Sir Adam had followed his wife,
+and Brook had lingered, doubtless hoping to exchange a few words more
+with Clare. But she was preoccupied, and had not vouchsafed him a
+glance.
+
+"They have come," she said, as she closed Mrs. Bowring's door behind
+her.
+
+Her mother was seated by the open window, her hands lying idly in her
+lap, her face turned away, as Clare entered. She started slightly, and
+looked round.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Already! Well--it had to come. Have you met?"
+
+Clare told her all that had happened.
+
+"And he said that he was glad?" asked Mrs. Bowring, with the ghost of a
+smile.
+
+"He said so--yes. His voice was cold. But when he first heard my name
+and asked about my father his face softened."
+
+"His face softened," repeated Mrs. Bowring to herself, just above a
+whisper, as the ghost of the smile flitted about her pale lips.
+
+"He seemed glad at first, and then he looked displeased. Is that it?"
+she asked, raising her voice again.
+
+"That was what I thought," answered Clare. "Why don't you have luncheon
+in your room, mother?" she asked suddenly.
+
+"He would think I was afraid to meet him," said the elder woman.
+
+A long silence followed, and Clare sat down on a stiff straw chair,
+looking out of the window. At last she turned to her mother again.
+
+"You couldn't tell me all about it, could you, mother dear?" she asked.
+"It seems to me it would be so much easier for us both. Perhaps I could
+help you. And I myself--I should know better how to act."
+
+"No. I can't tell you. I only pray that I may never have to. As for you,
+darling--be natural. It is a very strange position to be in, but you
+cannot know it--you can't be supposed to know it. I wish I could have
+kept my secret better--but I broke down when you told me about the
+yacht. You can only help me in one way--don't ask me questions, dear. It
+would be harder for me, if you knew--indeed it would. Be natural. You
+need not run after them, you know--"
+
+"I should think not!" cried Clare indignantly.
+
+"I mean, you need not go and sit by them and talk to them for long at a
+time. But don't be suddenly cold and rude to their son. There's nothing
+against--I mean, it has nothing to do with him. You mustn't think it
+has, you know. Be natural--be yourself."
+
+"It's not altogether easy to be natural under the circumstances," Clare
+answered, with some truth, and a great deal of repressed curiosity which
+she did her best to hide away altogether for her mother's sake.
+
+At luncheon the Johnstones were all three placed on the opposite side of
+the table, and Brook was no longer Clare's neighbour. The Bowrings were
+already in their places when the three entered, Sir Adam giving his arm
+to his wife, who seemed to need help in walking, or at all events to be
+glad of it. Brook followed at a little distance, and Clare saw that he
+was looking at her regretfully, as though he wished himself at her side
+again. Had she been less young and unconscious and thoroughly innocent,
+she must have seen by this time that he was seriously in love with her.
+
+Sir Adam held his wife's chair for her, with somewhat old-fashioned
+courtesy, and pushed it gently as she sat down. Then he raised his head,
+and his eyes met Mrs. Bowring's. For a few moments they looked at each
+other. Then his expression changed and softened, as it had when he had
+first met Clare, but Mrs. Bowring's face grew hard and pale. He did not
+sit down, but to his wife's surprise walked quietly all round the end of
+the table and up the other side to where Mrs. Bowring sat. She knew that
+he was coming, and she turned a little to meet his hand. The English old
+maids watched the proceedings with keen interest from the upper end.
+
+Sir Adam held out his hand, and Mrs. Bowring took it.
+
+"It is a great pleasure to me to meet you again," he said slowly, as
+though speaking with an effort. "Brook says that you have been very good
+to him, and so I want to thank you at once. Yes--this is your
+daughter--Brook introduced me. Excuse me--I'll get round to my place
+again. Shall we meet after luncheon?"
+
+"If you like," said Mrs. Bowring in a constrained tone. "By all means,"
+she added nervously.
+
+"My dear," said Sir Adam, speaking across the table to his wife, "let me
+introduce you to my old friend Mrs. Bowring, the mother of this young
+lady whom you have already met," he added, glancing down at Clare's
+flaxen head.
+
+Again Lady Johnstone slightly bent her apoplectic neck, but her
+expression was not stony, as it had been when she had first looked at
+Clare. On the contrary, she smiled very pleasantly and naturally, and
+her frank blue eyes looked at Mrs. Bowring with a friendly interest.
+
+Clare thought that she heard a faint sigh of relief escape her mother's
+lips just then. Sir Adam's heavy steps echoed upon the tile floor, as he
+marched all round the table again to his seat. The table itself was
+narrow, and it was easy to talk across it, without raising the voice.
+Sir Adam sat on one side of his wife, and Brook on the other, last on
+his side, as Clare was on hers.
+
+There was very little conversation at first. Brook did not care to talk
+across to Clare, and Sir Adam seemed to have said all he meant to say
+for the present. Lady Johnstone, who seemed to be a cheerful,
+conversational soul, began to talk to Mrs. Bowring, evidently attracted
+by her at first sight.
+
+"It's a beautiful place when you get here," she said. "Isn't it? The
+view from my window is heavenly! But to get here! Dear me! I was carried
+up by two men, you know, and I thought they would have died. I hope
+they are enjoying their dinner, poor fellows! I'm sure they never
+carried such a load before!"
+
+And she laughed, with a sort of frank, half self-commiserating amusement
+at her own proportions.
+
+"Oh, I fancy they must be used to it," said Mrs. Bowring, reassuringly,
+for the sake of saying something.
+
+"They'll hate the sight of me in a week!" said Lady Johnstone. "I mean
+to go everywhere, while I'm here--up all the hills, and down all the
+valleys. I always see everything when I come to a new place. It's
+pleasant to sit still afterwards, and feel that you've done it all,
+don't you know? I shall ruin you in porters, Adam," she added, turning
+her large round face slowly to her husband.
+
+"Certainly, certainly," answered Sir Adam, nodding gravely, as he
+dissected the bones out of a fried sardine.
+
+"You're awfully good about it," said Lady Johnstone, in thanks for
+unlimited porters to come.
+
+Like many unusually stout people, she ate very little, and had plenty of
+time for talking.
+
+"You knew my husband a long time ago, then!" she began, again looking
+across at Mrs. Bowring.
+
+Sir Adam glanced at Mrs. Bowring sharply from beneath his shaggy brows.
+
+"Oh yes," she said calmly. "We met before he was married."
+
+The grey-headed man slowly nodded assent, but said nothing.
+
+"Before his first marriage?" inquired Lady Johnstone gravely. "You know
+that he has been married twice."
+
+"Yes," answered Mrs. Bowring. "Before his first marriage."
+
+Again Sir Adam nodded solemnly.
+
+"How interesting!" exclaimed Lady Johnstone. "Such old friends! And to
+meet in this accidental way, in this queer place!"
+
+"We generally live abroad," said Mrs. Bowring. "Generally in Florence.
+Do you know Florence?"
+
+"Oh yes!" cried the fat lady enthusiastically. "I dote on Florence. I'm
+perfectly mad about pictures, you know. Perfectly mad!"
+
+The vision of a woman cast in Lady Johnstone's proportions and perfectly
+mad might have provoked a smile on Mrs. Bowring's face at any other
+time.
+
+"I suppose you buy pictures, as well as admire them," she said, glad of
+the turn the conversation had taken.
+
+"Sometimes," answered the other. "Sometimes. I wish I could buy more.
+But good pictures are getting to be most frightfully dear. Besides, you
+are hardly ever sure of getting an original, unless there are all the
+documents--and that means thousands, literally thousands of pounds. But
+now and then I kick over the traces, you know."
+
+Clare could not help smiling at the simile, and bent down her head.
+Brook was watching her, he understood and was annoyed, for he loved his
+mother in his own way.
+
+"At all events you won't be able to ruin yourself in pictures here,"
+said Mrs. Bowring.
+
+"No--but how about the porters?" suggested Sir Adam.
+
+"My dear Adam," said Lady Johnstone, "unless they are all Shylocks here,
+they won't exact a ducat for every pound of flesh. If they did, you
+would certainly never get back to England."
+
+It was impossible not to laugh. Lady Johnstone did not look at all the
+sort of person to say witty things, though she was the very incarnation
+of good humour--except when she thought that Brook was in danger of
+being married. And every one laughed, Sir Adam first, then Brook, and
+then the Bowrings. The effect was good. Lady Johnstone was really
+afflicted with curiosity, and her first questions to Mrs. Bowring had
+been asked purely out of a wish to make advances. She was strongly
+attracted by the quiet, pale face, with its excessive refinement and
+delicately traced lines of suffering. She felt that the woman had taken
+life too hard, and it was her instinct to comfort her, and warm her and
+take care of her, from the first. Brook understood and rejoiced, for he
+knew his mother's tenacity about her first impressions, and he wished to
+have her on his side.
+
+After that the ice was broken and the conversation did not flag. Sir
+Adam looked at Mrs. Bowring from time to time with an expression of
+uncertainty which sat strangely on his determined features, and whenever
+any new subject was broached he watched her uneasily until she had
+spoken. But Mrs. Bowring rarely returned his glances, and her eyes never
+lingered on his face even when she was speaking to him. Clare, for her
+part, joined in the conversation, and wondered and waited. Her theory
+was strengthened by what she saw. Clearly Sir Adam felt uncomfortable in
+her mother's presence; therefore he had injured her in some way, and
+doubted whether she had ever forgiven him. But to the girl's quick
+instinct it was clear that he did not stand to Mrs. Bowring only in the
+position of one who had harmed her. In some way of love or friendship,
+he had once been very fond of her. The youngest woman cannot easily
+mistake the signs of such bygone intercourse.
+
+When they rose, Mrs. Bowring walked slowly, on her side of the table, so
+as not to reach the door before Lady Johnstone, who could not move fast
+under any circumstances. They all went out together upon the terrace.
+
+"Brook," said the fat lady, "I must sit down, or I shall die. You know,
+my dear--get me one that won't break!"
+
+She laughed a little, as Brook went off to find a solid chair. A few
+minutes later she was enthroned in safety, her husband on one side of
+her and Mrs. Bowring on the other, all facing the sea.
+
+"It's too perfect for words!" she exclaimed, in solid and peaceful
+satisfaction. "Adam, isn't it a dream? You thin people don't know how
+nice it is to come to anchor in a pleasant place after a long voyage!"
+
+She sighed happily and moved her arms so that their weight was quite at
+rest without an effort.
+
+Clare and Johnstone walked slowly up and down, passing and repassing,
+and trying to talk as though neither were aware that there was something
+unusual in the situation, to say the least of it. At last they stopped
+at the end farthest away from the others.
+
+"I had no idea that my father had known your mother long ago," said
+Brook suddenly. "Had you?"
+
+"Yes--of late," answered Clare. "You see my mother wasn't sure, until
+you told me his first name," she hastened to add.
+
+"Oh--I see. Of course. Stupid of me not to try and bring it into the
+conversation sooner, wasn't it? But it seems to have been ever so long
+ago. Don't you think so?"
+
+"Yes. Ever so long ago."
+
+"When they were quite young, I suppose. Your mother must have been
+perfectly beautiful when she was young. I dare say my father was madly
+in love with her. It wouldn't be at all surprising, you know, would it?
+He was a tremendous fellow for falling in love."
+
+"Oh! Was he?" Clare spoke rather coldly.
+
+"You're not angry, are you, because I suggested it?" asked Brook
+quickly. "I don't see that there's any harm in it. There's no reason why
+a young man as he was shouldn't have been desperately in love with a
+beautiful young girl, is there?"
+
+"None whatever," answered Clare. "I was only thinking--it's rather an
+odd coincidence--do you mind telling me something?"
+
+"Of course not! What is it?"
+
+"Had your father ever a brother--who died?"
+
+"No. He had a lot of sisters--some of them are alive still. Awful old
+things, my aunts are, too. No, he never had any brother. Why do you
+ask?"
+
+"Nothing--it's a mere coincidence. Did I ever tell you that my mother
+was married twice? My father was her second husband. The first had your
+name."
+
+"Johnstone, with an E on the end of it?"
+
+"Yes--with an E."
+
+"Gad! that's funny!" exclaimed Brook. "Some connection, I dare say. Then
+we are connected too, you and I, not much though, when one thinks of it.
+Step-cousin by marriage, and ever so many degrees removed, too."
+
+"You can't call that a connection," said Clare with a little laugh, but
+her face was thoughtful. "Still, it is odd that she should have known
+your father well, and should have married a man of the same name--with
+the E--isn't it?"
+
+"He may have been an own cousin, for all I know," said Brook. "I'll ask.
+He's sure to remember. He never forgets anything. And it's another
+coincidence too, that my father should have been married twice, just
+like your mother, and that I should be the son of the second marriage,
+too. What odd things happen, when one comes to compare notes!"
+
+While they had walked up and down, Lady Johnstone had paid no attention
+to them, but she had grown restless as soon as she had seen that they
+stood still at a distance to talk, and her bright blue eyes turned
+towards them again and again, with sudden motherly anxiety. At last she
+could bear it no longer.
+
+"Brook!" she cried. "Brook, my dear boy!" Brook and Clare walked back
+towards the little group.
+
+"Brook, dear," said Lady Johnstone. "Please come and tell me the names
+of all the mountains and places we see from here. You know, I always
+want to know everything as soon as I arrive."
+
+Sir Adam rose from his chair.
+
+"Should you like to take a turn?" he asked, speaking to Mrs. Bowring and
+standing before her.
+
+She rose in silence and stepped forward, with a quiet, set face, as
+though she knew that the supreme moment had come.
+
+"Take our chairs," said Sir Adam to Clare and Brook. "We are going to
+walk about a little."
+
+Mrs. Bowring turned in the direction whence the young people had come,
+towards the end of the terrace. Sir Adam walked erect beside her.
+
+"Is there a way out at that end?" he asked in a low voice, when they
+had gone a little distance.
+
+"No."
+
+"We can't stand there and talk. Where can we go? Isn't there a quiet
+place somewhere?"
+
+"Do you want to talk to me?" asked Mrs. Bowring, looking straight before
+her.
+
+"Yes, please," answered Sir Adam, almost sharply, but still in a low
+tone. "I've waited a long time," he added.
+
+Mrs. Bowring said nothing in answer. They reached the end of the walk,
+and she turned without pausing.
+
+"The point out there is called the Conca," she said, pointing to the
+rocks far out below. "It curls round like a shell, you know. Conca means
+a sea-shell, I think. It seems to be a great place for fishing, for
+there are always little boats about it in fine weather."
+
+"I remember," replied Sir Adam. "I was here thirty years ago. It hasn't
+changed much. Are there still those little paper-mills in the valley on
+the way to Ravello? They used to be very primitive."
+
+They kept up their forced conversation as they passed Lady Johnstone and
+the young people. Then they were silent again, as they went towards the
+hotel.
+
+"We'll go through the house," said Mrs. Bowring, speaking low again.
+"There's a quiet place on the other side--Clare and your son will have
+to stay with your wife."
+
+"Yes, I thought of that, when I told them to take our chairs."
+
+In silence they traversed the long tiled corridor with set faces, like
+two people who are going to do something dangerous and disagreeable
+together. They came out upon the platform before the deep recess of the
+rocks in which stood the black cross. There was nobody there.
+
+"We shall not be disturbed out here," said Mrs. Bowring, quietly. "The
+people in the hotel go to their rooms after luncheon. We will sit down
+there by the cross, if you don't mind--I'm not so strong as I used to
+be, you know."
+
+They ascended the few steps which led up to the bench where Clare had
+sat on that evening which she could not forget, and they sat down side
+by side, not looking at each other's faces.
+
+A long silence followed. Once or twice Sir Adam shifted his feet
+uneasily, and opened his mouth as though he were going to say something,
+but suddenly changed his mind. Mrs. Bowring was the first to speak.
+
+"Please understand," she said slowly, glancing at him sideways, "I don't
+want you to say anything, and I don't know what you can have to say. As
+for my being here, it's very simple. If I had known that Brook Johnstone
+was your son before he had made our acquaintance, and that you were
+coming here, I should have gone away at once. As soon as I knew him I
+suspected who he was. You must know that he is like you as you used to
+be--except your eyes. Then I said to myself that he would tell you that
+he had met us, and that you would of course think that I had been afraid
+to meet you. I'm not. So I stayed. I don't know whether I did right or
+wrong. To me it seemed right, and I'm willing to abide the consequences,
+if there are to be any."
+
+"What consequences can there be?" asked the grey-bearded man, turning
+his eyes slowly to her face.
+
+"That depends upon how you act. It might have been better to behave as
+though we had never met, and to let your son introduce you to me as he
+introduced you to Clare. We might have started upon a more formal
+footing, then. You have chosen to say that we are old friends. It's an
+odd expression to use--but let it stand. I won't quarrel with it. It
+does well enough. As for the position, it's not pleasant for me, but it
+must be worse for you. There's not much to choose. But I don't want you
+to think that I expect you to talk about old times unless you like. If
+you have anything which you wish to say, I'll hear it all without
+interrupting you. But I do wish you to believe that I won't do anything
+nor say anything which could touch your wife. She seems to be happy with
+you. I hope she always has been and always will be. She knew what she
+was doing when she married you. God knows, there was publicity enough.
+Was it my fault? I suppose you've always thought so. Very well,
+then--say that it was my fault. But don't tell your wife who I am unless
+she forces you to it out of curiosity."
+
+"Do you think I should wish to?" asked Sir Adam, bitterly.
+
+"No--of course not. But she may ask you who I was and when we met, and
+all about it. Try and keep her off the subject. We don't want to tell
+lies, you know."
+
+"I shall say that you were Lucy Waring. That's true enough. You were
+christened Lucy Waring. She need never know what your last name was.
+That isn't a lie, is it?"
+
+"Not exactly--under the circumstances."
+
+"And your daughter knows nothing, of course? I want to know how we
+stand, you see."
+
+"No--only that we have met before. I don't know what she may suspect.
+And your son?"
+
+"Oh, I suppose he knows. Somebody must have told him."
+
+"He doesn't know who I am, though," said Mrs. Bowring, with conviction.
+"He seems to be more like his mother than like you. He couldn't conceal
+anything long."
+
+"I wasn't particularly good at that either, as it turned out," said Sir
+Adam, gravely.
+
+"No, thank God!"
+
+"Do you think it's something to be thankful for? I don't. Things might
+have gone better afterwards--"
+
+"Afterwards!" The suffering of the woman's life was in the tone and in
+her eyes.
+
+"Yes, afterwards. I'm an old man, Lucy, and I've seen a great many
+things since you and I parted, and a great many people. I was bad
+enough, but I've seen worse men since, who have had another chance and
+have turned out well."
+
+"Their wives did not love them. I am almost old, too. I loved you, Adam.
+It was a bad hurt you gave me, and the wound never healed. I married--I
+had to marry. He was an honest gentleman. Then he was killed. That hurt
+too, for I was very fond of him--but it did not hurt as the other did.
+Nothing could."
+
+Her voice shook, and she turned away her face. At least, he should not
+see that her lip trembled.
+
+"I didn't think you cared," said Sir Adam, and his own voice was not
+very steady.
+
+She turned upon him almost fiercely, and there was a blue light in her
+faded eyes.
+
+"I! You thought I didn't care? You've no right to say that--it's wicked
+of you, and it's cruel. Did you think I married you for your money,
+Adam? And if I had--should I have given it up to be divorced because you
+gave jewels to an actress? I loved you, and I wanted your love, or
+nothing. You couldn't be faithful--commonly, decently faithful, for one
+year--and I got myself free from you, because I would not be your wife,
+nor eat your bread, nor touch your hand, if you couldn't love me. Don't
+say that you ever loved me, except my face. We hadn't been divorced a
+year when you married again. Don't say that you loved me! You loved your
+wife--your second wife--perhaps. I hope so. I hope you love her now--and
+I dare say you do, for she looks happy--but don't say that you ever
+loved me--just long enough to marry me and betray me!"
+
+"You're hard, Lucy. You're as hard as ever you were twenty years ago,"
+said Adam Johnstone.
+
+As he leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee, he passed his brown
+hand across his eyes, and then stared vaguely at the white walls of the
+old hotel beyond the platform.
+
+"But you know that I'm right," answered Mrs. Bowring. "Perhaps I'm
+hard, too. I'm sorry. You said that you had been mad, I remember--I
+don't like to think of all you said, but you said that. And I remember
+thinking that I had been much more mad than you, to have married you,
+but that I should soon be really mad--raving mad--if I remained your
+wife. I couldn't. I should have died. Afterwards I thought it would have
+been better if I had died then. But I lived through it. Then, after the
+death of my old aunt, I was alone. What was I to do? I was poor and
+lonely, and a divorced woman, though the right had been on my side.
+Richard Bowring knew all about it, and I married him. I did not love you
+any more, then, but I told him the truth when I told him that I could
+never love any one again. He was satisfied--so we were married."
+
+"I don't blame you," said Sir Adam.
+
+"Blame me! No--it would hardly be for you to blame me, if I could make
+anything of the shreds of my life which I had saved from yours. For that
+matter--you were free too. It was soon done, but why should I blame you
+for that? You were free--by the law--to go where you pleased, to love
+again, and to marry at once. You did. Oh no! I don't blame you for
+that!"
+
+Both were silent for some time. But Mrs. Bowring's eyes still had an
+indignant light in them, and her fingers twitched nervously from time to
+time. Sir Adam stared stolidly at the white wall, without looking at his
+former wife.
+
+"I've been talking about myself," she said at last. "I didn't mean to,
+for I need no justification. When you said that you wanted to say
+something, I brought you here so that we could be alone. What was it? I
+should have let you speak first."
+
+"It was this." He paused, as though choosing his words. "Well, I don't
+know," he continued presently. "You've been saying a good many things
+about me that I would have said myself. I've not denied them, have I?
+Well, it's this. I wanted to see you for years, and now we've met. We
+may not meet again, Lucy, though I dare say we may live a long time. I
+wish we could, though. But of course you don't care to see me. I was
+your husband once, and I behaved like a brute to you. You wouldn't want
+me for a friend now that I am old."
+
+He waited, but she said nothing.
+
+"Of course you wouldn't," he continued. "I shouldn't, in your place. Oh,
+I know! If I were dying or starving, or very unhappy, you would be
+capable of doing anything for me, out of sheer goodness. You're only
+just to people who aren't suffering. You were always like that in the
+old days. It's so much the worse for us. I have nothing about me to
+excite your pity. I'm strong, I'm well, I'm very rich, I'm relatively
+happy. I don't know how much I cared for my wife when I married her, but
+she has been a good wife, and I'm very fond of her now, in my own way.
+It wasn't a good action, I admit, to marry her at all. She was the
+beauty of her year and the best match of the season, and I was just
+divorced, and every one's hand was against me. I thought I would show
+them what I could do, winged as I was, and I got her. No; it wasn't a
+thing to be proud of. But somehow we hit it off, and she stuck to me,
+and I grew fond of her because she did, and here we are as you see us,
+and Brook is a fine fellow, and likes me. I like him too. He's honest
+and faithful, like his mother. There's no justice and no logic in this
+world, Lucy. I was a good-for-nothing in the old days. Circumstances
+have made me decently good, and a pretty happy man besides, as men go. I
+couldn't ask for any pity if I tried."
+
+"No; you're not to be pitied. I'm glad you're happy. I don't wish you
+any harm."
+
+"You might, and I shouldn't blame you. But all that isn't what I wished
+to say. I'm getting old, and we may not meet any more after this. If
+you wish me to go away, I'll go. We'll leave the place tomorrow."
+
+"No. Why should you? It's a strange situation, as we were to-day at
+table. You with your wife beside, and your divorced wife opposite you,
+and only you and I knowing it. I suppose you think, somehow--I don't
+know--that I might be jealous of your wife. But twenty-seven years make
+a difference, Adam. It's half a lifetime. It's so utterly past that I
+sha'n't realise it. If you like to stay, then stay. No harm can come of
+it, and that was so very long ago. Is that what you want to say?"
+
+"No." He hesitated. "I want you to say that you forgive me," he said, in
+a quick, hoarse voice.
+
+His keen dark eyes turned quickly to her face, and he saw how very pale
+she was, and how the shadows had deepened under her eyes, and her
+fingers twitched nervously as they clasped one another in her lap.
+
+"I suppose you think I'm sentimental," he said, looking at her. "Perhaps
+I am; but it would mean a good deal to me if you would just say it."
+
+There was something pathetic in the appeal, and something young too, in
+spite of his grey beard and furrowed face. Still Mrs. Bowring said
+nothing. It meant almost too much to her, even after twenty-seven
+years. This old man had taken her, an innocent young girl, had married
+her, had betrayed her while she dearly loved him, and had blasted her
+life at the beginning. Even now it was hard to forgive. The suffering
+was not old, and the sight of his face had touched the quick again.
+Barely ten minutes had passed since the pain had almost wrung the tears
+from her.
+
+"You can't," said the old man, suddenly. "I see it. It's too much to
+ask, I suppose, and I've never done anything to deserve it."
+
+The pale face grew paler, but the hands were still, and grasped each
+other, firm and cold. The lips moved, but no sound came. Then a moment,
+and they moved again.
+
+"You're mistaken, Adam. I do forgive you."
+
+He caught the two hands in his, and his face shivered.
+
+"God bless you, dear," he tried to say, and he kissed the hands twice.
+
+When Mrs. Bowring looked up he was sitting beside her, just as before;
+but his face was terribly drawn, and strange, and a great tear had
+trickled down the furrowed brown cheek into the grey beard.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+Lady Johnstone was one of those perfectly frank and honest persons who
+take no trouble to conceal their anxieties. From the fact that when she
+had met him on the way up to the hotel Brook had been walking alone with
+Clare Bowring, she had at once argued that a considerable intimacy
+existed between the two. Her meeting with Clare's mother, and her sudden
+fancy for the elder woman, had momentarily allayed her fears, but they
+revived when it became clear to her that Brook sought every possible
+opportunity of being alone with the young girl. She was an eminently
+practical woman, as has been said, which perhaps accounted for her
+having made a good husband out of such a man as Adam Johnstone had been
+in his youth. She had never seen Brook devote himself to a young girl
+before now. She saw that Clare was good to look at, and she promptly
+concluded that Brook must be in love. The conclusion was perfectly
+correct, and Lady Johnstone soon grew very nervous. Brook was too young
+to marry, and even if he had been old enough his mother thought that he
+might have made a better choice. At all events he should not entangle
+himself in an engagement with the girl; and she began systematically to
+interfere with his attempts to be alone with her. Brook was as frank as
+herself. He charged her with trying to keep him from Clare, and she did
+not deny that he was right. This led to a discussion on the third day
+after the Johnstones' arrival.
+
+"You mustn't make a fool of yourself, Brook, dear," said Lady Johnstone.
+"You are not old enough to marry. Oh, I know, you are five-and-twenty,
+and ought to have come to years of discretion. But you haven't, dear
+boy. Don't forget that you are Adam Johnstone's son, and that you may be
+expected to do all the things that he did before I married him. And he
+did a good many things, you know. I'm devoted to your father, and if he
+were in the room I should tell you just what I am telling you now.
+Before I married him he had about a thousand flirtations, and he had
+been married too, and had gone off with an actress--a shocking affair
+altogether! And his wife had divorced him. She must have been one of
+those horrible women who can't forgive, you know. Now, my dear boy, you
+aren't a bit better than your father, and that pretty Clare Bowring
+looks as though she would never forgive anybody who did anything she
+didn't like. Have you asked her to marry you?"
+
+"Good heavens, no!" cried Brook. "She wouldn't look at me!"
+
+"Wouldn't look at you? That's simply ridiculous, you know! She'd marry
+you out of hand--unless she's perfectly idiotic. And she doesn't look
+that. Leave her alone, Brook. Talk to the mother. She's one of the most
+delightful women I ever met. She has a dear, quiet way with her--like a
+very thoroughbred white cat that's been ill and wants to be petted."
+
+"What extraordinary ideas you have, mother!" laughed Brook. "But on
+general principles I don't see why I shouldn't marry Miss Bowring, if
+she'll have me. Why not? Her father was a gentleman, you like her
+mother, and as for herself--"
+
+"Oh, I've nothing against her. It's all against you, Brook dear. You are
+such a dreadful flirt, you know! You'll get tired of the poor girl and
+make her miserable. I'm sure she isn't practical, as I am. The very
+first time you look at some one else she'll get on a tragic horse and
+charge the crockery--and there will be a most awful smash! It's not easy
+to manage you Johnstones when you think you are in love. I ought to
+know!"
+
+"I say, mother," said Brook, "has anybody been telling you stories
+about me lately?"
+
+"Lately? Let me see. The last I heard was that Mrs. Crosby--the one you
+all call Lady Fan--was going to get a divorce so as to marry you."
+
+"Oh--you heard that, did you?"
+
+"Yes--everybody was talking about it and asking me whether it was true.
+It seems that she was with that party that brought you here. She left
+them at Naples, and came home at once by land, and they said she was
+giving out that she meant to marry you. I laughed, of course. But people
+wouldn't talk about you so much, dear boy, if there were not so much to
+talk about. I know that you would never do anything so idiotic as that,
+and if Mrs. Crosby chooses to flirt with you, that's her affair. She's
+older than you, and knows more about it. But this is quite another
+thing. This is serious. You sha'n't make love to that nice girl, Brook.
+You sha'n't! I'll do something dreadful, if you do. I'll tell her all
+about Mrs. Leo Cairngorm or somebody like that. But you sha'n't marry
+her and ruin her life."
+
+"You're going in for philanthropy, mother," said Brook, growing red.
+"It's something new. You never made a fuss before."
+
+"No, of course not. You never were so foolish before, my dear boy. I'm
+not bad myself, I believe. But you are, every one of you, and I love you
+all, and the only way to do anything with you is to let you run wild a
+little first. It's the only practical, sensible way. And you've only
+just begun--how in the world do you dare to think of marrying? Upon my
+word, it's too bad. I won't wait. I'll frighten the girl to death with
+stories about you, until she refuses to speak to you! But I've taken a
+fancy to her mother, and you sha'n't make the child miserable. You
+sha'n't, Brook. Oh, I've made up my mind! You sha'n't. I'll tell the
+mother too. I'll frighten them all, till they can't bear the sight of
+you."
+
+Lady Johnstone was energetic, as well as original, in spite of her
+abnormal size, and Brook knew that she was quite capable of carrying out
+her threat, and more also.
+
+"I may be like my father in some ways," he answered. "But I'm a good
+deal like you too, mother. I'm rather apt to stick to what I like, you
+know. Besides, I don't believe you would do anything of the kind. And
+she isn't inclined to like me, as it is. I believe she must have heard
+some story or other. Don't make things any worse than they are."
+
+"Then don't lose your head and ask her to marry you after a fortnight's
+acquaintance, Brook, because she'll accept you, and you will make her
+perfectly wretched."
+
+He saw that it was not always possible to argue with his mother, and he
+said nothing more. But he reflected upon her point of view, and he saw
+that it was not altogether unjust, as she knew him. She could not
+possibly understand that what he felt for Clare Bowring bore not the
+slightest resemblance to what he had felt for Lady Fan, if, indeed, he
+had felt anything at all, which he considered doubtful now that it was
+over, though he would have been angry enough at the suggestion a month
+earlier. To tell the truth, he felt quite sure of himself at the present
+time, though all his sensations were more or less new to him. And his
+mother's sudden and rather eccentric opposition unexpectedly
+strengthened his determination. He might laugh at what he called her
+originality, but he could not afford to jest at the prospect of her
+giving Clare an account of his life. She was quite capable of it, and
+would probably do it.
+
+These preoccupations, however, were as nothing compared with the main
+point--the certainty that Clare would refuse him, if he offered himself
+to her, and when he left his mother he was in a very undetermined state
+of mind. If he should ask Clare to marry him now, she would refuse him.
+But if his mother interfered, it would be much worse a week hence.
+
+At last, as ill-luck would have it, he came upon her unexpectedly in the
+corridor, as he came out, and they almost ran against each other.
+
+"Won't you come out for a bit?" he asked quickly and in a low voice.
+
+"Thanks--I have some letters to write," answered the young girl.
+"Besides, it's much too hot. There isn't a breath of air."
+
+"Oh, it's not really hot, you know," said Brook, persuasively.
+
+"Then it's making a very good pretence!" laughed Clare.
+
+"It's ever so much cooler out of doors. If you'll only come out for one
+minute, you'll see. Really--I'm in earnest."
+
+"But why should I go out if I don't want to?" asked the young girl.
+
+"Because I asked you to--"
+
+"Oh, that isn't a reason, you know," she laughed again.
+
+"Well, then, because you really would, if I hadn't asked you, and you
+only refuse out of a spirit of opposition," suggested Brook.
+
+"Oh--do you think so? Do you think I generally do just the contrary of
+what I'm asked to do?"
+
+"Of course, everybody knows that, who knows you." Brook seemed amused
+at the idea.
+
+"If you think that--well, I'll come, just for a minute, if it's only to
+show you that you are quite wrong."
+
+"Thanks, awfully. Sha'n't we go for the little walk that was interrupted
+when my people came the other day?"
+
+"No--it's too hot, really. I'll walk as far as the end of the terrace
+and back--once. Do you mind telling me why you are so tremendously
+anxious to have me come out this very minute?"
+
+"I'll tell you--at least, I don't know that I can--wait till we are
+outside. I should like to be out with you all the time, you know--and I
+thought you might come, so I asked you."
+
+"You seem rather confused," said Clare gravely.
+
+"Well, you know," Brook answered as they walked along towards the
+dazzling green light that filled the door, "to tell the truth, between
+one thing and another--" He did not complete the sentence.
+
+"Yes?" said Clare, sweetly. "Between one thing and another--what were
+you going to say?"
+
+Brook did not answer as they went out into the hot, blossom-scented air,
+under the spreading vines.
+
+"Do you mean to say it's cooler here than indoors?" asked the young
+girl in a tone of resignation.
+
+"Oh, it's much cooler! There's a breeze at the end of the walk."
+
+"The sea is like oil," observed Clare. "There isn't the least breath."
+
+"Well," said Brook, "it can't be really hot, because it's only the first
+week in June after all."
+
+"This isn't Scotland. It's positively boiling, and I wish I hadn't come
+out. Beware of first impulses--they are always right!"
+
+But she glanced sideways at his face, for she knew that something was in
+the air. She was not sure what to expect of him just then, but she knew
+that there was something to expect. Her instinct told her that he meant
+to speak and to say more than he had yet said. It told her that he was
+going to ask her to marry him, then and there, in the blazing noon,
+under the vines, but her modesty scouted the thought as savouring of
+vanity. At all events she would prevent him from doing it if she could.
+
+"Lady Johnstone seems to like this place," she said, with a sudden
+effort at conversation. "She says that she means to make all sorts of
+expeditions."
+
+"Of course she will," answered Brook, in a half-impatient tone. "But,
+please--I don't want to talk about my mother or the landscape. I really
+did want to speak to you, because I can't stand this sort of thing any
+longer, you know."
+
+"What sort of thing?" asked Clare innocently, raising her eyes to his,
+as they reached the end of the walk.
+
+It was very hot and still. Not a breath stirred the young vine-leaves
+overhead, and the scent of the last orange-blossoms hung in the
+motionless air. The heat rose quivering from the sea to southward, and
+the water lay flat as a mirror under the glory of the first summer's
+day.
+
+They stood still. Clare felt nervous, and tried to think of something to
+say which might keep him from speaking, and destroy the effect of her
+last question. But it was too late now. He was pale, for him, and his
+eyes were very bright.
+
+"I can't live without you--it comes to that. Can't you see?"
+
+The short plain words shook oddly as they fell from his lips. The two
+stood quite still, each looking into the other's face. Brook grew paler
+still, but the colour rose in Clare's cheeks. She tried to meet his eyes
+steadily, without feeling that he could control her.
+
+"I'm sorry," she said, "I'm very sorry."
+
+"You sha'n't say that," he answered, cutting her words with his, and
+sharply. "I'm tired of hearing it. I'm glad I love you, whatever you do
+to me; and you must get to like me. You must. I tell you I can't live
+without you."
+
+"But if I can't--" Clare tried to say.
+
+"You can--you must--you shall!" broke in Brook, hoarsely, his eyes
+growing brighter and fiercer. "I didn't know what it was to love
+anybody, and now that I know, I can't live without it, and I won't."
+
+"But if--"
+
+"There is no 'if,'" he cried, in his low strong voice, fixing her eyes
+with his. "There's no question of my going mad, or dying, or anything
+half so weak, because I won't take no. Oh, you may say it a hundred
+times, but it won't help you. I tell you I love you. Do you understand
+what that means? I'm in God's own earnest. I'll give you my life, but I
+won't give you up. I'll take you somehow, whether you will or not, and
+I'll hide you somewhere, but you sha'n't get away from me as long as you
+live."
+
+"You must be mad!" exclaimed the young girl, scarcely above her breath,
+half-frightened, and unable to loose her eyes from the fascination of
+his.
+
+"No, I'm not mad; only you've never seen any one in earnest before, and
+you've been condemning me without evidence all along. But it must stop
+now. You must tell me what it is, for I have a right to know. Tell me
+what it all is. I will know--I will. Look at me; you can't look away
+till you tell me."
+
+Clare felt his power, and felt that his eyes were dazzling her, and that
+if she did not escape from them she must yield and tell him. She tried,
+and her eyelids quivered. Then she raised her hand to cover her own
+eyes, in a desperate attempt to keep her secret. He caught it and held
+it, and still looked. She turned pale suddenly. Then her words came
+mechanically.
+
+"I was out there when you said 'good-bye' to Lady Fan. I heard
+everything, from first to last."
+
+He started in surprise, and the colour rose suddenly to his face. He did
+not look away yet, but Clare saw the blush of shame in his face, and
+felt that his power diminished, while hers grew all at once, to
+overmaster him in turn.
+
+"It's scarcely a fortnight since you betrayed her," she said, slowly and
+distinctly, "and you expect me to like you and to believe that you are
+in earnest."
+
+His shame turned quickly to anger.
+
+"So you listened!" he exclaimed.
+
+"Yes, I listened," she answered, and her words came easily, then, in
+self-defence--for she had thought of it all very often. "I didn't know
+who you were. My mother and I had been sitting beside the cross in the
+shadow of the cave, and she went in to finish a letter, leaving me
+there. Then you two came out talking. Before I knew what was happening
+you had said too much. I felt that if I had been in Lady Fan's place I
+would far rather never know that a stranger was listening. So I sat
+still, and I could not help hearing. How was I to know that you meant to
+stay here until I heard you say so to her? And I heard everything. You
+are ashamed now that you know that I know. Do you wonder that I disliked
+you from the first?"
+
+"I don't see why you should," answered Brook stubbornly. "If you do--you
+do. That doesn't change matters--"
+
+"You betrayed her!" cried Clare indignantly. "You forgot that I heard
+all you said--how you promised to marry her if she could get a divorce.
+It was horrible, and I never dreamt of such things, but I heard it. And
+then you were tired of her, I suppose, and you changed your mind, and
+calmly told her that it was all a mistake. Do you expect any woman, who
+has seen another treated in that way, to forget? Oh, I saw her face, and
+I heard her sob. You broke her heart for your amusement. And it was only
+a fortnight ago!"
+
+She had the upper hand now, and she turned from him with a last
+scornful glance, and looked over the low wall at the sea, wondering how
+he could have held her with his eyes a moment earlier. Brook stood
+motionless beside her, and there was silence. He might have found much
+in self-defence, but there was not one word of it which he could tell
+her. Perhaps she might find out some day what sort of person Lady Fan
+was, but his own lips were closed. That was his view of what honour
+meant.
+
+Clare felt that her breath came quickly, and that the colour was deep in
+her cheeks as she gazed at the flat, hot sea. For a moment she felt a
+woman's enormous satisfaction in being absolutely unanswerable. Then,
+all at once, she had a strong sensation of sickness, and a quick pain
+shot sharply through her just below the heart. She steadied herself by
+the wall with her hands, and shut her lips tightly.
+
+She had refused him as well as accused him. He would go away in a few
+moments, and never try to be alone with her again. Perhaps he would
+leave Amalfi that very day. It was impossible that she should really
+care for him, and yet, if she did not care, she would not ask the next
+question. Then he spoke to her. His voice was changed and very quiet
+now.
+
+"I'm sorry you heard all that," he said. "I don't wonder that you've
+got a bad opinion of me, and I suppose I can't say anything just now to
+make you change it. You heard, and you think you have a right to judge.
+Perhaps I shouldn't even say this--you heard me then, and you have heard
+me now. There's a difference, you'll admit. But all that you heard then,
+and all that you have told me now, can't change the truth, and you can't
+make me love you less, whatever you do. I don't believe I'm that sort of
+man."
+
+"I should have thought you were," said Clare bitterly, and regretting
+the words as soon as they were spoken.
+
+"It's natural that you should think so. At the same time, it doesn't
+follow that because a man doesn't love one woman he can't possibly love
+another."
+
+"That's simply brutal!" exclaimed the young girl, angry with him
+unreasonably because the argument was good.
+
+"It's true, at all events. I didn't love Mrs. Crosby, and I told her so.
+You may think me a brute if you like, but you heard me say it, if you
+heard anything, so I suppose I may quote myself. I do love you, and I
+have told you so--the fact that I can't say it in choice language
+doesn't make it a lie. I'm not a man in a book, and I'm in earnest."
+
+"Please stop," said Clare, as she heard the hoarse strength coming back
+in his voice.
+
+"Yes--I know. I've said it before, and you don't care to hear it again.
+You can't kill it by making me hold my tongue, you know. It only makes
+it worse. You'll see that I'm in earnest in time--then you'll change
+your mind. But I can't change mine. I can't live without you, whatever
+you may think of me now."
+
+It was a strange wooing, very unlike anything she had ever dreamt of, if
+she had allowed herself to dream of such things. She asked herself
+whether this could be the same man who had calmly and cynically told
+Lady Fan that he did not love her and could not think of marrying her.
+He had been cool and quiet enough then. That gave strength to the
+argument he used now. She had seen him with another woman, and now she
+saw him with herself and heard him. She was surprised and almost taken
+from her feet by his rough vehemence. He surely did not speak as a man
+choosing his words, certainly not as one trying to produce an effect.
+But then, on that evening at the Acropolis--the thought of that scene
+pursued her--he had doubtless spoken just as roughly and vehemently to
+Lady Fan, and had seemed just as much in earnest. And suddenly Lady Fan
+was hateful to her, and she almost ceased to pity her at all. But for
+Lady Fan--well, it might have been different. She should not have blamed
+herself for liking him, for loving him perhaps, and his words would have
+had another ring.
+
+He still stood beside her, watching her, and she was afraid to turn to
+him lest he should see something in her face which she meant to hide.
+But she could speak quietly enough, resting her hands on the wall and
+looking out to sea. It would be best to be a little formal, she thought.
+The sound of his own name spoken distinctly and coldly would perhaps
+warn him not to go too far.
+
+"Mr. Johnstone," she said, steadying her voice, "this can't go on. I
+never meant to tell you what I knew, but you have forced me to it. I
+don't love you--I don't like a man who can do such things, and I never
+could. And I can't let you talk to me in this way any more. If we must
+meet, you must behave just as usual. If you can't, I shall persuade my
+mother to go away at once."
+
+"I shall follow you," said Brook. "I told you so the other day. You
+can't possibly go to any place where I can't go too."
+
+"Do you mean to persecute me, Mr. Johnstone?" she asked.
+
+"I love you."
+
+"I hate you!"
+
+"Yes, but you won't always. Even if you do, I shall always love you just
+as much."
+
+Her eyes fell before his.
+
+"Do you mean to say that you can really love a woman who hates you?" she
+asked, looking at one of her hands as it rested on the wall.
+
+"Of course. Why not? What has that to do with it?"
+
+The question was asked so simply and with such honest surprise that
+Clare looked up again. He was smiling a little sadly.
+
+"But--I don't understand--" she hesitated.
+
+"Do you think it's like a bargain?" he asked quietly. "Do you think it's
+a matter of exchange--'I will love you if you'll love me'? Oh no! It's
+not that. I can't help it. I'm not my own master. I've got to love you,
+whether I like it or not. But since I do--well, I've said the rest, and
+I won't repeat it. I've told you that I'm in earnest, and you haven't
+believed me. I've told you that I love you, and you won't even believe
+that--"
+
+"No--I can believe that, well enough, now. You do to-day, perhaps. At
+least you think you do."
+
+"Well--you don't believe it, then. What's the use of repeating it? If I
+could talk well, it would be different, but I'm not much of a talker,
+at best, and just now I can't put two words together. But I--I mean lots
+of things that I can't say, and perhaps wouldn't say, you know. At
+least, not just now."
+
+He turned from her and began to walk up and down across the narrow
+terrace, towards her and away from her, his hands in his pockets, and
+his head a little bent. She watched him in silence for some time.
+Perhaps if she had hated him as much as she said that she did, she would
+have left him then and gone into the house. Something, good or evil,
+tempted her to speak.
+
+"What do you mean, that you wouldn't say now?" she asked.
+
+"I don't know," he answered gruffly, still walking up and down, ten
+steps each way. "Don't ask me--I told you one thing. I shall follow you
+wherever you go."
+
+"And then?" asked Clare, still prompted by some genius, good or bad.
+
+"And then?" Brook stopped and stared at her rather wildly. "And then? If
+I can't get you in any other way--well, I'll take you, that's all! It's
+not a very pretty thing to say, is it?"
+
+"It doesn't sound a very probable thing to do, either," answered Clare.
+"I'm afraid you are out of your mind, Mr. Johnstone."
+
+"You've driven most things out of it since I loved you," answered Brook,
+beginning to walk again. "You've made me say things that I shouldn't
+have dreamed of saying to any woman, much less to you. And you've made
+me think of doing things that looked perfectly mad a week ago." He
+stopped before her. "Can't you see? Can't you understand? Can't you feel
+how I love you?"
+
+"Don't--please don't!" she said, beginning to be frightened at his
+manner again.
+
+"Don't what? Don't love you? Don't live, then--don't exist--don't
+anything! What would it all matter, if I didn't love you? Meanwhile, I
+do, and by the--no! What's the use of talking? You might laugh. You'd
+make a fool of me, if you hadn't killed the fool out of me with too much
+earnest--and what's left can't talk, though it can do something better
+worth while than a lot of talking."
+
+Clare began to think that the heat had hurt his head. And all the time,
+in a secret, shame-faced way, she was listening to his incoherent
+sentences and rough exclamations, and remembering them one by one, and
+every one. And she looked at his pale face, and saw the queer light in
+his blue eyes, and the squaring of his jaw--and then and long afterwards
+the whole picture, with its memory of words, hot, broken, and confused,
+meant earnest love in her thoughts. No man in his senses, wishing to
+play a part and produce an impression upon a woman, would have acted as
+he did, and she knew it. It was the rough, real thing--the raw strength
+of an honest man's uncontrolled passion that she saw--and it told her
+more of love in a few minutes than all she had heard or read in her
+whole life. But while it was before her, alive and throbbing and
+incoherent of speech, it frightened her.
+
+"Come," she said nervously, "we mustn't stay out here any longer,
+talking in this way."
+
+He stopped again, close before her, and his eyes looked dangerous for an
+instant. Then he straightened himself, and seemed to swallow something
+with an effort.
+
+"All right," he answered. "I don't want to keep you out here in the
+heat."
+
+He faced about, and they walked slowly towards the house. When they
+reached the door he stood aside. She saw that he did not mean to go in,
+and she paused an instant on the threshold, looked at him gravely, and
+nodded before she entered. Again he bent his head, and said nothing. She
+left him standing there, and went straight to her room.
+
+Then she sat down before a little table on which she wrote her letters,
+near the window, and she tried to think. But it was not easy, and
+everything was terribly confused. She rested her elbows upon the small
+desk and pressed her fingers to her eyes, as though to drive away the
+sight that would come back. Then she dropped her hands suddenly and
+opened her eyes wide, and stared at the wall-paper before her. And it
+came back very vividly between her and the white plaster, and she heard
+his voice again--but she was smiling now.
+
+She started violently, for she felt two hands laid unexpectedly upon her
+shoulders, and some one kissed her hair. She had not heard her mother's
+footstep, nor the opening and shutting of the door, nor anything but
+Brook Johnstone's voice.
+
+"What is it, my darling?" asked the elder woman, bending down over her
+daughter's shoulder. "Has anything happened?"
+
+Clare hesitated a moment, and then spoke, for the habit of her
+confidence was strong. "He has asked me to marry him, mother--"
+
+In her turn Mrs. Bowring started, and then rested one hand on the table.
+
+"You? You?" she repeated, in a low and troubled voice. "You marry Adam
+Johnstone's son?"
+
+"No, mother--never," answered the young girl.
+
+"Thank God!"
+
+And Mrs. Bowring sank into a chair, shivering as though she were cold.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+Brook felt in his pocket mechanically for his pipe, as a man who smokes
+generally takes to something of the sort at great moments in his life,
+from sheer habit. He went through the operation of filling and lighting
+with great precision, almost unconscious of what he was doing, and
+presently he found himself smoking and sitting on the wall just where
+Clare had leaned against it during their interview. In three minutes his
+pipe had gone out, but he was not aware of the fact, and sat quite still
+in his place, staring into the shrubbery which grew at the back of the
+terrace.
+
+He was conscious that he had talked and acted wildly, and quite unlike
+the self with which he had been long acquainted; and the consciousness
+was anything but pleasant. He wondered where Clare was, and what she
+might be thinking of him at that moment. But as he thought of her his
+former mood returned, and he felt that he was not ashamed of what he had
+done and said. Then he realised, all at once, for the second time, that
+Clare had been on the platform on that first night, and he tried to
+recall everything that Lady Fan and he had said to each other.
+
+No such thing had ever happened to him before, and he had a sensation of
+shame and distress and anger, as he went over the scene, and thought of
+the innocent young girl who had sat in the shadow and heard it all. She
+had accidentally crossed the broad, clear line of demarcation which he
+drew between her kind and all the tribe of Lady Fans and Mrs. Cairngorms
+whom he had known. He felt somehow as though it were his fault, and as
+though he were responsible to Clare for what she had heard and seen. The
+sensation of shame deepened, and he swore bitterly under his breath. It
+was one of those things which could not be undone, and for which there
+was no reparation possible. Yet it was like an insult to Clare. For a
+man who had lately been rough to the girl, almost to brutality, he was
+singularly sensitive perhaps. But that did not strike him. When he had
+told her that he loved her, he had been too much in earnest to pick and
+choose his expressions. But when he had spoken to Lady Fan, he might
+have chosen and selected and polished his phrases so that Clare should
+have understood nothing--if he had only known that she had been sitting
+up there by the cross in the dark. And again he cursed himself bitterly.
+
+It was not because her knowing the facts had spoilt everything and
+given her a bad impression of him from the first: that might be set
+right in time, even now, and he did not wish her to marry him believing
+him to be an angel of light. It was that she should have seen something
+which she should not have seen, for her innocence's sake--something
+which, in a sense, must have offended and wounded her maidenliness. He
+would have struck any man who could have laughed at his sensitiveness
+about that. The worst of it--and he went back to the idea again and
+again--was that nothing could be done to mend matters, since it was all
+so completely in the past.
+
+He sat on the wall and pulled at his briar-root pipe, which had gone out
+and was quite cold by this time, though he hardly knew it. He had plenty
+to think of, and things were not going straight at all. He had pretended
+indifference when his mother had told him how Lady Fan meant to get a
+divorce and how she was telling her intimate friends under the usual
+vain promises of secrecy that she meant to marry Adam Johnstone's son as
+soon as she should be free. Brook had told her plainly enough that he
+would not marry her in any case, but he asked himself whether the world
+might not say that he should, and whether in that case it might not
+turn out to be a question of honour. He had secretly thought of that
+before now, and in the sudden depression of spirits which came upon him
+as a reaction he cursed himself a third time for having told Clare
+Bowring that he loved her, while such a matter as Lady Fan's divorce was
+still hanging over him as a possibility.
+
+Sitting on the wall, he swung his legs angrily, striking his heels
+against the stones in his perplexed discontent with the ordering of the
+universe. Things looked very black. He wished that he could see Clare
+again, and that, somehow, he could talk it all over with her. Then he
+almost laughed at the idea. She would tell him that she disliked him--he
+was sick of the sound of the word--and that it was his duty to marry
+Lady Fan. What could she know of Lady Fan? He could not tell her that
+the little lady in the white serge, being rather desperate, had got
+herself asked to go with the party for the express purpose of throwing
+herself at his head, as the current phrase gracefully expresses it, and
+with the distinct intention of divorcing her husband in order to marry
+Brook Johnstone. He could not tell Clare that he had made love to Lady
+Fan to get rid of her, as another common expression put it, with a
+delicacy worthy of modern society. He could not tell her that Lady Fan,
+who was clever but indiscreet, had unfolded her scheme to her bosom
+friend Mrs. Leo Cairngorm, or that Mrs. Cairngorm, unknown to Lady Fan,
+had been a very devoted friend of Brook's, and was still fond of him,
+and secretly hated Lady Fan, and had therefore unfolded the whole plan
+to Brook before the party had started; or that on that afternoon at
+sunset on the Acropolis he had not at all assented to Lady Fan's mad
+proposal, as she had represented that he had when they had parted on the
+platform at Amalfi; he could not tell Clare any of these things, for he
+felt that they were not fit for her to hear. And if she knew none of
+them she must judge him out of her ignorance. Brook wished that some
+supernatural being with a gift for solving hard problems would suddenly
+appear and set things straight.
+
+Instead, he saw the man who brought the letters just entering the hotel,
+and he rose by force of habit and went to the office to see if there
+were anything for him.
+
+There was one, and it was from Lady Fan, by no means the first she had
+written since she had gone to England. And there were several for Sir
+Adam and two for Lady Johnstone. Brook took them all, and opened his own
+at once. He did not belong to that class of people who put off reading
+disagreeable correspondence. While he read he walked slowly along the
+corridor.
+
+Lady Fan was actually consulting a firm of solicitors with a view to
+getting a divorce. She said that she of course understood his conduct on
+that last night at Amalfi--the whole plan must have seemed unrealisable
+to him then--she would forgive him. She refused to believe that he would
+ruin her in cold blood, as she must be ruined if she got a divorce from
+Crosby, and if Brook would not marry her; and much more.
+
+Why should she be ruined? Brook asked himself. If Crosby divorced her on
+Brook's account, it would be another matter altogether. But she was
+going to divorce Crosby, who was undoubtedly a beast, and her reputation
+would be none the worse for it. People would only wonder why she had not
+done it before, and so would Crosby, unless he took it into his head to
+examine the question from a financial point of view. For Crosby was, or
+had been, rich, and Lady Fan had no money of her own, and Crosby was
+quite willing to let her spend a good deal, provided she left him in
+peace. How in the world could Clare ever know all the truth about such
+people? It would be an insult to her to think that she could understand
+half of it, and she would not think the better of him unless she could
+understand it all. The situation did not seem to admit of any solution
+in that way. All he could hope for was that Clare might change her mind.
+When she should be older she would understand that she had made a
+mistake, and that the world was not merely a high-class boarding-school
+for young ladies, in which all the men were employed as white-chokered
+professors of social righteousness. That seemed to be her impression, he
+thought, with a resentment which was not against her in particular, but
+against all young girls in general, and which did not prevent him from
+feeling that he would not have had it otherwise for anything in the
+world.
+
+He stuffed the letter into his pocket, and went in search of his father.
+He was strongly inclined to lay the whole matter before him, and to ask
+the old gentleman's advice. He had reason to believe that Sir Adam had
+been in worse scrapes than this when he had been a young man, and
+somehow or other nobody had ever thought the worse of him. He was sure
+to be in his room at that hour, writing letters. Brook knocked and went
+in. It was about eleven o'clock.
+
+Sir Adam, gaunt and grey, and clad in a cashmere dressing-jacket, was
+extended upon all the chairs which the little cell-like room contained,
+close by the open window. He had a very thick cigarette between his
+lips, and a half-emptied glass of brandy and soda stood on the corner of
+a table at his elbow. He had not failed to drink one brandy and soda
+every morning at eleven o'clock for at least a quarter of a century.
+
+His keen old eyes turned sharply to Brook as the latter entered, and a
+smile lighted up his furrowed face, but instantly disappeared again; for
+the young man's features betrayed something of what he had gone through
+during the last hour.
+
+"Anything wrong, boy?" asked Sir Adam quickly. "Have a brandy and soda
+and a pipe with me. Oh, letters! It's devilish hard that the post should
+find a man out in this place! Leave them there on the table."
+
+Brook relighted his pipe. His father took one leg from one of the
+chairs, which he pushed towards his son with his foot by way of an
+invitation to sit down.
+
+"What's the matter?" he asked, renewing his question. "You've got into
+another scrape, have you? Mrs. Crosby--of all women in the world. Your
+mother told me that ridiculous story. Wants to divorce Crosby and marry
+you, does she? I say, boy, it's time this sort of nonsense stopped, you
+know. One of these days you'll be caught. There are cleverer women in
+the world than Mrs. Crosby."
+
+"Oh! she's not clever," answered Brook thoughtfully.
+
+"Well, what's the foundation of the story? What the dickens did you go
+with those people for, when you found out that she was coming? You knew
+the sort of woman she was, I suppose? What happened? You made love to
+her, of course. That was what she wanted. Then she talked of eternal
+bliss together, and that sort of rot, didn't she? And you couldn't
+exactly say that you only went in for bliss by the month, could you? And
+she said, 'By Jove, as you don't refuse, you shall have it for the rest
+of your life,' and she said to herself that you were richer than Crosby,
+and a good deal younger, and better-looking, and better socially, and
+that if you were going to make a fool of yourself she might as well get
+the benefit of it as well as any other woman. Then she wrote to a
+solicitor--and now you are in the devil of a scrape. I fancy that's the
+history of the case, isn't it?"
+
+"I wish you wouldn't talk about women in that sort of way, Governor!"
+exclaimed Brook, by way of answer.
+
+"Don't be an ass!" answered Sir Adam. "There are women one can talk
+about in that way, and women one can't. Mrs. Crosby is one of the first
+kind. I distinguish between 'women' and 'woman.' Don't you? Woman means
+something to most of us--something a good deal better than we are, which
+we treat properly and would cut one another's throats for. We sinners
+aren't called upon to respect women who won't respect themselves. We are
+only expected to be civil to them because they are things in petticoats
+with complexions. Don't be an ass, Brook. I don't want to know what you
+said to Mrs. Crosby, nor what she said to you, and you wouldn't be a
+gentleman if you told me. That's your affair. But she's a woman with a
+consumptive reputation that's very near giving up the ghost, and that
+would have departed this life some time ago if Crosby didn't happen to
+be a little worse than she is. She wants to get a divorce and marry my
+son--and that's my affair. Do you remember the Arab and his slave?
+'You've stolen my money,' said the sheikh. 'That's my business,'
+answered the slave. 'And I'm going to beat you,' said the sheikh.
+'That's your business,' said the slave. It's a similar case, you know,
+only it's a good deal worse. I don't want to know anything that happened
+before you two parted. But I've a right to know what Mrs. Crosby has
+done since, haven't I? You don't care to marry her, do you, boy?"
+
+"Marry her! I'd rather cut my throat."
+
+"You needn't do that. Just tell me whether all this is mere talk, or
+whether she has really been to the solicitor's. If she has, you know,
+she will get her divorce without opposition. Everybody knows about
+Crosby."
+
+"It's true," said Brook. "I've just had a letter from her again. I wish
+I knew what to do!"
+
+"You can't do anything."
+
+"I can refuse to marry her, can't I?"
+
+"Oh--you could. But plenty of people would say that you had induced her
+to get the divorce, and then had changed your mind. She'll count on
+that, and make the most of it, you may be sure. She won't have a penny
+when she's divorced, and she'll go about telling everybody that you have
+ruined her. That won't be pleasant, will it?"
+
+"No--hardly. I had thought of it."
+
+"You see--you can't do anything without injuring yourself. I can settle
+the whole affair in half an hour. By return of post you'll get a letter
+from her telling you that she has abandoned all idea of proceedings
+against Crosby."
+
+"I'll bet you she doesn't," said Brook.
+
+"Anything you like. It's perfectly simple. I'll just make a will,
+leaving you nothing at all, if you marry her, and I'll send her a copy
+to-day. You'll get the answer fast enough."
+
+"By Jove!" exclaimed Brook, in surprise. Then he thoughtfully relighted
+his pipe and threw the match out of the window. "I say, Governor," he
+added after a pause, "do you think that's quite--well, quite fair and
+square, you know?"
+
+"What on earth do you mean?" cried Sir Adam. "Do you mean to tell me
+that I haven't a perfect right to leave my money as I please? And that
+the first adventuress who takes a fancy to it has a right to force you
+into a disgraceful marriage, and that it would be dishonourable of me to
+prevent it if I could? You're mad, boy! Don't talk such nonsense to me!"
+
+"I suppose I'm an idiot," said Brook. "Things about money so easily get
+a queer look, you know. It's not like other things, is it?"
+
+"Look here, Brook," answered the old man, taking his feet from the chair
+on which they rested, and sitting up straight in the low easy chair.
+"People have said a lot of things about me in my life, and I'll do the
+world the credit to add that it might have said twice as much with a
+good show of truth. But nobody ever said that I was mean, nor that I
+ever disappointed anybody in money matters who had a right to expect
+something of me. And that's pretty conclusive evidence, because I'm a
+Scotch-man, and we are generally supposed to be a close-fisted tribe.
+They've said everything about me that the world can say, except that
+I've told you about my first marriage. She--she got her divorce, you
+know. She had a perfect right to it."
+
+The old man lit another cigarette, and sipped his brandy and soda
+thoughtfully.
+
+"I don't like to talk about money," he said in a lower tone. "But I
+don't want you to think me mean, Brook. I allowed her a thousand a year
+after she had got rid of me. She never touched it. She isn't that kind.
+She would rather starve ten times over. But the money has been paid to
+her account in London for twenty-seven years. Perhaps she doesn't know
+it. All the better for her daughter, who will find it after her mother's
+death, and get it all. I only don't want you to think I'm mean, Brook."
+
+"Then she married again--your first wife?" asked the young man, with
+natural curiosity. "And she's alive still?"
+
+"Yes," answered Sir Adam, thoughtfully. "She married again six years
+after I did--rather late--and she had one daughter."
+
+"What an odd idea!" exclaimed Brook. "To think that those two people are
+somewhere about the world. A sort of stray half-sister of mine, the
+girl would be--I mean--what would be the relationship, Governor, since
+we are talking about it?"
+
+"None whatever," answered the old man, in a tone so extraordinarily
+sharp that Brook looked up in surprise. "Of course not! What relation
+could she be? Another mother and another father--no relation at all."
+
+"Do you mean to say that I could marry her?" asked Brook idly.
+
+Sir Adam started a little.
+
+"Why--yes--of course you could, as she wouldn't be related to you."
+
+He suddenly rose, took up his glass, and gulped down what was left in
+it. Then he went and stood before the open window.
+
+"I say, Brook," he began, his back turned to his son.
+
+"What?" asked Brook, poking his knife into his pipe to clean it.
+"Anything wrong?"
+
+"I can't stand this any longer. I've got to speak to somebody--and I
+can't speak to your mother. You won't talk, boy, will you? You and I
+have always been good friends."
+
+"Of course! What's the matter with you, Governor? You can tell me."
+
+"Oh--nothing--that is--Brook, I say, don't be startled. This Mrs.
+Bowring is my divorced wife, you know."
+
+"Good God!"
+
+Sir Adam turned on his heels and met his son's look of horror and
+astonishment. He had expected an exclamation of surprise, but Brook's
+voice had fear in it, and he had started from his chair.
+
+"Why do you say 'Good God'--like that?" asked the old man. "You're not
+in love with the girl, are you?"
+
+"I've just asked her to marry me."
+
+The young man was ghastly pale, as he stood stock-still, staring at his
+father. Sir Adam was the first to recover something of equanimity, but
+the furrows in his face had suddenly grown deeper.
+
+"Of course she has accepted you?" he asked.
+
+"No--she knew about Mrs. Crosby." That seemed sufficient explanation of
+Clare's refusal. "How awful!" exclaimed Brook hoarsely, his mind going
+back to what seemed the main question just then. "How awful for you,
+Governor!"
+
+"Well--it's not pleasant," said Sir Adam, turning to the window again.
+"So the girl refused you," he said, musing, as he looked out. "Just like
+her mother, I suppose. Brook"--he paused.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"So far as I'm concerned, it's not so bad as you think. You needn't
+pity me, you know. It's just as well that we should have met--after
+twenty-seven years."
+
+"She knew you at once, of course?"
+
+"She knew I was your father before I came. And, I say, Brook--she's
+forgiven me at last."
+
+His voice was low and unsteady, and he resolutely kept his back turned.
+
+"She's one of the best women that ever lived," he said. "Your mother's
+the other."
+
+There was a long silence, and neither changed his position. Brook
+watched the back of his father's head.
+
+"You don't mind my saying so to you, Brook?" asked the old man, hitching
+his shoulders.
+
+"Mind? Why?"
+
+"Oh--well--there's no reason, I suppose. Gad! I wish--I suppose I'm
+crazy, but I wish to God you could marry the girl, Brook! She's as good
+as her mother."
+
+Brook said nothing, being very much astonished, as well as disturbed.
+
+"Only--I'll tell you one thing, Brook," said the voice at the window,
+speaking into space. "If you do marry her--and if you treat her as I
+treated her mother--" he turned sharply on both heels and waited a
+minute--"I'll be damned if I don't believe I'd shoot you!"
+
+"I'd spare you the trouble, and do it myself," said Brook, roughly.
+
+They were men, at all events, whatever their faults had been and might
+be, and they looked at the main things of life in very much the same
+way, like father like son. Another silence followed Brook's last speech.
+
+"It's settled now, at all events," he said in a decided way, after a
+long time. "What's the use of talking about it? I don't know whether you
+mean to stay here. I shall go away this afternoon."
+
+Sir Adam sat down again in his low easy chair, and leaned forward,
+looking at the pattern of the tiles in the floor, his wrists resting on
+his knees, and his hands hanging down.
+
+"I don't know," he said slowly. "Let us try and look at it quietly, boy.
+Don't do anything in a hurry. You're in love with the girl, are you? It
+isn't a mere flirtation? How the deuce do you know the difference, at
+your age?"
+
+"Gad!" exclaimed Brook, half angrily. "I know it! that's all. I can't
+live without her. That is--it's all bosh to talk in that way, you know.
+One goes on living, I suppose--one doesn't die. You know what I mean.
+I'd rather lose an arm than lose her--that sort of thing. How am I to
+explain it to you? I'm in earnest about it. I never asked any girl to
+marry me till now. I should think that ought to prove it. You can't say
+that I don't know what married life means."
+
+"Other people's married life," observed Sir Adam, grimly. "You know
+something about that, I'm afraid."
+
+"What difference does it make?" asked Brook. "I can't marry the daughter
+of my father's divorced wife."
+
+"I never heard of a case, simply because such cases don't arise often.
+But there's no earthly reason why you shouldn't. There is no
+relationship whatever between you. There's no mention of it in the table
+of kindred and affinity, I know, simply because it isn't kindred or
+affinity in any way. The world may make its observations. But you may do
+much more surprising things than marry the daughter of your father's
+divorced wife when you are to have forty thousand pounds a year, Brook.
+I've found it out in my time. You'll find it out in yours. And it isn't
+as though there were the least thing about it that wasn't all fair and
+square and straight and honourable and legal--and everything else,
+including the clergy. I supposed that the Archbishop of Canterbury
+wouldn't have married me the second time, because the Church isn't
+supposed to approve of divorces. But I was married in church all right,
+by a very good man. And Church disapproval can't possibly extend to the
+second generation, you know. Oh no! So far as its being possible goes,
+there's nothing to prevent your marrying her."
+
+"Except Mrs. Crosby," said Brook. "You'll prove that she doesn't exist
+either, if you go on. But all that doesn't put things straight. It's a
+horrible situation, no matter how you look at it. What would my mother
+say if she knew? You haven't told her about the Bowrings, have you?"
+
+"No," answered Sir Adam, thoughtfully. "I haven't told her anything. Of
+course she knows the story, but--I'm not sure. Do you think I'm bound to
+tell her that--who Mrs. Bowring is? Do you think it's anything like not
+fair to her, just to leave her in ignorance of it? If you think so, I'll
+tell her at once. That is, I should have to ask Mrs. Bowring first, of
+course."
+
+"Of course," assented Brook. "You can't do that, unless we go away.
+Besides, as things are now, what's the use?"
+
+"She'll have to know, if you are engaged to the daughter."
+
+"I'm not engaged to Miss Bowring," said Brook, disconsolately. "She
+won't look at me. What an infernal mess I've made of my life!"
+
+"Don't be an ass, Brook!" exclaimed Sir Adam, for the third time that
+morning.
+
+"It's all very well to tell me not to be an ass," answered the young
+man gravely. "I can't mend matters now, and I don't blame her for
+refusing me. It isn't much more than two weeks since that night. I can't
+tell her the truth--I wouldn't tell it to you, though I can't prevent
+your telling it to me, since you've guessed it. She thinks I betrayed
+Mrs. Crosby, and left her--like the merest cad, you know. What am I to
+do? I won't say anything against Mrs. Crosby for anything--and if I were
+low enough to do that I couldn't say it to Miss Bowring. I told her that
+I'd marry her in spite of herself--carry her off--anything! But of
+course I couldn't. I lost my head, and talked like a fool."
+
+"She won't think the worse of you for that," observed the old man. "But
+you can't tell her--the rest. Of course not! I'll see what I can do,
+Brook. I don't believe it's hopeless at all. I've watched Miss Bowring,
+ever since we first met you two, coming up the hill. I'll try
+something--"
+
+"Don't speak to her about Mrs. Crosby, at all events!"
+
+"I don't think I should do anything you wouldn't do yourself, boy," said
+Sir Adam, with a shade of reproval in his tone. "All I say is that the
+case isn't so hopeless as you seem to think. Of course you are heavily
+handicapped, and you are a dog with a bad name, and all the rest of it.
+The young lady won't change her mind to-day, nor to-morrow either,
+perhaps. But she wouldn't be a human woman if she never changed it at
+all."
+
+"You don't know her!" Brook shook his head and began to refill his
+refractory pipe. "And I don't believe you know her mother either, though
+you were married to her once. If she is at all what I think she is, she
+won't let her daughter marry your son. It's not as though anything could
+happen now to change the situation. It's an old one--it's old, and set,
+and hard, like a cast. You can't run it into a new mould and make
+anything else of it. Not even you, Governor--and you are as clever as
+anybody I know. It's a sheer question of humanity, without any possible
+outside incident. I've got two things against me which are about as
+serious as anything can be--the mother's prejudice against you, and the
+daughter's prejudice against me--both deuced well founded, it seems to
+me."
+
+"You forget one thing, Brook," said Sir Adam, thoughtfully.
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"Women forgive."
+
+Neither spoke for some time.
+
+"You ought to know," said Brook in a low tone, at last. "They forgive
+when they love--or have loved. That's the right way to put it, I think."
+
+"Well--put it in that way, if you like. It will just cover the ground.
+Whatever that young lady may say, she likes you very much. I've seen her
+watch you, and I'm sure of it."
+
+"How can a woman love a man and hate him at the same time?"
+
+"Why do jealous women sometimes kill their husbands? If they didn't love
+them they wouldn't care; and if they didn't hate them, they wouldn't
+kill them. You can't explain it, perhaps, but you can't deny it either.
+She'll never forgive Mrs. Crosby--perhaps--but she'll forgive you, when
+she finds out that she can't be happy without you. Stay here quietly,
+and let me see what I can do."
+
+"You can't do anything, Governor. But I'm grateful to you all the same.
+And--you know--if there's anything I can do on my side to help you, just
+now, I'll do it!"
+
+"Thank you, Brook," said the old man, leaning back, and putting up his
+feet again.
+
+Brook rose and left the room, slowly shutting the door behind him. Then
+he got his hat and went off for a solitary walk to think matters over.
+They were grave enough, and all that his father had said could not
+persuade him that there was any chance of happiness in his future. There
+was a sort of horror in the situation, too, and he could not remember
+ever to have heard of anything like it. He walked slowly, and with bent
+head.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Sir Adam sat still in his place and smoked another thick cigarette
+before he moved. Then he roused himself, got up, sat down at his table,
+and took a large sheet of paper from a big leather writing-case.
+
+He had no hesitation about what he meant to put down. In a quarter of an
+hour he had written out a new will, in which he left his whole fortune
+to his only son Brook, on condition that Brook did not marry Mrs.
+Crosby. But if he married her before his father's death he was to have
+nothing, and if he married her afterwards he was to forfeit the whole,
+to the uttermost farthing. In either of these cases the property was to
+go to a third person. Sir Adam hesitated a moment, and then wrote the
+name of one of his sisters as the conditional legatee. His wife had
+plenty of money of her own, and besides, the will was a mere formality,
+drawn up and to be executed solely with a view to checking Lady Fan's
+enthusiasm. He did not sign it, but folded it smoothly and put it into
+his pocket. He also took his own pen, for he was particular in matters
+appertaining to the mechanics of writing, and very neat in all he did.
+
+He went out and wandered up and down the terrace in the heat, but no one
+was there. Then he knocked at his wife's door, and found her absorbed in
+an interesting conversation with her maid in regard to matters of dress,
+as connected with climate. Lady Johnstone at once appealed to him, and
+the maid eyed him with suspicion, fearing his suggestions. He satisfied
+her, however, by immediately suggesting that she should go away, whereat
+she smiled and departed.
+
+Lady Johnstone at once understood that something very serious was in the
+air. A wonderful good fellowship existed between husband and wife; but
+they very rarely talked of anything which could not have been discussed,
+figuratively, on the housetops.
+
+"Brook has got himself into a scrape with that Mrs. Crosby, my dear,"
+said Sir Adam. "What you heard is all more or less true. She has really
+been to a solicitor, and means to take steps to get a divorce. Of course
+she could get it easily enough. If she did, people would say that Brook
+had let her go that far, telling her that he would marry her, and then
+had changed his mind and left her to her fate. We can't let that happen,
+you know."
+
+Lady Johnstone looked at her husband with anxiety while he was
+speaking, and then was silent for a few seconds.
+
+"Oh, you Johnstones! You Johnstones!" she cried at last, shaking her
+head. "You're perfectly incorrigible!"
+
+"Oh no, my dear," answered Sir Adam; "don't forget me, you know."
+
+"You, Adam!"
+
+Her tone expressed an extraordinary conflict of varying
+sentiment--amusement, affection, reproach, a retrospective distrust of
+what might have been, but could not be, considering Sir Adam's age.
+
+"Never mind me, then," he answered. "I've made a will cutting Brook off
+with nothing if he marries Mrs. Crosby, and I'm going to send her a copy
+of it to-day. That will be enough, I fancy."
+
+"Adam!"
+
+"Yes--what? Do you disapprove? You always say that you are a practical
+woman, and you generally show that you are. Why shouldn't I take the
+practical method of stopping this woman as soon as possible? She wants
+my money--she doesn't want my son. A fortune with any other name would
+smell as sweet."
+
+"Yes--but--"
+
+"But what?"
+
+"I don't know--it seems--somehow--" Lady Johnstone was perplexed to
+express what she meant just then. "I mean," she added suddenly, "it's
+treating the woman like a mere adventuress, you know--"
+
+"That's precisely what Mrs. Crosby is, my dear," answered Sir Adam
+calmly. "The fact that she comes of decent people doesn't alter the case
+in the least. Nor the fact that she has one rich husband, and wishes to
+get another instead. I say that her husband is rich, but I'm very sure
+he has ruined himself in the last two years, and that she knows it. She
+is not the woman to leave him as long as he has money, for he lets her
+do anything she pleases, and pays her well to leave him alone. But he
+has got into trouble--and rats leave a sinking ship, you know. You may
+say that I'm cynical, my dear, but I think you'll find that I'm telling
+you the facts as they are."
+
+"It seems an awful insult to the woman to send her a copy of your will,"
+said Lady Johnstone.
+
+"It's an awful insult to you when she tries to get rid of her husband to
+marry your only son, my dear."
+
+"Oh--but he'd never marry her!"
+
+"I'm not sure. If he thought it would be dishonourable not to marry her,
+he'd be quite capable of doing it, and of blowing out his brains
+afterwards."
+
+"That wouldn't improve her position," observed the practical Lady
+Johnstone.
+
+"She'd be the widow of an honest man, instead of the wife of a
+blackguard," said Sir Adam. "However, I'm doing this on my own
+responsibility. What I want is that you should witness the will."
+
+"And let Mrs. Crosby think I made you do this? No--"
+
+"Nonsense. I sha'n't copy the signatures--"
+
+"Then why do you need them at all?"
+
+"I'm not going to write to her that I've made a will, if I haven't,"
+answered Sir Adam. "A will isn't a will unless it's witnessed. I'm not
+going to lie about it, just to frighten her. So I want you and Mrs.
+Bowring to witness it."
+
+"Mrs. Bowring?"
+
+"Yes--there are no men here, and Brook can't be a witness, because he's
+interested. You and Mrs. Bowring will do very well. But there's another
+thing--rather an extraordinary thing--and I won't let you sign with her
+until you know it. It's not a very easy thing to tell you, my dear."
+
+Lady Johnstone shifted her fat hands and folded them again, and her
+frank blue eyes gazed at her husband for a moment.
+
+"I can guess," she said, with a good-natured smile. "You told me you
+were old friends--I suppose you were in love with her somewhere!" She
+laughed and shook her head. "I don't mind," she added. "It's one more,
+that's all--one that I didn't know of. She's a very nice woman, and I've
+taken the greatest fancy to her!"
+
+"I'm glad you have," said Sir Adam, gravely. "I say, my dear--don't be
+surprised, you know--I warned you. We knew each other very well--it's
+not what you think at all, and she was altogether in the right and I was
+quite in the wrong about it. I say, now--don't be startled--she's my
+divorced wife--that's all."
+
+"She! Mrs. Bowring! Oh, Adam--how could you treat her so!"
+
+Lady Johnstone leaned back in her chair and slowly turned her head till
+she could look out of the window. She was almost rosy with surprise--a
+change of colour in her sanguine complexion which was equivalent to
+extreme pallor in other persons. Sir Adam looked at her affectionately.
+
+"What an awfully good woman you are!" he exclaimed, in genuine
+admiration.
+
+"I! No, I'm not good at all. I was thinking that if you hadn't been such
+a brute to her I could never have married you. I don't suppose that is
+good, is it? But you were a brute, all the same, Adam, dear, to hurt
+such a woman as that!"
+
+"Of course I was! I told you so when I told you the story. But I didn't
+expect that you'd ever meet."
+
+"No, it is an extraordinary thing. I suppose that if I had any nerves I
+should faint. It would be an awful thing if I did; you'd have to get
+those porters to pick me up!" She smiled meditatively. "But I haven't
+fainted, you see. And, after all, I don't see why it should be so very
+dreadful, do you? You see, you've rather broken me in to the idea of
+lots of other people in your life, and I've always pitied her sincerely.
+I don't see why I should stop pitying her because I've met her and taken
+such a fancy to her without knowing who she was. Do you?"
+
+"Most women would," observed Sir Adam. "It's lucky that you and she
+happen to be the two best women in the world. I told Brook so this
+morning."
+
+"Brook? Have you told him?"
+
+"I had to. He wants to marry her daughter."
+
+"Brook! It's impossible!"
+
+Lady Johnstone's tone betrayed so much more surprise and displeasure
+than when her husband had told her of Mrs. Bowring's identity that he
+stared at her in surprise.
+
+"I don't see why it's impossible," he said, "except that she has
+refused him once. That's nothing. The first time doesn't count."
+
+"He sha'n't!" said the fat lady, whose vivid colour had come back.
+"He'll make her miserable--just as you--no, I won't say that! But they
+are not in the least suited to one another--he's far too young; there
+are fifty reasons."
+
+"Brook won't act as I did, my dear," said Sir Adam. "He's like you in
+that. He'll make as good a husband as you have been a good wife--"
+
+"Nonsense!" interrupted Lady Johnstone. "You're all alike, you
+Johnstones! I was talking to him this morning about her--I knew there
+was the beginning of something--and I told him what I thought. You're
+all bad, and I love you all; but if you think that Clare Bowring is as
+practical as I am, you're very much mistaken, Adam, dear! She'll break
+her heart--"
+
+"If she does, I'll shoot him," answered the old man with a grim smile.
+"I told him so."
+
+"Did you? Well, I am glad you take that view of it," said Lady
+Johnstone, thoughtfully, and not at all realising what she was saying.
+"I'm glad I'm not a nervous woman," she added, beginning to fan herself.
+"I should be in my grave, you know."
+
+"No--you are not nervous, my dear, and I'm very glad of it. I suppose
+it really is rather a trying situation. But if I didn't know you, I
+wouldn't have told you all this. You've spoiled me, you know--you really
+have been so tremendously good to me--always, dear."
+
+There was a rough, half unwilling tenderness in his voice, and his big
+bony hand rested gently on the fat lady's shoulder, as he spoke. She
+bent her head to one side, till her large red cheek touched the brown
+knuckles. It was, in a way, almost grotesque. But there was that
+something in it which could make youth and beauty and passion
+ridiculous--the outspoken truthful old rake and the ever-forgiving wife.
+Who shall say wherein pathos lies? And yet it seems to be something more
+than a mere hack-writer's word, after all. The strangest acts of life
+sometimes go off in such an oddly quiet humdrum way, and then all at
+once there is the little quiver in the throat, when one least expects
+it--and the sad-eyed, faithful, loving angel has passed by quickly, low
+and soft, his gentle wings just brushing the still waters of our unwept
+tears.
+
+Sir Adam left his wife to go in search of Mrs. Bowring. He sent a
+message to her, and she came out and met him in the corridor. They went
+into the reading-room together, and he shut the door. In a few words he
+told her all that he had told his wife about Mrs. Crosby, and asked her
+whether she had any objection to signing the document as a witness,
+merely in order that he might satisfy himself by actually executing it.
+
+"It is high handed," said Mrs. Bowring. "It is like you--but I suppose
+you have a right to save your son from such trouble. But there is
+something else--do you know what has happened? He has been making love
+to Clare--he has asked her to marry him, and she has refused. She told
+me this morning--and I have told her the truth--that you and I were once
+married."
+
+She paused, and watched Sir Adam's furrowed face.
+
+"I'm glad of that," he said. "I'm glad that it has all come out on the
+same day. He knows everything, and he has told me everything. I don't
+know how it's all going to end, but I want you to believe one thing. If
+he had guessed the truth, he would never have said a word of love to
+her. He's not that kind of boy. You do believe me, don't you?"
+
+"Yes, I believe you. But the worst of it is that she cares for him
+too--in a way I can't understand. She has some reason, or she thinks she
+has, for disliking him, as she calls it. She wouldn't tell me. But she
+cares for him all the same. She has told him, though she won't tell me.
+There is something horrible in the idea of our children falling in love
+with each other."
+
+Mrs. Bowring spoke quietly, but her pale face and nervous mouth told
+more than her words.
+
+Sir Adam explained to her shortly what had happened on the first evening
+after Brook's arrival, and how Clare had heard it all, sitting in the
+shadow just above the platform. Mrs. Bowring listened in silence,
+covering her eyes with her hands. There was a long pause after he had
+finished speaking, but still she said nothing.
+
+"I should like him to marry her," said Sir Adam at last, in a low voice.
+
+She started and looked at him uneasily, remembering how well she had
+once loved him, and how he had broken her heart when she was young. He
+met her eyes quietly.
+
+"You don't know him," he said. "He loves her, and he will be to
+her--what I wasn't to you."
+
+"How can you say that he loves her? Three weeks ago he loved that Mrs.
+Crosby."
+
+"He? He never cared for her--not even at first."
+
+"He was all the more heartless and bad to make her think that he did."
+
+"She never thought so, for a moment. She wanted my money, and she
+thought that she could catch him."
+
+"Perhaps--I saw her, and I did not like her face. She had the look of an
+adventuress about her. That doesn't change the main facts. Your son and
+she were--flirting, to say the least of it, three weeks ago. And now he
+thinks himself in love with my daughter. It would be madness to trust
+such a man--even if there were not the rest to hinder their marriage.
+Adam--I told you that I forgave you. I have forgiven you--God knows. But
+you broke my life at the beginning like a thread. You don't know all
+there has been to forgive--indeed, you don't. And you are asking me to
+risk Clare's life in your son's hands, as I risked mine in yours. It's
+too much to ask."
+
+"But you say yourself that she loves him."
+
+"She cares for him--that was what I said. I don't believe in love as I
+did. You can't expect me to."
+
+She turned her face away from him, but he saw the bitterness in it, and
+it hurt him. He waited a moment before he answered her.
+
+"Don't visit my sins on your daughter, Lucy," he said at last. "Don't
+forget that love was a fact before you and I were born, and will be a
+fact long after we are dead. If these two love each other, let them
+marry. I hope that Clare is like you, but don't take it for granted
+that Brook is like me. He's not. He's more like his mother."
+
+"And your wife?" said Mrs. Bowring suddenly. "What would she say to
+this?"
+
+"My wife," said Sir Adam, "is a practical woman."
+
+"I never was. Still--if I knew that Clare loved him--if I could believe
+that he could love her faithfully--what could I do? I couldn't forbid
+her to marry him. I could only pray that she might be happy, or at least
+that she might not break her heart."
+
+"You would probably be heard, if anybody is. And a man must believe in
+God to explain your existence," added Sir Adam, in a gravely meditative
+tone. "It's the best argument I know."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+Brook Johnstone had gone to his room when he had left his father, and
+was hastily packing his belongings, for he had made up his mind to leave
+Amalfi at once without consulting anybody. It is a special advantage of
+places where there is no railway that one can go away at a moment's
+notice, without waiting tedious hours for a train. Brook did not
+hesitate, for it seemed to him the only right thing to do, after Clare's
+refusal, and after what his father had told him. If she had loved him,
+he would have stayed in spite of every opposition. If he had never been
+told her mother's history, he would have stayed and would have tried to
+make her love him. As it was, he set his teeth and said to himself that
+he would suffer a good deal rather than do anything more to win the
+heart of Mrs. Bowring's daughter. He would get over it somehow in the
+end. He fancied Clare's horror if she should ever know the truth, and
+his fear of hurting her was as strong as his love. He made no phrases to
+himself, and he thought of nothing theatrical which he should like to
+say. He just set his teeth and packed his clothes alone. Possibly he
+swore rather unmercifully at the coat which would not fit into the right
+place, and at the starched shirt-cuffs which would not lie flat until he
+smashed them out of shape with unsteady hands.
+
+When he was ready, he wrote a few words to Clare. He said that he was
+going away immediately, and that it would be very kind of her to let him
+say good-bye. He sent the note by a servant, and waited in the corridor
+at a distance from her door.
+
+A moment later she came out, very pale.
+
+"You are not really going, are you?" she asked, with wide and startled
+eyes. "You can't be in earnest?"
+
+"I'm all ready," he answered, nodding slowly. "It's much better. I only
+wanted to say good-bye, you know. It's awfully kind of you to come out."
+
+"Oh--I wouldn't have--" but she checked herself, and glanced up and down
+the long corridor. "We can't talk here," she added.
+
+"It's so hot outside," said Brook, remembering how she had complained of
+the heat an hour earlier.
+
+"Oh no--I mean--it's no matter. I'd rather go out for a moment."
+
+She began to walk towards the door while she was speaking. They reached
+it in silence, and went out into the blazing sun. Clare had Brook's note
+still in her hand, and held it up to shield the glare from the side of
+her face as they crossed the platform. Then she realised that she had
+brought him to the very spot whereon he had said good-bye to Lady Fan.
+She stopped, and he stood still beside her.
+
+"Not here," she said.
+
+"No--not here," he answered.
+
+"There's too much sun--really," said she, as the colour rose faintly in
+her cheeks.
+
+"It's only to say good-bye," Brook answered sadly. "I shall always
+remember you just as you are now--with the sun shining on your hair."
+
+It was so bright that it dazzled him as he looked. In spite of the heat
+she did not move, and their eyes met.
+
+"Mr. Johnstone," Clare began, "please stay. Please don't let me feel
+that I have sent you away." There was a shade of timidity in the tone,
+and the eyes seemed brave enough to say something more. Brook hesitated.
+
+"Well--no--it isn't that exactly. I've heard something--my father has
+told me something since I saw you--"
+
+He stopped short and looked down.
+
+"What have you heard?" she asked. "Something dreadful about us?"
+
+"About us all--about him, principally. I can't tell you. I really
+can't."
+
+"About him--and my mother? That they were married and separated?"
+
+The steady innocent eyes had waited for him to look up again. He started
+as he heard her words.
+
+"You don't mean to say that you know it too?" he cried. "Who has dared
+to tell you?"
+
+"My mother--she was quite right. It's wrong to hide such things--she
+ought to have told me at once. Why shouldn't I have known it?"
+
+"Doesn't it seem horrible to you? Don't you dislike me more than ever?"
+
+"No. Why should I? It wasn't your fault. What has it to do with you? Or
+with me? Is that the reason why you are going away so suddenly?"
+
+Brook stared at her in surprise, and the dawn of returning gladness was
+in his face for a moment.
+
+"We have a right to live, whatever they did in their day," said Clare.
+"There is no reason why you should go away like this, at a moment's
+notice."
+
+With an older woman he would have understood the first time, but he did
+not dare to understand Clare, nor to guess that there was anything to be
+understood.
+
+"Of course we have a right to live," he answered, in a constrained tone.
+"But that does not mean that I may stay here and make your life a
+burden. So I'm going away. It was quite different before I knew all
+this. Please don't stay out here--you'll get a sunstroke. I only wanted
+to say good-bye."
+
+Man-like, having his courage at the striking-point, he wished to get it
+all over quickly and be off. The colour sank from Clare's face again,
+and she stood quite still for a moment, looking at him. "Good-bye," he
+said, holding out his hand, and trying hard to smile a little.
+
+Clare looked at him still, but her hand did not meet his, though he
+waited, holding it out to her. Her face hardened as though she were
+making an effort, then softened again, and still he waited.
+
+"Won't you say good-bye to me?" he asked unsteadily.
+
+She hesitated a moment longer.
+
+"No!" she answered suddenly. "I--I can't!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And here the story comes to its conclusion, as many stories out of the
+lives of men and women seem to end at what is only their turning-point.
+For real life has no conclusion but real death, and that is a sad ending
+to a tale, and one which may as well be left to the imagination when it
+is possible.
+
+Stories of strange things, which really occur, very rarely have what
+used to be called a "moral" either. All sorts of things happen to people
+who afterwards go on living just the same, neither much better nor much
+worse than they were in the beginning. The story is a slice, as it were,
+cut from the most interesting part of a life, generally at the point
+where that life most closely touches another, so that the future of the
+two momentarily depends upon each separately, and upon both together.
+The happiness or unhappiness of both, for a long time to come, is
+founded upon the action of each just at those moments. And sometimes, as
+in the tale here told, the least promising of all the persons concerned
+is the one who helps matters out. The only logical thing about life is
+the certainty that it must end. If there were any logic at all about
+what goes between birth and death, men would have found it out long ago,
+and we should all know how to live as soon as we leave school; whereas
+we spend our lives under Fate's ruler, trying to understand, while she
+raps us over the knuckles every other minute because we cannot learn
+our lesson and sit up straight, and be good without being prigs, and do
+right without sticking it through other people's peace of mind as one
+sticks a pin through a butterfly.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 22455-8.txt or 22455-8.zip *******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/4/5/22455
+
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://www.gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit:
+https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
diff --git a/22455-8.zip b/22455-8.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f41aef7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-8.zip
diff --git a/22455-h.zip b/22455-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8202b0c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-h.zip
diff --git a/22455-h/22455-h.htm b/22455-h/22455-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3bcf1ae
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-h/22455-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,7896 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Adam Johnstone's Son, by F. Marion Crawford</title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+/*<![CDATA[  XML blockout */
+<!--
+/*****************************************************
+ basics
+******************************************************/
+body  { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; }
+p     { margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em; line-height: 1.5; }
+h1,h2 { text-align: center; clear: both; }
+h1    { margin-top: 2em; }
+h2    { margin-top: 5em; }
+hr    { width: 33%; clear: both; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; }
+hr.small {width: 10%; clear: both; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; }
+/* this requires all <a name="blah"> anchors to be empty. It fixes
+   a problem in Opera 8, which means that otherwise internal links at the
+   end of a file don't always work. */
+a[name] {position:absolute;}
+a     {text-decoration: none; }
+a:hover {text-decoration: underline; }
+
+.center   {text-align: center;}
+.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
+.big      {font-size: 120%;}
+.bigger   {font-size: 150%;}
+.gap      {margin-top: 4em;}
+.biggap   {margin-top: 6em;}
+.gaplet   {margin-top: 2em;}
+.nogap    {margin-top: 0;}
+.nofgap   {margin-bottom: 0;}
+/**************************************************************
+ page numbers
+***************************************************************/
+.pagebreak {right:93%; font-size:x-small; background-color:inherit; color:black; text-indent:0em; font-style:normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-align:right; padding:1px 3px; position: absolute; letter-spacing:normal;}
+span[title].pagebreak:after { content: "[Pg " attr(title) "] ";}
+/************************************************************
+ illos
+*************************************************************/
+.figcenter   { margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 3em; padding-bottom: 3em;}
+.caption     {font-size: 90%;}
+    hr.full { width: 100%;
+              margin-top: 3em;
+              margin-bottom: 0em;
+              margin-left: auto;
+              margin-right: auto;
+              height: 4px;
+              border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */
+              border-style: solid;
+              border-color: #000000;
+              clear: both; }
+    pre      {font-size: 75%;}
+    // -->
+    /* XML end  ]]>*/
+    </style>
+</head>
+<body>
+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Adam Johnstone's Son, by F. Marion Crawford</h1>
+<pre>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: Adam Johnstone's Son</p>
+<p>Author: F. Marion Crawford</p>
+<p>Release Date: August 29, 2007  [eBook #22455]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<h3>E-text prepared by Bruce Albrecht, Louise Pryor,<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;" cellpadding="10">
+  <tr>
+    <td valign="top">
+      Note:
+    </td>
+    <td align="left">
+         The title page shown below indicated the presence of a
+         second novel, <i>A Rose of Yesterday</i>.  This e-book
+         contains only the novel <i>Adam Johnstone's Son</i>.
+	</td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 418px;">
+   <img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="418" height="600" alt="Frontispiece" title="&#8220;I SOMETIMES THINK THAT ONE&#8217;S PAST LIFE IS WRITTEN IN A FOREIGN LANGUAGE,&#8221; SAID MRS. BOWRING, SHUTTING THE BOOK SHE HELD." />
+   <span class="caption">&#8220;I SOMETIMES THINK THAT ONE&#8217;S PAST LIFE IS WRITTEN IN A FOREIGN LANGUAGE,&#8221; SAID MRS. BOWRING, SHUTTING THE BOOK SHE HELD.</span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 370px;">
+   <img src="images/titlepage.png" width="370" height="600" alt="" title="Title page" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="center biggap">
+<span class="big">THE COMPLETE WORKS OF</span><br />
+<span class="bigger">F. MARION CRAWFORD</span>
+</p>
+
+<h1 class="nofgap">Adam Johnstone&#8217;s Son</h1>
+<hr class="small" />
+<h1 class="nogap">A Rose of Yesterday</h1>
+
+<p class="gap center">
+BY<br />
+<span class="bigger">F. MARION CRAWFORD</span>
+</p>
+<p class="center gaplet">WITH FRONTISPIECE</p>
+<hr />
+<p class="center">
+<span class="big">P. F. COLLIER &amp; SON</span><br />
+NEW YORK
+</p>
+
+
+
+
+<p class="center biggap smcap">
+Copyright 1895, 1896, 1897<br />
+By F. MARION CRAWFORD</p>
+<hr class="small" />
+<p class="center">
+<i>All Rights Reserved</i>
+</p>
+
+<h2>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="1">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a>
+<a name="ADAM_JOHNSTONES_SON" id="ADAM_JOHNSTONES_SON"></a>ADAM JOHNSTONE&#8217;S SON</h2>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<p>&#8220;I sometimes think that one&#8217;s past life is written in a foreign
+language,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring, shutting the book she held, but keeping
+the place with one smooth, thin forefinger, while her still, blue eyes
+turned from her daughter&#8217;s face towards the hazy hills that hemmed the
+sea thirty miles to the southward. &#8220;When one wants to read it, one finds
+ever so many words which one cannot understand, and one has to look them
+out in a sort of unfamiliar dictionary, and try to make sense of the
+sentences as best one can. Only the big things are clear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare glanced at her mother, smiling innocently and half mechanically,
+without much definite expression, and quite without curiosity. Youth can
+be in sympathy with age, while not understanding it, while not
+suspecting, perhaps, that there is anything to understand beyond the
+streaked hair and the pale glance and the little torture-lines which
+paint the portrait of fifty years for the eyes of twenty.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="2">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></a>
+Every woman knows the calendar of her own face. The lines are years,
+one for such and such a year, one for such and such another; the streaks
+are months, perhaps, or weeks, or sometimes hours, where the tear-storms
+have bleached the brown, the black, or the gold. &#8220;This little
+wrinkle&mdash;it was so very little then!&#8221; she says. &#8220;It came when I doubted
+for a day. There is a shadow there, just at each temple, where the cloud
+passed, when my sun went out. The bright hair grew lower on my forehead.
+It is worn away, as though by a crown, that was not of gold. There are
+hollows there, near the ears, on each side, since that week when love
+was done to death before my eyes and died&mdash;intestate&mdash;leaving his
+substance to be divided amongst indifferent heirs. They wrangle for what
+he has left, but he himself is gone, beyond hearing or caring, and,
+thank God, beyond suffering. But the marks are left.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Youth looks on and sees alike the ill-healed wounds of the martyrdom and
+the rough scars of sin&#8217;s scourges, and does not understand. Clare
+Bowring smiled, without definite expression, just because her mother had
+spoken and seemed to ask for sympathy; and then she looked away for a
+few moments. She had a bit of work in her hands, a little bag which she
+
+<span class="pagebreak" title="3">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a>
+was making out of a piece of old Italian damask, to hold a needle-case
+and thread and scissors. She had stopped sewing, and instinctively
+waited before beginning again, as though to acknowledge by a little
+affectionate deference that her mother had said something serious and
+had a right to expect attention. But she did not answer, for she could
+not understand.</p>
+
+<p>Her own young life was vividly clear to her; so very vividly clear, that
+it sometimes made her think of a tiresome chromolithograph. All the
+facts and thoughts of it were so near that she knew them by heart, as
+people come to know the patterns of the wall-paper in the room they
+inhabit. She had nothing to hide, nothing to regret, nothing which she
+thought she should care very much to recall, though she remembered
+everything. A girl is very young when she can recollect distinctly every
+frock she has had, the first long one, and the second, and the third;
+and the first ball gown, and the second, and no third, because that is
+still in the future, and a particular pair of gloves which did not fit,
+and a certain pair of shoes she wore so long because they were so
+comfortable, and the precise origin of every one of the few trinkets and
+bits of jewellery she possesses. That was Clare Bowring&#8217;s case. She
+could remember everything and everybody in her life. But her father was
+not in her memories, and there was a little motionless
+<span class="pagebreak" title="4">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a>
+ grey cloud in
+the place where he should have been. He had been a soldier, and had been
+killed in an obscure skirmish with black men, in one of England&#8217;s
+obscure but expensive little wars. Death is always very much the same
+thing, and it seems unfair that the guns of Balaclava should still roar
+&#8220;glory&#8221; while the black man&#8217;s quick spear-thrust only spells &#8220;dead,&#8221;
+without comment. But glory in death is even more a matter of luck than
+fame in life. At all events, Captain Bowring, as brave a gentleman as
+ever faced fire, had perished like so many other brave gentlemen of his
+kind, in a quiet way, without any fuss, beyond killing half a dozen or
+so of his assailants, and had left his widow the glory of receiving a
+small pension in return for his blood, and that was all. Some day, when
+the dead are reckoned, and the manner of their death noted, poor Bowring
+may count for more than some of his friends who died at home from a
+constitutional inability to enjoy all the good things fortune set before
+them, complicated by a disposition incapable of being satisfied with
+only a part of the feast. But at the time of this tale they counted for
+more than he; for they had been constrained to leave behind them what
+they could not consume, while he, poor man, had left very little besides
+the aforesaid interest in the investment of his blood, in the form of a
+<span class="pagebreak" title="5">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a>
+
+pension to his widow, and the small grey cloud in the memory of his
+girl-child, in the place where he should have been. For he had been
+killed when she had been a baby.</p>
+
+<p>The mother and daughter were lonely, if not alone in the world; for when
+one has no money to speak of, and no relations at all, the world is a
+lonely place, regarded from the ordinary point of view&mdash;which is, of
+course, the true one. They had no home in England, and they generally
+lived abroad, more or less, in one or another of the places of society&#8217;s
+departed spirits, such as Florence. They had not, however, entered into
+Limbo without hope, since they were able to return to the social earth
+when they pleased, and to be alive again, and the people they met abroad
+sometimes asked them to stop with them at home, recognising the fact
+that they were still socially living and casting shadows. They were sure
+of half a hundred friendly faces in London and of half a dozen
+hospitable houses in the country; and that is not little for people who
+have nothing wherewith to buy smiles and pay for invitations. Clare had
+more than once met women of her mother&#8217;s age and older, who had looked
+at her rather thoughtfully and longer than had seemed quite natural,
+saying very quietly that her father had been &#8220;a great friend of theirs.&#8221;
+But those were not the women
+<span class="pagebreak" title="6">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a>
+ whom her mother liked best, and Clare
+sometimes wondered whether the little grey cloud in her memory, which
+represented her father, might not be there to hide away something more
+human than an ideal. Her mother spoke of him, sometimes gravely,
+sometimes with a far-away smile, but never tenderly. The smile did not
+mean much, Clare thought. People often spoke of dead people with a sort
+of faint look of uncertain beatitude&mdash;the same which many think
+appropriate to the singing of hymns. The absence of anything like
+tenderness meant more. The gravity was only natural and decent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your father was a brave man,&#8221; Mrs. Bowring sometimes said. &#8220;Your father
+was very handsome,&#8221; she would say. &#8220;He was very quick-tempered,&#8221; she
+perhaps added.</p>
+
+<p>But that was all. Clare had a friend whose husband had died young and
+suddenly, and her friend&#8217;s heart was broken. She did not speak as Mrs.
+Bowring did. When the latter said that her past life seemed to be
+written in a foreign language, Clare did not understand, but she knew
+that the something of which the translation was lost, as it were,
+belonged to her father. She always felt an instinctive desire to defend
+him, and to make her mother feel more sympathy for his memory. Yet, at
+the same time, she loved her mother in such a way as made her
+<span class="pagebreak" title="7">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a>
+ feel that
+if there had been any trouble, her father must have been in the wrong.
+Then she was quite sure that she did not understand, and she held her
+tongue, and smiled vaguely, and waited a moment before she went on with
+her work.</p>
+
+<p>Besides, she was not at all inclined to argue anything at present. She
+had been ill, and her mother was worn out with taking care of her, and
+they had come to Amalfi to get quite well and strong again in the air of
+the southern spring. They had settled themselves for a couple of months
+in the queer hotel, which was once a monastery, perched high up under
+the still higher overhanging rocks, far above the beach and the busy
+little town; and now, in the May afternoon, they sat side by side under
+the trellis of vines on the terraced walk, their faces turned southward,
+in the shade of the steep mountain behind them; the sea was blue at
+their feet, and quite still, but farther out the westerly breeze that
+swept past the Conca combed it to crisp roughness; then it was less blue
+to southward, and gradually it grew less real, till it lost colour and
+melted into a sky-haze that almost hid the southern mountains and the
+lizard-like head of the far Licosa.</p>
+
+<p>A bit of coarse faded carpet lay upon the ground under the two ladies&#8217;
+feet, and the shady
+<span class="pagebreak" title="8">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a>
+ air had a soft green tinge in it from the young
+vine-leaves overhead. At first sight one would have said that both were
+delicate, if not ill. Both were fair, though in different degrees, and
+both were pale and quiet, and looked a little weary.</p>
+
+<p>The young girl sat in the deep straw chair, hatless, with bare white
+hands that held her work. Her thick flaxen hair, straightly parted and
+smoothed away from its low growth on the forehead, half hid small fresh
+ears, unpierced. Long lashes, too white for beauty, cast very faint
+light shadows as she looked down; but when she raised the lids, the
+dark-blue eyes were bright, with wide pupils and a straight look, quick
+to fasten, slow to let go, never yet quite softened, and yet never
+mannishly hard. But, in its own way, perhaps, there is no look so hard
+as the look of maiden innocence can be. There can even be something
+terrible in its unconscious stare. There is the spirit of God&#8217;s own
+fearful directness in it. Half quibbling with words perhaps, but surely
+with half truth, one might say that youth &#8220;is,&#8221; while all else &#8220;has
+been&#8221;; and that youth alone possesses the present, too innocent to know
+it all, yet too selfish even to doubt of what is its own&mdash;too sure of
+itself to doubt anything, to fear anything, or even truly to pray for
+anything. There is no
+<span class="pagebreak" title="9">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a>
+ equality and no community in virtue; it is only
+original sin that makes us all equal and human. Old Lucifer, fallen,
+crushed, and damned, knows the worth of forgiveness&mdash;not young Michael,
+flintily hard and monumentally upright in his steel coat, a terror to
+the devil himself. And youth can have something of that archangelic
+rigidity. Youth is not yet quite human.</p>
+
+<p>But there was much in Clare Bowring&#8217;s face which told that she was to be
+quite human some day. The lower features were not more than strong
+enough&mdash;the curved lips would be fuller before long, the small nostrils,
+the gentle chin, were a little sharper than was natural, now, from
+illness, but round in outline and not over prominent; and the slender
+throat was very delicate and feminine. Only in the dark-blue eyes there
+was still that unabashed, quick glance and long-abiding straightness,
+and innocent hardness, and the unconscious selfishness of the
+uncontaminated.</p>
+
+<p>Standing on her feet, she would have seemed rather tall than short,
+though really but of average height. Seated, she looked tall, and her
+glance was a little downward to most people&#8217;s eyes. Just now she was too
+thin, and seemed taller than she was. But the fresh light was already in
+the young white skin, and there was a soft colour in the lobes of the
+little ears, as
+<span class="pagebreak" title="10">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a>
+ the white leaves of daisies sometimes blush all round
+their tips.</p>
+
+<p>The nervous white hands held the little bag lightly, and twined it and
+sewed it deftly, for Clare was clever with her fingers. Possibly they
+looked even a little whiter than they were, by contrast with the dark
+stuff of her dress, and illness had made them shrink at the lower part,
+robbing them of their natural strength, though not of their grace. There
+is a sort of refinement, not of taste, nor of talent, but of feeling and
+thought, and it shows itself in the hands of those who have it, more
+than in any feature of the face, in a sort of very true proportion
+between the hand and its fingers, between each finger and its joints,
+each joint and each nail; a something which says that such a hand could
+not do anything ignoble, could not take meanly, nor strike cowardly, nor
+press falsely; a quality of skin neither rough and coarse, nor over
+smooth like satin, but cool and pleasant to the touch as fine silk that
+is closely woven. The fingers of such hands are very straight and very
+elastic, but not supple like young snakes, as some fingers are, and the
+cushion of the hand is not over full nor heavy, nor yet shrunken and
+undeveloped as in the wasted hands of old Asiatic races.</p>
+
+<p>In outward appearance there was that sort of inherited likeness between
+mother and daughter
+<span class="pagebreak" title="11">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a>
+ which is apt to strike strangers more than persons
+of the same family. Mrs. Bowring had been beautiful in her youth&mdash;far
+more beautiful than Clare&mdash;but her face had been weaker, in spite of the
+regularity of the features and their faultless proportion. Life had
+given them an acquired strength, but not of the lovely kind, and the
+complexion was faded, and the hair had darkened, and the eyes had paled.
+Some faces are beautified by suffering. Mrs. Bowring&#8217;s face was not of
+that class. It was as though a thin, hard mask had been formed and
+closely moulded upon it, as the action of the sea overlays some sorts of
+soft rock with a surface thin as paper but as hard as granite. In spite
+of the hardness, the features were not really strong. There was
+refinement in them, however, of the same kind which the daughter had,
+and as much, though less pleasing. A fern&mdash;a spray of
+maiden&#8217;s-hair&mdash;loses much of its beauty but none of its refinement when
+petrified in limestone or made fossil in coal.</p>
+
+<p>As they sat there, side by side, mother and daughter, where they had sat
+every day for a week or more, they had very little to say. They had
+exhausted the recapitulation of Clare&#8217;s illness, during the first days
+of her convalescence. It was not the first time that they had been in
+Amalfi, and they had enumerated its beauties to
+<span class="pagebreak" title="12">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a>
+ each other, and renewed
+their acquaintance with it from a distance, looking down from the
+terrace upon the low-lying town, and the beach and the painted boats,
+and the little crowd that swarmed out now and then like ants, very busy
+and very much in a hurry, running hither and thither, disappearing
+presently as by magic, and leaving the shore to the sun and the sea. The
+two had spoken of a little excursion to Ravello, and they meant to go
+thither as soon as they should be strong enough; but that was not yet.
+And meanwhile they lived through the quiet days, morning, meal times,
+evening, bed time, and round again, through the little hotel&#8217;s programme
+of possibility; eating what was offered them, but feasting royally on
+air and sunshine and spring sweetness; moistening their lips in strange
+southern wines, but drinking deep draughts of the rich southern
+air-life; watching the people of all sorts and of many conditions, who
+came and stayed a day and went away again, but social only in each
+other&#8217;s lives, and even that by sympathy rather than in speech. A corner
+of life&#8217;s show was before them, and they kept their places on the
+vine-sheltered terrace and looked on. But it seemed as though nothing
+could ever possibly happen there to affect the direction of their own
+quietly moving existence.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="13">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a>
+Seeing that her daughter did not say anything in answer to the remark
+about the past being written in a foreign language, Mrs. Bowring looked
+at the distant sky-haze thoughtfully for a few moments, then opened her
+book again where her thin forefinger had kept the place, and began to
+read. There was no disappointment in her face at not being understood,
+for she had spoken almost to herself and had expected no reply. No
+change of expression softened or accentuated the quiet hardness which
+overspread her naturally gentle face. But the thought was evidently
+still present in her mind, for her attention did not fix itself upon her
+book, and presently she looked at her daughter, as the latter bent her
+head over the little bag she was making.</p>
+
+<p>The young girl felt her mother&#8217;s eyes upon her, looked up herself, and
+smiled faintly, almost mechanically, as before. It was a sort of habit
+they both had&mdash;a way of acknowledging one another&#8217;s presence in the
+world. But this time it seemed to Clare that there was a question in the
+look, and after she had smiled she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I don&#8217;t understand how anybody can forget the past. It
+seems to me that I shall always remember why I did things, said things,
+and thought things. I should, if I lived a hundred years, I&#8217;m quite
+sure.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="14">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps you have a better memory than I,&#8221; answered Mrs. Bowring. &#8220;But
+I don&#8217;t think it is exactly a question of memory either. I can remember
+what I said, and did, and thought, well&mdash;twenty years ago. But it seems
+to me very strange that I should have thought, and spoken, and acted,
+just as I did. After all isn&#8217;t it natural? They tell us that our bodies
+are quite changed in less time than that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;but the soul does not change,&#8221; said Clare with conviction.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The soul&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring repeated the word, but said nothing more, and her still,
+blue eyes wandered from her daughter&#8217;s face and again fixed themselves
+on an imaginary point of the far southern distance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At least,&#8221; said Clare, &#8220;I was always taught so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She smiled again, rather coldly, as though admitting that such teaching
+might not be infallible after all.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is best to believe it,&#8221; said her mother quietly, but in a colourless
+voice. &#8220;Besides,&#8221; she added, with a change of tone, &#8220;I do believe it,
+you know. One is always the same, in the main things. It is the point of
+view that changes. The best picture in the world does not look the same
+in every light, does it?
+<span class="pagebreak" title="15">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I suppose not. You may like it in one light and not in another,
+and in one place and not in another.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Or at one time of life, and not at another,&#8221; added Mrs. Bowring,
+thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t imagine that.&#8221; Clare paused a moment. &#8220;Of course you are
+thinking of people,&#8221; she continued presently, with a little more
+animation. &#8220;One always means people, when one talks in that way. And
+that is what I cannot quite understand. It seems to me that if I liked
+people once I should always like them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her mother looked at her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;perhaps you would,&#8221; she said, and she relapsed into silence.</p>
+
+<p>Clare&#8217;s colour did not change. No particular person was in her thoughts,
+and she had, as it were, given her own general and inexperienced opinion
+of her own character, quite honestly and without affectation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know which are the happier,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring at last, &#8220;the
+people who change, or the people who can&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mean faithful or unfaithful people, I suppose,&#8221; observed the young
+girl with grave innocence.</p>
+
+<p>A very slight flush rose in Mrs. Bowring&#8217;s thin cheeks, and the quiet
+eyes grew suddenly
+<span class="pagebreak" title="16">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a>
+ hard, but Clare was busy with her work again and did
+not see.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Those are big words,&#8221; said the older woman in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;yes&mdash;of course!&#8221; answered Clare. &#8220;So they ought to be! It is
+always the main question, isn&#8217;t it? Whether you can trust a person or
+not, I mean.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is one question. The other is, whether the person deserves to be
+trusted.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;it&#8217;s the same thing!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not exactly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You know what I mean, mother. Besides, I don&#8217;t believe that any one who
+can&#8217;t trust is really to be trusted. Do you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear Clare!&#8221; exclaimed Mrs. Bowring. &#8220;You can&#8217;t put life into a
+nutshell, like that!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. I suppose not, though if a thing is true at all it must be always
+true.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Saving exceptions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are there any exceptions to truth?&#8221; asked Clare incredulously. &#8220;Truth
+isn&#8217;t grammar&mdash;nor the British Constitution.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. But then, we don&#8217;t know everything. What we call truth is what we
+know. It is only what we know. All that we don&#8217;t know, but which is, is
+true, too&mdash;especially, all that we don&#8217;t know about people with whom we
+have to live.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="17">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;if people have secrets!&#8221; The young girl laughed idly. &#8220;But you and
+I, for instance, mother&mdash;we have no secrets from each other, have we?
+Well? Why should any two people who love each other have secrets? And if
+they have none, why, then, they know all that there is to be known about
+one another, and each trusts the other, and has a right to be trusted,
+because everything is known&mdash;and everything is the whole truth. It seems
+to me that is simple enough, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring laughed in her turn. It was rather a hard little laugh, but
+Clare was used to the sound of it, and joined in it, feeling that she
+had vanquished her mother in argument, and settled one of the most
+important questions of life for ever.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a pretty steamer!&#8221; exclaimed Mrs. Bowring suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a yacht,&#8221; said Clare after a moment. &#8220;The flag is English, too. I
+can see it distinctly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She laid down her work, and her mother closed her book upon her
+forefinger again, and they watched the graceful white vessel as she
+glided slowly in from the Conca, which she had rounded while they had
+been talking.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s very big, for a yacht,&#8221; observed Mrs. Bowring. &#8220;They are coming
+here.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="18">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They have probably come round from Naples to spend a day,&#8221; said Clare.
+&#8220;We are sure to have them up here. What a nuisance!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Everybody comes up here who comes to Amalfi at all. I hope they
+won&#8217;t stay long.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is no fear of that,&#8221; answered Clare. &#8220;I heard those people saying
+the other day that this is not a place where a vessel can lie any length
+of time. You know how the sea sometimes breaks on the beach.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring and her daughter desired of all things to be quiet. The
+visitors who came, stayed a few days at the hotel, and went away again,
+were as a rule tourists or semi-invalids in search of a climate, and
+anything but noisy. But people coming in a smart English yacht would
+probably be society people, and as such Mrs. Bowring wished that they
+would keep away. They would behave as though the place belonged to them,
+so long as they remained; they would get all the attention of the
+proprietor and of the servants for the time being; and they would make
+everybody feel shabby and poor.</p>
+
+<p>The Bowrings were poor, indeed, but they were not shabby. It was perhaps
+because they were well aware that nobody could mistake them for average
+tourists that they resented the coming of a party which belonged to what
+is
+<span class="pagebreak" title="19">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a>
+ called society. Mrs. Bowring had a strong aversion to making new
+acquaintances, and even disliked being thrown into the proximity of
+people who might know friends of hers, who might have heard of her, and
+who might talk about her and her daughter. Clare said that her mother&#8217;s
+shyness in this respect was almost morbid; but she had unconsciously
+caught a little of it herself, and, like her mother, she was often quite
+uselessly on her guard against strangers, of the kind whom she might
+possibly be called upon to know, though she was perfectly affable and at
+her ease with those whom she looked upon as undoubtedly her social
+inferiors.</p>
+
+<p>They were not mistaken in their prediction that the party from the yacht
+would come up to the Cappuccini. Half an hour after the yacht had
+dropped anchor the terrace was invaded. They came up in twos and threes,
+nearly a dozen of them, men and women, smart-looking people with
+healthy, sun-burnt faces, voices loud from the sea as voices become on a
+long voyage&mdash;or else very low indeed. By contrast with the frequenters
+of Amalfi they all seemed to wear overpoweringly good clothes and
+perfectly new hats and caps, and their russet shoes were resplendent.
+They moved as though everything belonged to them, from the wild crests
+of the hills above to the calm blue water below, and
+<span class="pagebreak" title="20">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a>
+ the hotel servants
+did their best to foster the agreeable illusion. They all wanted chairs,
+and tables, and things to drink, and fruit. One very fair little lady
+with hard, restless eyes, and clad in white serge, insisted upon having
+grapes, and no one could convince her that grapes were not ripe in May.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s quite absurd!&#8221; she objected. &#8220;Of course they&#8217;re ripe! We had the
+most beautiful grapes at breakfast at Leo Cairngorm&#8217;s the other day, so
+of course they must have them here. Brook! Do tell the man not to be
+absurd!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Man!&#8221; said the member of the party she had last addressed. &#8220;Do not be
+absurd!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;S&igrave;, Signore,&#8221; replied the black-whiskered Amalfitan servant with
+alacrity.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You see!&#8221; cried the little lady triumphantly. &#8220;I told you so! You must
+insist with these people. You can always get what you want. Brook,
+where&#8217;s my fan?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She settled upon a straw chair&mdash;like a white butterfly. The others
+walked on towards the end of the terrace, but the young man whom she
+called Brook stood beside her, slowly lighting a cigarette, not five
+paces from Mrs. Bowring and Clare.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sure I don&#8217;t know where your fan is,&#8221; he said, with a short laugh,
+as he threw the end of the match over the wall.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="21">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well then, look for it!&#8221; she answered, rather sharply. &#8220;I&#8217;m awfully
+hot, and I want it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at her before he spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know where it is,&#8221; he said quietly, but there was a shade of
+annoyance in his face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I gave it to you just as we were getting into the boat,&#8221; answered the
+lady in white. &#8220;Do you mean to say that you left it on board?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think you must be mistaken,&#8221; said the young man. &#8220;You must have given
+it to somebody else.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t likely that I should mistake you for any one else&mdash;especially
+to-day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;I haven&#8217;t got it. I&#8217;ll get you one in the hotel, if you&#8217;ll have
+patience for a moment.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He turned and strode along the terrace towards the house. Clare Bowring
+had been watching the two, and she looked after the man as he moved
+rapidly away. He walked well, for he was a singularly well-made young
+fellow, who looked as though he were master of every inch of himself.
+She had liked his brown face and bright blue eyes, too, and somehow she
+resented the way in which the little lady ordered him about. She looked
+round and saw that her mother was watching him too. Then, as he
+disappeared, they both looked at the lady. She too had followed him with
+her eyes, and as she
+<span class="pagebreak" title="22">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a>
+ turned her face sideways to the Bowrings Clare
+thought that she was biting her lip, as though something annoyed her or
+hurt her. She kept her eyes on the door. Presently the young man
+reappeared, bearing a palm-leaf fan in his hand and blowing a cloud of
+cigarette smoke into the air. Instantly the lady smiled, and the smile
+brightened as he came near.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you&mdash;dear,&#8221; she said as he gave her the fan.</p>
+
+<p>The last word was spoken in a lower tone, and could certainly not have
+been heard by the other members of the party, but it reached Clare&#8217;s
+ears, where she sat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not at all,&#8221; answered the young man quietly.</p>
+
+<p>But as he spoke he glanced quickly about him, and his eyes met Clare&#8217;s.
+She fancied that she saw a look of startled annoyance in them, and he
+coloured a little under his tan. He had a very manly face, square and
+strong. He bent down a little and said something in a low voice. The
+lady in white half turned her head, impatiently, but did not look quite
+round. Clare saw, however, that her expression had changed again, and
+that the smile was gone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If I don&#8217;t care, why should you?&#8221; were the next words Clare heard,
+spoken impatiently and petulantly.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="23">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a>
+The man who answered to the name of Brook said nothing, but sat down on
+the parapet of the terrace, looking out over his shoulder to seaward. A
+few seconds later he threw away his half-smoked cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I like this place,&#8221; said the lady in white, quite audibly. &#8220;I think I
+shall send on board for my things and stay here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The young man started as though he had been struck, and faced her in
+silence. He could not help seeing Clare Bowring beyond her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m going indoors, mother,&#8221; said the young girl, rising rather
+abruptly. &#8220;I&#8217;m sure it must be time for tea. Won&#8217;t you come too?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The young man did not answer his companion&#8217;s remark, but turned his face
+away again and looked seaward, listening to the retreating footsteps of
+the two ladies.</p>
+
+<p>On the threshold of the hotel Clare felt a strong desire to look back
+again and see whether he had moved, but she was ashamed of it and went
+in, holding her head high and looking straight before her.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="24">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+
+<p>The people from the yacht belonged to that class of men and women whose
+uncertainty, or indifference, about the future leads them to take
+possession of all they can lay hands on in the present, with a view to
+squeezing the world like a lemon for such enjoyment as it may yield. So
+long as they tarried at the old hotel, it was their private property.
+The Bowrings were forgotten; the two English old maids had no existence;
+the Russian invalid got no more hot water for his tea; the plain but
+obstinately inquiring German family could get no more information; even
+the quiet young French couple&mdash;a honeymoon couple&mdash;sank into
+insignificance. The only protest came from an American, whose wife was
+ill and never appeared, and who staggered the landlord by asking what he
+would sell the whole place for on condition of vacating the premises
+before dinner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They will be gone before dinner,&#8221; the proprietor answered.</p>
+
+<p>But they did not go. When it was already late somebody saw the moon
+rise, almost full,
+<span class="pagebreak" title="25">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a>
+ and suggested that the moonlight would be very fine,
+and that it would be amusing to dine at the hotel table and spend the
+evening on the terrace and go on board late.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall,&#8221; said the little lady in white serge, &#8220;whatever the rest of
+you do. Brook! Send somebody on board to get a lot of cloaks and shawls
+and things. I am sure it is going to be cold. Don&#8217;t go away! I want you
+to take me for a walk before dinner, so as to be nice and hungry, you
+know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>For some reason or other, several of the party laughed, and from their
+tone one might have guessed that they were in the habit of laughing, or
+were expected to laugh, at the lady&#8217;s speeches. And every one agreed
+that it would be much nicer to spend the evening on the terrace, and
+that it was a pity that they could not dine out of doors because it
+would be far too cool. Then the lady in white and the man called Brook
+began to walk furiously up and down in the fading light, while the lady
+talked very fast in a low voice, except when she was passing within
+earshot of some of the others, and the man looked straight before him,
+answering occasionally in monosyllables.</p>
+
+<p>Then there was more confusion in the hotel, and the Russian invalid
+expressed his opinion to the two English old maids, with whom he
+<span class="pagebreak" title="26">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a>
+
+fraternised, that dinner would be an hour late, thanks to their
+compatriots. But they assumed an expression appropriate when speaking of
+the peerage, and whispered that the yacht must belong to the Duke of
+Orkney, who, they had read, was cruising in the Mediterranean, and that
+the Duke was probably the big man in grey clothes who had a gold
+cigarette case. But in all this they were quite mistaken. And their
+repeated examinations of the hotel register were altogether fruitless,
+because none of the party had written their names in it. The old maids,
+however, were quite happy and resigned to waiting for their dinner. They
+presently retired to attempt for themselves what stingy nature had
+refused to do for them in the way of adornment, for the dinner was
+undoubtedly to be an occasion of state, and their eyes were to see the
+glory of a lord.</p>
+
+<p>The party sat together at one end of the table, which extended the whole
+length of the high and narrow vaulted hall, while the guests staying in
+the hotel filled the opposite half. Most of the guests were more subdued
+than usual, and the party from the yacht seemed noisy by contrast. The
+old maids strained their ears to catch a name here and there. Clare and
+her mother talked little. The Russian invalid put up a single eyeglass,
+looked long and curiously
+<span class="pagebreak" title="27">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a>
+at each of the new comers in turn, and then
+did not vouchsafe them another glance. The German family criticised the
+food severely, and then got into a fierce discussion about Bismarck and
+the Pope, in the course of which they forgot the existence of their
+fellow-diners, but not of their dinner.</p>
+
+<p>Clare could not help glancing once or twice at the couple that had
+attracted her attention, and she found herself wondering what their
+relation to each other could be, and whether they were engaged to be
+married. Somebody called the lady in white &#8220;Mrs. Crosby.&#8221; Then somebody
+else called her &#8220;Lady Fan&#8221;&mdash;which was very confusing. &#8220;Brook&#8221; never
+called her anything. Clare saw him fill his glass and look at Lady Fan
+very hard before he drank, and then Lady Fan did the same thing.
+Nevertheless they seemed to be perpetually quarrelling over little
+things. When Brook was tired of being bullied, he calmly ignored his
+companion, turned from her, and talked in a low tone to a dark woman who
+had been a beauty and was the most thoroughly well-dressed of the
+extremely well-dressed party. Lady Fan bit her lip for a moment, and
+then said something at which all the others laughed&mdash;except Brook and
+the advanced beauty, who continued to talk in undertones.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="28">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a>
+To Clare&#8217;s mind there was about them all, except Brook, a little dash
+of something which was not &#8220;quite, quite,&#8221; as the world would have
+expressed it. In her opinion Lady Fan was distinctly disagreeable,
+whoever she might be&mdash;as distinctly so as Brook was the contrary. And
+somehow the girl could not help resenting the woman&#8217;s way of treating
+him. It offended her oddly and jarred upon her good taste, as something
+to which she was not at all accustomed in her surroundings. Lady Fan was
+very exquisite in her outward ways, and her speech was of the proper
+smartness. Yet everything she did and said was intensely unpleasant to
+Clare.</p>
+
+<p>The Bowrings and the regular guests finished their dinner before the
+yachting party, and rose almost in a body, with a clattering of their
+light chairs on the tiled floor. Only the English old maids kept their
+places a little longer than the rest, and took some more filberts and
+half a glass of white wine, each. They could not keep their eyes from
+the party at the other end of the table, and their faces grew a little
+redder as they sat there. Clare and her mother had to go round the long
+table to get out, being the last on their side, and they were also the
+last to reach the door. Again the young girl felt that strong desire to
+turn her
+<span class="pagebreak" title="29">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>
+ head and look back at Brook and Lady Fan. She noticed it this
+time, as something she had never felt until that afternoon, but she
+would not yield to it. She walked on, looking straight at the back of
+her mother&#8217;s head. Then she heard quick footsteps on the tiles behind
+her, and Brook&#8217;s voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon,&#8221; he was saying, &#8220;you have dropped your shawl.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She turned quickly, and met his eyes as he stopped close to her, holding
+out the white chudder which had slipped to the floor unnoticed when she
+had risen from her seat. She took it mechanically and thanked him.
+Instinctively looking past him down the long hall, she saw that the
+little lady in white had turned in her seat and was watching her. Brook
+made a slight bow and was gone again in an instant. Then Clare followed
+her mother and went out.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let us go out behind the house,&#8221; she said when they were in the broad
+corridor. &#8220;There will be moonlight there, and those people will
+monopolise the terrace when they have finished dinner.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>At the western end of the old monastery there is a broad open space,
+between the buildings and the overhanging rocks, at the base of which
+there is a deep recess, almost amounting to a cave, in which stands a
+great black cross planted
+<span class="pagebreak" title="30">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a>
+ in a pedestal of whitewashed masonry. A few
+steps lead up to it. As the moon rose higher the cross was in the
+shadow, while the platform and the buildings were in the full light.</p>
+
+<p>The two women ascended the steps and sat down upon a stone seat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a night!&#8221; exclaimed the young girl softly.</p>
+
+<p>Her mother silently bent her head, but neither spoke again for some
+time. The moonlight before them was almost dazzling, and the air was
+warm. Beyond the stone parapet, far below, the tideless sea was silent
+and motionless under the moon. A crooked fig-tree, still leafless,
+though the little figs were already shaped on it, cast its intricate
+shadow upon the platform. Very far away, a boy was singing a slow minor
+chant in a high voice. The peace was almost disquieting&mdash;there was
+something intensely expectant in it, as though the night were in love,
+and its heart beating.</p>
+
+<p>Clare sat still, her hand upon her mother&#8217;s thin wrist, her lips just
+parted a little, her eyes wide and filled with moon-dreams. She had
+almost lost herself in unworded fancies when her mother moved and spoke.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I had quite forgotten a letter I was writing,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I must finish
+it. Stay here, and I will come back again presently.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="31">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a>
+She rose, and Clare watched her slim dark figure and the long black
+shadow that moved with it across the platform towards the open door of
+the hotel. But when it had disappeared the white fancies came flitting
+back through the silent light, and in the shade the young eyes fixed
+themselves quietly to meet the vision and see it all, and to keep it for
+ever if she could.</p>
+
+<p>She did not know what it was that she saw, but it was beautiful, and
+what she felt was on a sudden as the realisation of something she had
+dimly desired in vain. Yet in itself it was nothing realised; it was
+perhaps only the certainty of longing for something all heart and no
+name, and it was happiness to long for it. For the first intuition of
+love is only an exquisite foretaste, a delight in itself, as far from
+the bitter hunger of love starving as a girl&#8217;s faintness is from a cruel
+death. The light was dazzling, and yet it was full of gentle things that
+smiled, somehow, without faces. She was not very imaginative, perhaps,
+else the faces might have come too, and voices, and all, save the one
+reality which had as yet neither voice nor face, nor any name. It was
+all the something that love was to mean, somewhere, some day&mdash;the airy
+lace of a maiden life-dream, in which no figure was yet wrought amongst
+the fancy-threads that the May moon was weaving in the soft spring
+night.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="32">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a>
+ There was no sadness in it, at all, for there was no memory, and
+without memory there can be no sadness, any more than there can be fear
+where there is no anticipation, far or near. Most happiness is really of
+the future, and most grief, if we would be honest, is of the past.</p>
+
+<p>The young girl sat still and dreamed that the old world was as young as
+she, and that in its soft bosom there were exquisite sweetnesses
+untried, and soft yearnings for a beautiful unknown, and little pulses
+that could quicken with foretasted joy which only needed face and name
+to take angelic shape of present love. The world could not be old while
+she was young.</p>
+
+<p>And she had her youth and knew it, and it was almost all she had. It
+seemed much to her, and she had no unsatisfiable craving for the world&#8217;s
+stuff in which to attire it. In that, at least, her mother had been
+wise, teaching her to believe and to enjoy, rather than to doubt and
+criticise, and if there had been anything to hide from her it had been
+hidden, even beyond suspicion of its presence. Perhaps the armour of
+knowledge is of little worth until doubt has shaken the heart and
+weakened the joints, and broken the terrible steadfastness of perfect
+innocence in the eyes. Clare knew that she was young, she felt that the
+white dream was sweet, and she believed that the world&#8217;s heart was
+clean
+<span class="pagebreak" title="33">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a>
+ and good. All good was natural and eternal, lofty and splendid as
+an archangel in the light. God had made evil as a background of shadows
+to show how good the light was. Every one could come and stand in the
+light if he chose, for the mere trouble of moving. It seemed so simple.
+She wondered why everybody could not see it as she did.</p>
+
+<p>A flash of white in the white moonlight disturbed her meditations. Two
+people had come out of the door and were walking slowly across the
+platform side by side. They were not speaking, and their footsteps
+crushed the light gravel sharply as they came forward. Clare recognised
+Brook and Lady Fan. Seated in the shadow on one side of the great black
+cross and a little behind it, she could see their faces distinctly, but
+she had no idea that they were dazzled by the light and could not see
+her at all in her dark dress. She fancied that they were looking at her
+as they came on.</p>
+
+<p>The shadow of the rock had crept forward upon the open space, while she
+had been dreaming. The two turned, just before they reached it, and then
+stood still, instead of walking back.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Brook&mdash;&#8221; began Lady Fan, as though she were going to say something.</p>
+
+<p>But she checked herself and looked up at him quickly, chilled already by
+his humour. Clare
+<span class="pagebreak" title="34">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a>
+ thought that the woman&#8217;s voice shook a little, as she
+pronounced the name. Brook did not turn his head nor look down.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes?&#8221; he said, with a sort of interrogation. &#8220;What were you going to
+say?&#8221; he asked after a moment&#8217;s pause.</p>
+
+<p>She seemed to hesitate, for she did not answer at once. Then she glanced
+towards the hotel and looked down.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You won&#8217;t come back with us?&#8221; she asked, at last, in a pleading voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;You know I can&#8217;t. I&#8217;ve got to wait for them
+here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I know. But they are not here yet. I don&#8217;t believe they are coming
+for two or three days. You could perfectly well come on to Genoa with
+us, and get back by rail.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; said Brook quietly, &#8220;I can&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would you, if you could?&#8221; asked the lady in white, and her tone began
+to change again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a question!&#8221; he laughed drily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is an odd question, isn&#8217;t it, coming from me?&#8221; Her voice grew hard,
+and she stopped. &#8220;Well&mdash;you know what it means,&#8221; she added abruptly.
+&#8220;You may as well answer it and have it over. It is very easy to say you
+would not, if you could. I shall understand all the rest, and you will
+be saved the trouble of saying things&mdash;things which I should think you
+would find it rather hard to say.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="35">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Couldn&#8217;t you say them, instead?&#8221; he asked slowly, and looking at her
+for the first time. He spoke gravely and coldly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I!&#8221; There was indignation, real or well affected, in the tone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, you,&#8221; answered the man, with a shade less coldness, but as gravely
+as before. &#8220;You never loved me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Lady Fan&#8217;s small white face was turned to his instantly, and Clare could
+see the fierce, hurt expression in the eyes and about the quivering
+mouth. The young girl suddenly realised that she was accidentally
+overhearing something which was very serious to the two speakers. It
+flashed upon her that they had not seen her where she sat in the shadow,
+and she looked about her hastily in the hope of escaping unobserved. But
+that was impossible. There was no way of getting out of the recess of
+the rock where the cross stood, except by coming out into the light, and
+no way of reaching the hotel except by crossing the open platform.</p>
+
+<p>Then she thought of coughing, to call attention to her presence. She
+would rise and come forward, and hurry across to the door. She felt that
+she ought to have come out of the shadows as soon as the pair had
+appeared, and that she had done wrong in sitting still. But then, she
+told herself with perfect justice that they were
+<span class="pagebreak" title="36">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a>
+ strangers, and that
+she could not possibly have foreseen that they had come there to
+quarrel.</p>
+
+<p>They were strangers, and she did not even know their names. So far as
+they were concerned, and their feelings, it would be much more pleasant
+for them if they never suspected that any one had overheard them than if
+she were to appear in the midst of their conversation, having evidently
+been listening up to that point. It will be admitted that, being a
+woman, she had a choice; for she knew that if she had been in Lady Fan&#8217;s
+place she should have preferred never to know that any one had heard
+her. She fancied what she should feel if any one should cough
+unexpectedly behind her when she had just been accused by the man she
+loved of not loving him at all. And of course the little lady in white
+loved Brook&mdash;she had called him &#8220;dear&#8221; that very afternoon. But that
+Brook did not love Lady Fan was as plain as possible.</p>
+
+<p>There was certainly no mean curiosity in Clare to know the secrets of
+these strangers. But all the same, she would not have been a human girl,
+of any period in humanity&#8217;s history, if she had not been profoundly
+interested in the fate of the woman before her. That afternoon she would
+have thought it far more probable that the woman should break the man&#8217;s
+heart than
+<span class="pagebreak" title="37">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a>
+ that she should break her own for him. But now it looked
+otherwise. Clare thought there was no mistaking the first tremor of the
+voice, the look of the white face, and the indignation of the tone
+afterwards. With a man, the question of revealing his presence as a
+third person would have been a point of honour. In Clare&#8217;s case it was a
+question of delicacy and kindness as from one woman to another.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, she hesitated, and she might have come forward after all.
+Ten slow seconds had passed since Brook had spoken. Then Lady Fan&#8217;s
+little figure shook, her face turned away, and she tried to choke down
+one small bitter sob, pressing her handkerchief desperately to her lips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Brook!&#8221; she cried, a moment later, and her tiny teeth tore the edge
+of the handkerchief audibly in the stillness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s not your fault,&#8221; said the man, with an attempt at gentleness in
+his voice. &#8220;I couldn&#8217;t blame you, if I were brute enough to wish to.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Blame me! Oh, really&mdash;I think you&#8217;re mad, you know!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Besides,&#8221; continued the young man, philosophically, &#8220;I think we ought
+to be glad, don&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Glad?
+<span class="pagebreak" title="38">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;that we are not going to break our hearts now that it&#8217;s over.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare thought his tone horribly business-like and indifferent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh no! We sha&#8217;n&#8217;t break our hearts any more! We are not children.&#8221; Her
+voice was thin and bitter, with a crying laugh in it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look here, Fan!&#8221; said Brook suddenly. &#8220;This is all nonsense. We agreed
+to play together, and we&#8217;ve played very nicely, and now you have to go
+home, and I have got to stay here, whether I like it or not. Let us be
+good friends and say good-bye, and if we meet again and have nothing
+better to do, we can play again if we please. But as for taking it in
+this tragical way&mdash;why, it isn&#8217;t worth it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The young girl crouching in the shadow felt as though she had been
+struck, and her heart went out with indignant sympathy to the little
+lady in white.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you know? I think you are the most absolutely brutal, cynical
+creature I ever met!&#8221; There was anger in the voice, now, and something
+more&mdash;something which Clare could not understand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;m sorry,&#8221; answered the man. &#8220;I don&#8217;t mean to be brutal, I&#8217;m
+sure, and I don&#8217;t think I&#8217;m cynical either. I look at things as they
+are, not as they ought to be. We are not
+<span class="pagebreak" title="39">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a>
+ angels, and the millennium
+hasn&#8217;t come yet. I suppose it would be bad for us if it did, just now.
+But we used to be very good friends last year. I don&#8217;t see why we
+shouldn&#8217;t be again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friends! Oh no!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Lady Fan turned from him and made a step or two alone, out through the
+moonlight, towards the house. Brook did not move. Perhaps he knew that
+she would come back, as indeed she did, stopping suddenly and turning
+round to face him again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Brook,&#8221; she began more softly, &#8220;do you remember that evening up at the
+Acropolis&mdash;at sunset? Do you remember what you said?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I think I do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You said that if I could get free you would marry me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; The man&#8217;s tone had changed suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;I believed you, that&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Brook stood quite still, and looked at her quietly. Some seconds passed
+before she spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You did not mean it?&#8221; she asked sorrowfully.</p>
+
+<p>Still he said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because you know,&#8221; she continued, her eyes fixed on his, &#8220;the position
+is not at all impossible.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="40">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a>
+All things considered, I suppose I could have
+a divorce for the asking.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare started a little in the dark. She was beginning to guess something
+of the truth she could not understand. The man still said nothing, but
+he began to walk up and down slowly, with folded arms, along the edge of
+the shadow before Lady Fan as she stood still, following him with her
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You did not mean a word of what you said that afternoon? Not one word?&#8221;
+She spoke very slowly and distinctly.</p>
+
+<p>He was silent still, pacing up and down before her. Suddenly, without a
+word, she turned from him and walked quickly away, towards the hotel. He
+started and stood still, looking after her&mdash;then he also made a step.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fan!&#8221; he called, in a tone she could hear, but she went on. &#8220;Mrs.
+Crosby!&#8221; he called again.</p>
+
+<p>She stopped, turned, and waited. It was clear that Lady Fan was a
+nickname, Clare thought.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>Clare clasped her hands together in her excitement, watching and
+listening, and holding her breath.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t go like that!&#8221; exclaimed Brook, going forward and holding out one
+hand.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="41">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you want me?&#8221; asked the lady in white, very gently, almost
+tenderly. Clare did not understand how any woman could have so little
+pride, but she pitied the little lady from her heart.</p>
+
+<p>Brook went on till he came up with Lady Fan, who did not make a step to
+meet him. But just as he reached her she put out her hand to take his.
+Clare thought he was relenting, but she was mistaken. His voice came
+back to her clear and distinct, and it had a very gentle ring in it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fan, dear,&#8221; he said, &#8220;we have been very fond of each other in our
+careless way. But we have not loved each other. We may have thought that
+we did, for a moment, now and then. I shall always be fond of you, just
+in that way. I&#8217;ll do anything for you. But I won&#8217;t marry you, if you get
+a divorce. It would be utter folly. If I ever said I would, in so many
+words&mdash;well, I&#8217;m ashamed of it. You&#8217;ll forgive me some day. One says
+things&mdash;sometimes&mdash;that one means for a minute, and then, afterwards,
+one doesn&#8217;t mean them. But I mean what I am saying now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He dropped her hand, and stood looking at her, and waiting for her to
+speak. Her face, as Clare saw it, from a distance now, looked whiter
+than ever. After an instant she turned from
+<span class="pagebreak" title="42">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a>
+ him with a quick movement,
+but not towards the hotel.</p>
+
+<p>She walked slowly towards the stone parapet of the platform. As she
+went, Clare again saw her raise her handkerchief and press it to her
+lips, but she did not bend her head. She went and leaned on her elbows
+on the parapet, and her hands pulled nervously at the handkerchief as
+she looked down at the calm sea far below. Brook followed her slowly,
+but just as he was near, she, hearing his footsteps, turned and leaned
+back against the low wall.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Give me a cigarette,&#8221; she said in a hard voice. &#8220;I&#8217;m nervous&mdash;and I&#8217;ve
+got to face those people in a moment.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare started again in sheer surprise. She had expected tears, fainting,
+angry words, a passionate appeal&mdash;anything rather than what she heard.
+Brook produced a silver case which gleamed in the moonlight. Lady Fan
+took a cigarette, and her companion took another. He struck a match and
+held it up for her in the still air. The little flame cast its red glare
+into their faces. The young girl had good eyes, and as she watched them
+she saw the man&#8217;s expression was grave and stern, a little sad, perhaps,
+but she fancied that there was the beginning of a scornful smile on the
+woman&#8217;s lips. She understood less clearly then than ever what
+<span class="pagebreak" title="43">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a>
+ manner of
+human beings these two strangers might be.</p>
+
+<p>For some moments they smoked in silence, the lady in white leaning back
+against the parapet, the man standing upright with one hand in his
+pocket, holding his cigarette in the other, and looking out to sea. Then
+Lady Fan stood up, too, and threw her cigarette over the wall.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s time to be going,&#8221; she said, suddenly. &#8220;They&#8217;ll be coming after us
+if we stay here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But she did not move. Sideways she looked up into his face. Then she
+held out her hand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-bye, Brook,&#8221; she said, quietly enough, as he took it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-bye,&#8221; he murmured in a low voice, but distinctly.</p>
+
+<p>Their hands stayed together after they had spoken, and still she looked
+up to him in the moonlight. Suddenly he bent down and kissed her on the
+forehead&mdash;in an odd, hasty way.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry, Fan, but it won&#8217;t do,&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Again!&#8221; she answered. &#8220;Once more, please!&#8221; And she held up her face.</p>
+
+<p>He kissed her again, but less hastily, Clare thought, as she watched
+them. Then, without another word, they walked towards the hotel, side by
+side, close together, so that their hands almost touched. When they were
+not ten paces
+<span class="pagebreak" title="44">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a>
+ from the door, they stopped again and looked at each
+other.</p>
+
+<p>At that moment Clare saw her mother&#8217;s dark figure on the threshold. The
+pair must have heard her steps, for they separated a little and
+instantly went on, passing Mrs. Bowring quickly. Clare sat still in her
+place, waiting for her mother to come to her. She feared lest, if she
+moved, the two might come back for an instant, see her, and understand
+that they had been watched. Mrs. Bowring went forward a few steps.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Clare!&#8221; she called.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; answered the young girl softly. &#8220;Here I am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;I could not see you at all,&#8221; said her mother. &#8220;Come down into the
+moonlight.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The young girl descended the steps, and the two began to walk up and
+down together on the platform.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Those were two of the people from the yacht that I met at the door,&#8221;
+said Mrs. Bowring. &#8220;The lady in white serge, and that good-looking young
+man.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; Clare answered. &#8220;They were here some time. I don&#8217;t think they saw
+me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She had meant to tell her mother something of what had happened, in the
+hope of being told that she had done right in not revealing her
+presence. But on second thoughts she resolved
+<span class="pagebreak" title="45">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a>
+to say nothing about it.
+To have told the story would have seemed like betraying a confidence,
+even though they were strangers to her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I could not help wondering about them this afternoon,&#8221; said Mrs.
+Bowring. &#8220;She ordered him about in a most extraordinary way, as though
+he had been her servant. I thought it in very bad taste, to say the
+least of it. Of course I don&#8217;t know anything about their relations, but
+it struck me that she wished to show him off, as her possession.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; answered Clare, thoughtfully. &#8220;I thought so too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very foolish of her! No man will stand that sort of thing long. That
+isn&#8217;t the way to treat a man in order to keep him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is the best way?&#8221; asked the young girl idly, with a little laugh.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t ask me!&#8221; answered Mrs. Bowring quickly, as they turned in their
+walk. &#8220;But I should think&mdash;&#8221; she added, a moment later, &#8220;I don&#8217;t
+know&mdash;but I should think&mdash;&#8221; she hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What?&#8221; inquired Clare, with some curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I was going to say, I should think that a man would wish to feel
+that he is holding, not that he is held. But then people are so
+different! One can never tell. At all events,
+<span class="pagebreak" title="46">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a>
+ it is foolish to wish to
+show everybody that you own a man, so to say.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring seemed to be considering the question, but she evidently
+found nothing more to say about it, and they walked up and down in
+silence for a long time, each occupied with her own thoughts. Then all
+at once there was a sound of many voices speaking English, and trying to
+give orders in Italian, and the words &#8220;Good-bye, Brook!&#8221; sounded several
+times above the rest. Little by little, all grew still again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They are gone at last,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring, with a sigh of relief.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="47">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+
+<p>Clare Bowring went to her room that night feeling as though she had been
+at the theatre. She could not get rid of the impression made upon her by
+the scene she had witnessed, and over and over again, as she lay awake,
+with the moonbeams streaming into her room, she went over all she had
+seen and heard on the platform. It had, at least, been very like the
+theatre. The broad, flat stage, the somewhat conventionally picturesque
+buildings, the strip of far-off sea, as flat as a band of paint, the
+unnaturally bright moonlight, the two chief figures going through a love
+quarrel in the foreground, and she herself calmly seated in the shadow,
+as in the darkened amphitheatre, and looking on unseen and unnoticed.</p>
+
+<p>But the two people had not talked at all as people talked on the stage
+in any piece Clare had ever seen. What would have been the &#8220;points&#8221; in a
+play had all been left out, and instead there had been abrupt pauses and
+awkward silences, and then, at what should have been the supreme moment,
+the lady in white
+<span class="pagebreak" title="48">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a>
+ had asked for a cigarette. And the two hasty little
+kisses that had a sort of perfunctory air, and the queer, jerky
+&#8220;good-byes,&#8221; and the last stop near the door of the hotel&mdash;it all had an
+air of being very badly done. It could not have been a success on the
+stage, Clare thought.</p>
+
+<p>And yet this was a bit of life, of the real, genuine life of two people
+who had been in love, and perhaps were in love still, though they might
+not know it. She had been present at what must, in her view, have been a
+great crisis in two lives. Such things, she thought, could not happen
+more than once in a lifetime&mdash;twice, perhaps. Her mother had been
+married twice, so Clare admitted a second possibility. But not more than
+that.</p>
+
+<p>The situation, too, as she reviewed it, was nothing short of romantic.
+Here was a young man who had evidently been making love to a married
+woman, and who had made her believe that he loved her, and had made her
+love him too. Clare remembered the desperate little sob, and the
+handkerchief twice pressed to the pale lips. The woman was married, and
+yet she actually loved the man enough to think of divorcing her husband
+in order to marry him. Then, just when she was ready, he had turned and
+told her in the most heartless way that it had been all play, and that
+he would not marry her
+<span class="pagebreak" title="49">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a>
+ under any circumstances. It seemed monstrous to
+the innocent girl that they should even have spoken of marriage, until
+the divorce was accomplished. Then, of course, it would have been all
+right. Clare had been brought up with modern ideas about divorce in
+general, as being a fair and just thing in certain circumstances. She
+had learned that it could not be right to let an innocent woman suffer
+all her life because she had married a brute by mistake. Doubtless that
+was Lady Fan&#8217;s case. But she should have got her divorce first, and then
+she might have talked of marriage afterwards. It was very wrong of her.</p>
+
+<p>But Lady Fan&#8217;s thoughtlessness&mdash;or wickedness, as Clare thought she
+ought to call it&mdash;sank into insignificance before the cynical
+heartlessness of the man. It was impossible ever to forget the cool way
+in which he had said she ought not to take it so tragically, because it
+was not worth it. Yet he had admitted that he had promised to marry her
+if she got a divorce. He had made love to her, there on the Acropolis,
+at sunset, as she had said. He even granted that he might have believed
+himself in earnest for a few moments. And now he told her that he was
+sorry, but that &#8220;it would not do.&#8221; It had evidently been all his fault,
+for he had found nothing with which to reproach her. If there
+<span class="pagebreak" title="50">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a>
+ had been
+anything, Clare thought, he would have brought it up in self-defence.
+She could not suspect that he would almost rather have married Lady Fan,
+and ruined his life, than have done that. Innocence cannot even guess at
+sin&#8217;s code of honour&mdash;though sometimes it would be in evil case without
+it. Brook had probably broken Lady Fan&#8217;s heart that night, thought the
+young girl, though Lady Fan had said with such a bitter, crying laugh
+that they were not children and that their hearts could not break.</p>
+
+<p>And it all seemed very unreal, as she looked back upon it. The situation
+was certainly romantic, but the words had been poor beyond her
+imagination, and the actors had halted in their parts, as at a first
+rehearsal.</p>
+
+<p>Then Clare reflected that of course neither of them had ever been in
+such a situation before, and that, if they were not naturally eloquent,
+it was not surprising that they should have expressed themselves in
+short, jerky sentences. But that was only an excuse she made to herself
+to account for the apparent unreality of it all. She turned her cheek to
+a cool end of the pillow and tried to go to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>She tried to bring back the white dreams she had dreamt when she had sat
+alone in the shadow before the other two had come out to quarrel. She
+did her best to bring back that vague, soft
+<span class="pagebreak" title="51">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a>
+ joy of yearning for
+something beautiful and unknown. She tried to drop the silver veil of
+fancy-threads woven by the May moon between her and the world. But it
+would not come. Instead of it, she saw the flat platform, the man and
+woman standing in the unnatural brightness, and the woman&#8217;s desperate
+little face when he had told her that she had never loved him. The dream
+was not white any more.</p>
+
+<p>So that was life. That was reality. That was the way men treated women.
+She thought she began to understand what faithlessness and
+unfaithfulness meant. She had seen an unfaithful man, and had heard him
+telling the woman he had made love him that he never could love her any
+more. That was real life.</p>
+
+<p>Clare&#8217;s heart went out to the little lady in white. By this time she was
+alone in her cabin, and her pillow was wet with tears. Brook doubtless
+was calmly asleep, unless he were drinking or doing some of those
+vaguely wicked things which, in the imagination of very simple young
+girls, fill up the hours of fast men, and help sometimes to make those
+very men &#8220;interesting.&#8221; But after what she had seen Clare felt that
+Brook could never interest her under imaginable circumstances. He was
+simply a &#8220;brute,&#8221; as the lady in white had told him, and Clare wished
+that some woman could make him suffer
+<span class="pagebreak" title="52">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a>
+ for his sins and expiate the
+misdeeds which had made that little face so desperate and that short
+laugh so bitter.</p>
+
+<p>She wished, though she hardly knew it, that she had done anything rather
+than have sat there in the shadow, all through the scene. She had lost
+something that night which it would be hard indeed to find again. There
+was a big jagged rent in the drop-curtain of illusions before her
+life-stage, and through it she saw things that troubled her and would
+not be forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>She had no memory of her own of which the vivid brightness or the
+intimate sadness could diminish the force of this new impression.
+Possibly, she was of the kind that do not easily fall in love, for she
+had met during the past two years more than one man whom many a girl of
+her age and bringing up might have fancied. Some of them might have
+fallen in love with her, if she had allowed them, or if she had felt the
+least spark of interest in them and had shown it. But she had not. Her
+manner was cold and over-dignified for her years, and she had very
+little vanity together with much pride&mdash;too much of the latter, perhaps,
+to be ever what is called popular. For &#8220;popular&#8221; persons are generally
+those who wish to be such; and pride and the love of popularity are at
+opposite poles of the character-world. Proud characters
+<span class="pagebreak" title="53">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a>
+ set love high
+and their own love higher, while a vain woman will risk her heart for a
+compliment, and her reputation for the sake of having a lion in her
+leash, if only for a day. Clare Bowring had not yet been near to loving,
+and she had nothing of her own to contrast with this experience in which
+she had been a mere spectator. It at once took the aspect of a
+generality. This man and this woman were probably not unlike most men
+and women, if the truth were known, she thought. And she had seen the
+real truth, as few people could ever have seen it&mdash;the supreme crisis of
+a love-affair going on before her very eyes, in her hearing, at her
+feet, the actors having no suspicion of her presence. It was, perhaps,
+the certainty that she could not misinterpret it all which most
+disgusted her, and wounded something in her which she had never defined,
+but which was really a sort of belief that love must always carry with
+it something beautiful, whether joyous, or tender, or tragic. Of that,
+there had been nothing in what she had seen. Only the woman&#8217;s face came
+back to her, and hurt her, and she felt her own heart go out to poor
+Lady Fan, while it hardened against Brook with an exaggerated hatred, as
+though he had insulted and injured all living women.</p>
+
+<p>It was probable that she was to see this man during several days to
+come. The idea struck
+<span class="pagebreak" title="54">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a>
+ her when she was almost asleep, and it waked her
+again, with a start. It was quite certain that he had stayed behind,
+when the others had gone down to the yacht, for she had heard the voices
+calling out &#8220;Good-bye, Brook!&#8221; Besides he had said repeatedly to the
+lady in white that he must stay. He was expecting his people. It was
+quite certain that Clare must see him during the next day or two. It was
+not impossible that he might try to make her mother&#8217;s acquaintance and
+her own. The idea was intensely disagreeable to her. In the first place,
+she hated him beforehand for what he had done, and, secondly, she had
+once heard his secret. It was one thing, so long as he was a total
+stranger. It would be quite another, if she should come to know him. She
+had a vague thought of pretending to be ill, and staying in her room as
+long as he remained in the place. But in that case she should have to
+explain matters to her mother. She should not like to do that. The
+thought of the difficulty disturbed her a little while longer. Then, at
+last, she fell asleep, tired with what she had felt, and seen, and
+heard.</p>
+
+<p>The yacht sailed before daybreak, and in the morning the little hotel
+had returned to its normal state of peace. The early sun blazed upon the
+white walls above, and upon the half-moon, beach below, and shot
+straight into the recess in
+<span class="pagebreak" title="55">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a>
+ the rocks where Clare had sat by the old
+black cross in the dark. The level beams ran through her room, too, for
+it faced south-east, looking across the gulf; and when she went to the
+window and stood in the sunshine, her flaxen hair looked almost white,
+and the good southern warmth brought soft colour to the northern girl&#8217;s
+cheeks. She was like a thin, fair angel, standing there on the high
+balcony, looking to seaward in the calm air. That, at least, was what a
+fisherman from Praiano thought, as he turned his hawk-eyes upwards,
+standing to his oars and paddling slowly along, top-heavy in his tiny
+boat. But no native of Amalfi ever mistook a foreigner for an angel.</p>
+
+<p>Everything was quiet and peaceful again, and there seemed to be neither
+trace nor memory of the preceding day&#8217;s invasion. The English old maids
+were early at their window, and saw with disappointment that the yacht
+was gone. They were never to know whether the big man with the gold
+cigarette case had been the Duke of Orkney or not. But order was
+restored, and they got their tea and toast without difficulty. The
+Russian invalid was slicing a lemon into his cup on the vine-sheltered
+terrace, and the German family, having slept on the question of the Pope
+and Bismarck, were ruddy with morning energy, and were making an early
+start for a
+<span class="pagebreak" title="56">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a>
+ place in the hills where the Professor had heard that there
+was an inscription of the ninth century.</p>
+
+<p>The young girl stood still on her balcony, happily dazed for a few
+moments by the strong sunshine and the clear air. It is probably the
+sensation enjoyed for hours together by a dog basking in the sun, but
+with most human beings it does not last long&mdash;the sun is soon too hot
+for the head, or too bright for the eyes, or there is a draught, or the
+flies disturb one. Man is not capable of as much physical enjoyment as
+the other animals, though perhaps his enjoyment is keener during the
+first moments. Then comes thought, restlessness, discontent, change,
+effort, and progress, and the history of man&#8217;s superiority is the
+journal of his pain.</p>
+
+<p>For a little while, Clare stood blinking in the sunshine, smitten into a
+pleasant semi-consciousness by the strong nature around her. Then she
+thought of Brook and the lady in white, and of all she had been a
+witness of in the evening, and the colour of things changed a little,
+and she turned away and went between the little white and red curtains
+into her room again. Life was certainly not the same since she had heard
+and seen what a man and a woman could say and be. There were certain new
+impressions, where there had been no impression at all, but only a
+maiden
+<span class="pagebreak" title="57">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a>
+ readiness to receive the beautiful. What had come was not
+beautiful, by any means, and the thought of it darkened the air a
+little, so that the day was not to be what it might have been. She
+realised how she was affected, and grew impatient with herself. After
+all, it would be the easiest thing in the world to avoid the man, even
+if he stayed some time. Her mother was not much given to making
+acquaintance with strangers.</p>
+
+<p>And it would have been easy enough, if the man himself had taken the
+same view. He, however, had watched the Bowrings on the preceding
+evening, and had made up his mind that they were &#8220;human beings,&#8221; as he
+put it; that is to say, that they belonged to his own class, whereas
+none of the people at the upper end of the table had any claim to be
+counted with the social blessed. He was young, and though he knew how to
+amuse himself alone, and had all manner of manly tastes and
+inclinations, he preferred pleasant society to solitude, and his
+experience told him that the society of the Bowrings would in all
+probability be pleasant. He therefore determined that he would try to
+know them at once, and the determination had already been formed in his
+mind when he had run after Clare to give her the shawl she had dropped.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="58">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a>
+He got up rather late, and promptly marched out upon the terrace under
+the vines, smoking a briar-root pipe with that solemn air whereby the
+Englishman abroad proclaims to the world that he owns the scenery. There
+is something almost phenomenal about an Englishman&#8217;s solid
+self-satisfaction when he is alone with his pipe. Every nation has its
+own way of smoking. There is a hasty and vicious manner about the
+Frenchman&#8217;s little cigarette of pungent black tobacco; the Italian
+dreams over his rat-tail cigar; the American either eats half of his
+Havana while he smokes the other, or else he takes a frivolous delight
+in smoking delicately and keeping the white ash whole to the end; the
+German surrounds himself with a cloud, and, god-like, meditates within
+it; there is a sacrificial air about the Asiatic&#8217;s narghileh, as the
+thin spire rises steadily and spreads above his head; but the
+Englishman&#8217;s short briar-root pipe has a powerful individuality of its
+own. Its simplicity is Gothic, its solidity is of the Stone Age, he
+smokes it in the face of the higher civilisation, and it is the badge of
+the conqueror. A man who asserts that he has a right to smoke a pipe
+anywhere, practically asserts that he has a right to everything. And it
+will be admitted that Englishmen get a good deal.</p>
+
+<p>Moreover, as soon as the Englishman has
+<span class="pagebreak" title="59">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a>
+ finished smoking he generally
+goes and does something else. Brook knocked the ashes out of his pipe,
+and immediately went in search of the head waiter, to whom he explained
+with some difficulty that he wished to be placed next to the two ladies
+who sat last on the side away from the staircase at the public table.
+The waiter tried to explain that the two ladies, though they had been
+some time in the hotel, insisted upon being always last on that side
+because there was more air. But Brook was firm, and he strengthened his
+argument with coin, and got what he wanted. He also made the waiter
+point out to him the Bowrings&#8217; name on the board which held the names of
+the guests. Then he asked the way to Ravello, turned up his trousers
+round his ankles, and marched off at a swinging pace down the steep
+descent towards the beach, which he had to cross before climbing the
+hill to the old town. Nothing in his outward manner or appearance
+betrayed that he had been through a rather serious crisis on the
+preceding evening.</p>
+
+<p>That was what struck Clare Bowring when, to her dismay, he sat down
+beside her at the midday meal. She could not help glancing at him as he
+took his seat. His eyes were bright, his face, browned by the sun, was
+fresh and rested. There was not a line of care or thought
+<span class="pagebreak" title="60">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a>
+ on his
+forehead. The young girl felt that she was flushing with anger. He saw
+her colour, and took it for a sign of shyness. He made a sort of
+apologetic movement of the head and shoulders towards her which was not
+exactly a bow&mdash;for to an Englishman&#8217;s mind a bow is almost a
+familiarity&mdash;but which expressed a kind of vague desire not to cause any
+inconvenience.</p>
+
+<p>The colour deepened a little in Clare&#8217;s face, and then disappeared. She
+found something to say to her mother, on her other side, which it would
+hardly have been worth while to say at all under ordinary circumstances.
+Mrs. Bowring had glanced at the man while he was taking his seat, and
+her eyebrows had contracted a little. Later she looked furtively past
+her daughter at his profile, and then stared a long time at her plate.
+As for him, he began to eat with conscious strength, as healthy young
+men do, but he watched his opportunity for doing or saying anything
+which might lead to a first acquaintance.</p>
+
+<p>To tell the truth, however, he was in no hurry. He knew how to make
+himself comfortable, and it was an important element in his comfort to
+be seated next to the only persons in the place with whom he should care
+to associate. That point being gained, he was willing to wait for
+whatever was to come afterwards. He did
+<span class="pagebreak" title="61">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a>
+ not expect in any case to gain
+more than the chance of a little pleasant conversation, and he was not
+troubled by any youthful desire to shine in the eyes of the fair girl
+beside whom he found himself, beyond the natural wish to appear well
+before women in general, which modifies the conduct of all natural and
+manly young men when women are present at all.</p>
+
+<p>As the meal proceeded, however, he was surprised to find that no
+opportunity presented itself for exchanging a word with his neighbour.
+He had so often found it impossible to avoid speaking with strangers at
+a public table that he had taken the probability of some little incident
+for granted, and caught himself glancing surreptitiously at Clare&#8217;s
+plate to see whether there were nothing wanting which he might offer
+her. But he could not think of anything. The fried sardines were
+succeeded by the regulation braised beef with the gluey brown sauce
+which grows in most foreign hotels. That, in its turn, was followed by
+some curiously dry slices of spongecake, each bearing a bit of pink and
+white sugar frosting, and accompanied by fresh orange marmalade, which
+Brook thought very good, but which Clare refused. And then there was
+fruit&mdash;beautiful oranges, uncanny apples, and walnuts&mdash;and the young man
+foresaw the near end of the meal, and wished that
+<span class="pagebreak" title="62">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a>
+ something would
+happen. But still nothing happened at all.</p>
+
+<p>He watched Clare&#8217;s hands as she prepared an orange in the Italian
+fashion, taking off the peel at one end, then passing the knife twice
+completely round at right angles, and finally stripping the peel away in
+four neat pieces. The hands were beautiful in their way, too thin,
+perhaps, and almost too white from recent illness, but straight and
+elastic, with little blue veins at the sides of the finger-joints and
+exquisite nails that were naturally polished. The girl was clever with
+her fingers, she could not help seeing that her neighbour was watching
+her, and she peeled the orange with unusual skill and care. It was a
+good one, too, and the peel separated easily from the deep yellow fruit.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How awfully jolly!&#8221; exclaimed the young man, unconsciously, in genuine
+admiration.</p>
+
+<p>He was startled by the sound of his own voice, for he had not meant to
+speak, and the blood rushed to his sunburnt face. Clare&#8217;s eyes flashed
+upon him in a glance of surprise, and the colour rose in her cheeks
+also. She was evidently not pleased, and he felt that he had been guilty
+of a breach of English propriety. When an Englishman does a tactless
+thing he generally hastens to make it worse, becomes suddenly shy, and
+flounders.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="63">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;I beg your pardon,&#8221; stammered Brook. &#8220;I really didn&#8217;t mean to
+speak&mdash;that is&mdash;you did it so awfully well, you know!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s the Italian way,&#8221; Clare answered, beginning to quarter the orange.</p>
+
+<p>She felt that she could not exactly be silent after he had apologised
+for admiring her skill. But she remembered that she had felt some vanity
+in what she had been doing, and had done it with some unnecessary
+ostentation. She hoped that he would not say anything more, for the
+sound of his voice reminded her of what she had heard him say to the
+lady in white, and she hated him with all her heart.</p>
+
+<p>But the young man was encouraged by her sufficiently gracious answer,
+and was already glad of what he had done.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do all Italians do it that way?&#8221; he asked boldly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Generally,&#8221; answered the young girl, and she began to eat the orange.</p>
+
+<p>Brook took another from the dish before him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let me see,&#8221; he said, turning it round and round. &#8220;You cut a slice off
+one end.&#8221; He began to cut the peel.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not too deep,&#8221; said Clare, &#8220;or you will cut into the fruit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;thanks, awfully. Yes, I see. This way?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="64">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a>
+He took the end off, and looked at her for approval. She nodded
+gravely, and then turned away her eyes. He made the two cuts round the
+peel, crosswise, and looked to her again, but she affected not to see
+him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;might I ask you&mdash;&#8221; he began. She looked at his orange again,
+without a smile. &#8220;Please don&#8217;t think me too dreadfully rude,&#8221; he said.
+&#8220;But it was so pretty, and I&#8217;m tremendously anxious to learn. Was it
+this way?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His fingers teased the peel, and it began to come off. He raised his
+eyes with another look of inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. That&#8217;s all right,&#8221; said Clare calmly.</p>
+
+<p>She was going to look away again, when she reflected that since he was
+so pertinacious it would be better to see the operation finished once
+for all. Then she and her mother would get up and go away, as they had
+finished. But he wished to push his advantage.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And now what does one do?&#8221; he asked, for the sake of saying something.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One eats it,&#8221; answered Clare, half impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her a moment and then broke into a laugh, and Clare, very
+much to her own surprise and annoyance, laughed too, in spite of
+herself. That broke the ice. When two people have laughed together over
+something one of
+<span class="pagebreak" title="65">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a>
+ them has said, there is no denying the acquaintance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was really awfully kind of you!&#8221; he exclaimed, his eyes still
+laughing. &#8220;It was horridly rude of me to say anything at all, but I
+really couldn&#8217;t help it. If I could get anybody to introduce me, so that
+I could apologise properly, I would, you know, but in this place&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked towards the German family and the English old maids, in a
+helpless sort of way, and then laughed again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think it&#8217;s necessary,&#8221; said Clare rather coldly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;I suppose not,&#8221; he answered, growing graver at once. &#8220;And I think
+it is allowed&mdash;isn&#8217;t it?&mdash;to speak to one&#8217;s neighbour at a table d&#8217;h&ocirc;te,
+you know. Not but what it was awfully rude of me, all the same,&#8221; he
+added hastily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh no. Not at all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare stared at the wall opposite and leaned back in her chair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh! thanks awfully! I was afraid you might think so, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring leaned forward as her daughter leaned back. Seeing that the
+latter had fallen into conversation with the stranger, she was too much
+a woman of the world not to speak to him at once in order to avoid any
+awkwardness when they next met, for he could
+<span class="pagebreak" title="66">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a>
+ not possibly have spoken
+first to her across the young girl.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is it your first visit to Amalfi?&#8221; she inquired, with as much
+originality as is common in such cases.</p>
+
+<p>Brook leaned forward too, and looked over at the elder woman.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he answered, &#8220;I was with a party, and they dropped me here last
+night. I was to meet my people here, but they haven&#8217;t turned up yet, so
+I&#8217;m seeing the sights. I went up to Ravello this morning&mdash;you know, that
+place on the hill. There&#8217;s an awfully good view from there, isn&#8217;t
+there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare thought his fluency developed very quickly when he spoke to her
+mother. As he leaned forward she could not help seeing his face, and she
+looked at him closely, for the first time, and with some curiosity. He
+was handsome, and had a wonderfully frank and good-humoured expression.
+He was not in the least a &#8220;beauty&#8221; man&mdash;she thought he might be a
+soldier or a sailor, and a very good specimen of either. Furthermore, he
+was undoubtedly a gentleman, so far as a man is to be judged by his
+outward manner and appearance. In her heart she had already set him down
+as little short of a villain. The discrepancy between his looks and what
+she thought of him disturbed her. It was
+<span class="pagebreak" title="67">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a>
+ unpleasant to feel that a man
+who had acted as he had acted last night could look as fresh, and
+innocent, and unconcerned as he looked to-day. It was disagreeable to
+have him at her elbow. Either he had never cared a straw for poor Lady
+Fan, and in that case he had almost broken her heart out of sheer
+mischief and love of selfish amusement, or else, if he had cared for her
+at all, he was a pitiably fickle and faithless creature&mdash;something much
+more despicable in the eyes of most women than the most heartless cynic.
+One or the other he must be, thought Clare. In either case he was bad,
+because Lady Fan was married, and it was wicked to make love to married
+women. There was a directness about Clare&#8217;s view which would either have
+made the man laugh or would have hurt him rather badly. She wondered
+what sort of expression would come over his handsome face if she were
+suddenly to tell him what she knew. The idea took her by surprise, and
+she smiled to herself as she thought of it.</p>
+
+<p>Yet she could not help glancing at him again and again, as he talked
+across her with her mother, making very commonplace remarks about the
+beauty of the place. Very much in spite of herself, she wished to know
+him better, though she already hated him. His face attracted her
+strangely, and his voice was pleasant, close
+<span class="pagebreak" title="68">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a>
+ to her ear. He had not in
+the least the look of the traditional lady-killer, of whom the tradition
+seems to survive as a moral scarecrow for the education of the young,
+though the creature is extinct among Anglo-Saxons. He was, on the
+contrary, a manly man, who looked as though he would prefer tennis to
+tea and polo to poetry&mdash;and men to women for company, as a rule. She
+felt that if she had not heard him talking with the lady in white she
+should have liked him very much. As it was, she said to herself that she
+wished she might never see him again&mdash;and all the time her eyes returned
+again and again to his sunburnt face and profile, till in a few minutes
+she knew his features by heart.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="69">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+
+<p>A chance acquaintance may, under favourable circumstances, develop
+faster than one brought about by formal introduction, because neither
+party has been previously led to expect anything of the other. There is
+no surer way of making friendship impossible than telling two people
+that they are sure to be such good friends, and are just suited to each
+other. The law of natural selection applies to almost everything we want
+in the world, from food and climate to a wife.</p>
+
+<p>When Clare and her mother had established themselves as usual on the
+terrace under the vines that afternoon, Brook came and sat beside them
+for a while. Mrs. Bowring liked him and talked easily with him, but
+Clare was silent and seemed absent-minded. The young man looked at her
+from time to time with curiosity, for he was not used to being treated
+with such perfect indifference as she showed to him. He was not spoilt,
+as the phrase goes, but he had always been accustomed to a certain
+amount of attention, when he met new people, and, without
+<span class="pagebreak" title="70">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a>
+ being in the
+least annoyed, he thought it strange that this particular young lady
+should seem not even to listen to what he said.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring, on the other hand, scarcely took her eyes from his face
+after the first ten minutes, and not a word he spoke escaped her. By
+contrast with her daughter&#8217;s behaviour, her earnest attention was very
+noticeable. By degrees she began to ask him questions about himself.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you expect your people to-morrow?&#8221; she inquired.</p>
+
+<p>Clare looked up quickly. It was very unlike her mother to show even that
+small amount of curiosity about a stranger. It was clear that Mrs.
+Bowring had conceived a sudden liking for the young man.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They were to have been here to-day,&#8221; he answered indifferently. &#8220;They
+may come this evening, I suppose, but they have not even ordered rooms.
+I asked the man there&mdash;the owner of the place, I suppose he is.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then of course you will wait for them,&#8221; suggested Mrs. Bowring.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. It&#8217;s an awful bore, too. That is&mdash;&#8221; he corrected himself
+hastily&mdash;&#8220;I mean, if I were to be here without a soul to speak to, you
+know. Of course, it&#8217;s different, this way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How?&#8221; asked Mrs. Bowring, with a brighter
+<span class="pagebreak" title="71">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a>
+ smile than Clare had seen on
+her face for a long time.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, because you are so kind as to let me talk to you,&#8221; answered the
+young man, without the least embarrassment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you are a social person?&#8221; Mrs. Bowring laughed a little. &#8220;You
+don&#8217;t like to be alone?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh no! Not when I can be with nice people. Of course not. I don&#8217;t
+believe anybody does. Unless I&#8217;m doing something, you know&mdash;shooting, or
+going up a hill, or fishing. Then I don&#8217;t mind. But of course I would
+much rather be alone than with bores, don&#8217;t you know? Or&mdash;or&mdash;well, the
+other kind of people.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What kind?&#8221; asked Mrs. Bowring.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There are only two kinds,&#8221; answered Brook, gravely. &#8220;There is our
+kind&mdash;and then there is the other kind. I don&#8217;t know what to call them,
+do you? All the people who never seem to understand exactly what we are
+talking about nor why we do things&mdash;and all that. I call them &#8216;the other
+kind.&#8217; But then I haven&#8217;t a great command of language. What should you
+call them?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Cads, perhaps,&#8221; suggested Clare, who had not spoken for a long time.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh no, not exactly,&#8221; answered the young man, looking at her. &#8220;Besides,
+&#8216;cads&#8217; doesn
+<span class="pagebreak" title="72">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a>
+&#8217;t include women, does it? A gentleman&#8217;s son sometimes
+turns out a most awful cad, a regular &#8216;bounder.&#8217; It&#8217;s rare, but it does
+happen sometimes. A mere cad may know, and understand all right, but
+he&#8217;s got the wrong sort of feeling inside of him about most things. For
+instance&mdash;you don&#8217;t mind? A cad may know perfectly well that he ought
+not to &#8216;kiss and tell&#8217;&mdash;but he will all the same. The &#8216;other kind,&#8217; as I
+call them, don&#8217;t even know. That makes them awfully hard to get on
+with.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then, of the two, you prefer the cad?&#8221; inquired Clare coolly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. I don&#8217;t know. They are both pretty bad. But a cad may be very
+amusing, sometimes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When he kisses and tells?&#8221; asked the young girl viciously.</p>
+
+<p>Brook looked at her, in quick surprise at her tone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; he answered quietly. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t mean that. The clowns in the circus
+represent amusing cads. Some of them are awfully clever, too,&#8221; he added,
+turning the subject. &#8220;Some of those fiddling fellows are extraordinary.
+They really play very decently. They must have a lot of talent, when you
+think of all the different things they do besides their feats of
+strength&mdash;they act, and play the fiddle, and sing, and dance
+<span class="pagebreak" title="73">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a>
+&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You seem to have a great admiration for clowns,&#8221; observed Clare in an
+indifferent tone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;they are amusing, aren&#8217;t they? Of course, it isn&#8217;t high art, and
+that sort of thing, but one laughs at them, and sometimes they do very
+pretty things. One can&#8217;t be always on one&#8217;s hind legs, doing Hamlet, can
+one? There&#8217;s a limit to the amount of tragedy one can stand during life.
+After all, it is better to laugh than to cry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When one can,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Some people always can, whatever happens,&#8221; said the young girl.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps they are right,&#8221; answered the young man. &#8220;Things are not often
+so serious as they are supposed to be. It&#8217;s like being in a house that&#8217;s
+supposed to be haunted&mdash;on All Hallow E&#8217;en, for instance&mdash;it&#8217;s awfully
+gruesome and creepy at night when the wind moans and the owls screech.
+And then, the next morning, one wonders how one could have been such an
+idiot. Other things are often like that. You think the world&#8217;s coming to
+an end&mdash;and then it doesn&#8217;t, you know. It goes on just the same. You are
+rather surprised at first, but you soon get used to it. I suppose that
+is what is meant by losing one&#8217;s illusions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sometimes the world stops for an individual
+<span class="pagebreak" title="74">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a>
+ and doesn&#8217;t go on again,&#8221;
+said Mrs. Bowring, with a faint smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I suppose people do break their hearts sometimes,&#8221; returned Brook,
+somewhat thoughtfully. &#8220;But it must be something tremendously serious,&#8221;
+he added with instant cheerfulness. &#8220;I don&#8217;t believe it happens often.
+Most people just have a queer sensation in their throat for a minute,
+and they smoke a cigarette for their nerves, and go away and think of
+something else.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare looked at him, and her eyes flashed angrily, for she remembered
+Lady Fan&#8217;s cigarette and the preceding evening. He remembered it too,
+and was thinking of it, for he smiled as he spoke and looked away at the
+horizon as though he saw something in the air. For the first time in her
+life the young girl had a cruel impulse. She wished that she were a
+great beauty, or that she possessed infinite charm, that she might
+revenge the little lady in white and make the man suffer as he deserved.
+At one moment she was ashamed of the wish, and then again it returned,
+and she smiled as she thought of it.</p>
+
+<p>She was vaguely aware, too, that the man attracted her in a way which
+did not interfere with her resentment against him. She would certainly
+not have admitted that he was interesting
+<span class="pagebreak" title="75">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a>
+to her on account of Lady
+Fan&mdash;but there was in her a feminine willingness to play with the fire
+at which another woman had burned her wings. Almost all women feel that,
+until they have once felt too much themselves. The more innocent and
+inexperienced they are, the more sure they are, as a rule, of their own
+perfect safety, and the more ready to run any risk.</p>
+
+<p>Neither of the women answered the young man&#8217;s rather frivolous assertion
+for some moments. Then Mrs. Bowring looked at him kindly, but with a
+far-away expression, as though she were thinking of some one else.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are young,&#8221; she said gently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s true that I&#8217;m not very old,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;I was five-and-twenty
+on my last birthday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Five-and-twenty,&#8221; repeated Mrs. Bowring very slowly, and looking at the
+distance, with the air of a person who is making a mental calculation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you surprised?&#8221; asked the young man, watching her.</p>
+
+<p>She started a little.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Surprised? Oh dear no! Why should I be?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And again she looked at him earnestly, until, realising what she was
+doing, she suddenly shut her eyes, shook herself almost imperceptibly,
+and took out some work which she had brought out with her.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="76">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;I thought you might fancy I was a good deal older
+or younger. But I&#8217;m always told that I look just my age.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think you do,&#8221; answered Mrs. Bowring, without looking up.</p>
+
+<p>Clare glanced at his face again. It was natural, under the
+circumstances, though she knew his features by heart already. She met
+his eyes, and for a moment she could not look away from them. It was as
+though they fixed her against her will, after she had once met them.
+There was nothing extraordinary about them, except that they were very
+bright and clear. With an effort she turned away, and the faint colour
+rose in her face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am nineteen,&#8221; she said quietly, as though she were answering a
+question.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed?&#8221; exclaimed Brook, not thinking of anything else to say.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring looked at her daughter in considerable surprise. Then Clare
+blushed painfully, realising that she had spoken without any intention
+of speaking, and had volunteered a piece of information which had
+certainly not been asked. It was very well, being but nineteen years
+old; but she was oddly conscious that if she had been forty she should
+have said so in just the same absent-minded way, at that moment.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="77">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nineteen and six are twenty-five, aren&#8217;t they?&#8221; asked Mrs. Bowring
+suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I believe so,&#8221; answered the young man, with a laugh, but a good
+deal surprised in his turn, for the question seemed irrelevant and
+absurd in the extreme. &#8220;But I&#8217;m not good at sums,&#8221; he added. &#8220;I was an
+awful idiot at school. They used to call me Log. That was short for
+logarithm, you know, because I was such a log at arithmetic. A fellow
+gave me the nickname one day. It wasn&#8217;t very funny, so I punched his
+head. But the name stuck to me. Awfully appropriate, anyhow, as it
+turned out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you punch his head because it wasn&#8217;t funny?&#8221; asked Clare, glad of
+the turn in the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;I don&#8217;t know&mdash;on general principles. He was a diabolically clever
+little chap, though he wasn&#8217;t very witty. He came out Senior Wrangler at
+Cambridge. I heard he had gone mad last year. Lots of those clever chaps
+do, you know. Or else they turn parsons and take pupils for a living.
+I&#8217;d much rather be stupid, myself. There&#8217;s more to live for, when you
+don&#8217;t know everything. Don&#8217;t you think so?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Both women laughed, and felt that the man was tactful. They were also
+both reflecting, of themselves and of each other, that they were not
+generally silly women, and they wondered
+<span class="pagebreak" title="78">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a>
+ how they had both managed to
+say such foolish things, speaking out irrelevantly what was passing in
+their minds.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think I shall go for a walk,&#8221; said Brook, rising rather abruptly.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll go up the hill for a change. Thanks awfully. Good-bye!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He lifted his hat and went off towards the hotel. Mrs. Bowring looked
+after him, but Clare leaned back in her seat and opened a book she had
+with her. The colour rose and fell in her cheeks, and she kept her eyes
+resolutely bent down.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a nice fellow!&#8221; exclaimed Mrs. Bowring when the young man was out
+of hearing. &#8220;I wonder who he is.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What difference can it make, what his name is?&#8221; asked Clare, still
+looking down.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is the matter with you, child?&#8221; Mrs. Bowring asked. &#8220;You talk so
+strangely to-day!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So do you, mother. Fancy asking him whether nineteen and six are
+twenty-five!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For that matter, my dear, I thought it very strange that you should
+tell him your age, like that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose I was absent-minded. Yes! I know it was silly, I don&#8217;t know
+why I said it. Do you want to know his name? I&#8217;ll go and see. It must be
+on the board by this time, as he is stopping here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="79">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a>
+She rose and was going, when her mother called her back.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Clare! Wait till he is gone, at all events! Fancy, if he saw you!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh! He won&#8217;t see me! If he comes that way I&#8217;ll go into the office and
+buy stamps.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare went in and looked over the square board with its many little
+slips for the names of the guests. Some were on visiting cards and some
+were written in the large, scrawling, illiterate hand of the head
+waiter. Some belonged to people who were already gone. It looked well,
+in the little hotel, to have a great many names on the list. Some
+seconds passed before Clare found that of the new-comer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Brook Johnstone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Brook was his first name, then. It was uncommon. She looked at it
+fixedly. There was no address on the small, neatly engraved card. While
+she was looking at it a door opened quietly behind her, in the opposite
+side of the corridor. She paid no attention to it for a moment; then,
+hearing no footsteps, she instinctively turned. Brook Johnstone was
+standing on the threshold watching her. She blushed violently, in her
+annoyance, for he could not doubt but that she was looking for his name.
+He saw and understood, and came forward naturally, with a smile. He had
+a stick in his hand.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="80">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s me,&#8221; he said, with a little laugh, tapping his card on the
+board with the head of his stick. &#8220;If I&#8217;d had an ounce of manners I
+should have managed to tell you who I was by this time. Won&#8217;t you excuse
+me, and take this for an introduction? Johnstone&mdash;with an E at the
+end&mdash;Scotch, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks,&#8221; answered Clare, recovering from her embarrassment. &#8220;I&#8217;ll tell
+my mother.&#8221; She hesitated a moment. &#8220;And that&#8217;s us,&#8221; she added, laughing
+rather nervously and pointing out one of the cards. &#8220;How grammatical we
+are, aren&#8217;t we?&#8221; she laughed, while he stooped and read the name which
+chanced to be at the bottom of the board.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;what should one say? &#8216;That&#8217;s we.&#8217; It sounds just as badly. And
+you can&#8217;t say &#8216;we are that,&#8217; can you? Besides, there&#8217;s no one to hear
+us, so it makes no difference. I don&#8217;t suppose that you&mdash;you and Mrs.
+Bowring&mdash;would care to go for a walk, would you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; answered Clare, with sudden coldness. &#8220;I don&#8217;t think so, thank
+you. We are not great walkers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They went as far as the door together. Johnstone bowed and walked off,
+and Clare went back to her mother.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He caught me,&#8221; she said, in a tone of annoyance. &#8220;You were quite right.
+Then he showed
+<span class="pagebreak" title="81">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a>
+ me his name himself, on the board. It&#8217;s Johnstone&mdash;Mr.
+Brook Johnstone, with an E&mdash;he says that he is Scotch. Why&mdash;mother!
+Johnstone! How odd! That was the name of&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stopped short and looked at her mother, who had grown unnaturally
+pale during the last few seconds.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, dear. That was the name of my first husband.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring spoke in a low voice, looking down at her work. But her
+hands trembled violently, and she was clearly making a great effort to
+control herself. Clare watched her anxiously, not at all understanding.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mother dear, what is it?&#8221; she asked. &#8220;The name is only a
+coincidence&mdash;it&#8217;s not such an uncommon name, after all&mdash;and besides&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, of course,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring, in a dull tone. &#8220;It&#8217;s a mere
+coincidence&mdash;probably no relation. I&#8217;m nervous, to-day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her manner seemed unaccountable to her daughter, except on the
+supposition that she was ill. She very rarely spoke of her first
+husband, by whom she had no children. When she did, she mentioned his
+name gravely, as one speaks of dead persons who have been dear, but that
+was all. She had never shown anything like emotion in connection with
+the subject, and the young girl avoided it instinctively, as most
+<span class="pagebreak" title="82">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a>
+
+children, of whose parents the one has been twice married, avoid the
+mention of the first husband or wife, who was not their father or
+mother.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish I understood you!&#8221; exclaimed Clare.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s nothing to understand, dear,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring, still very
+pale. &#8220;I&#8217;m nervous&mdash;that&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Before long she left Clare by herself and went indoors, and locked
+herself into her room. The rooms in the old hotel were once the cells of
+the monks, small vaulted chambers in which there is barely space for the
+most necessary furniture. During nearly an hour Mrs. Bowring paced up
+and down, a beat of fourteen feet between the low window and the locked
+door. At last she stopped before the little glass, and looked at
+herself, and smoothed her streaked hair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nineteen and six&mdash;are twenty-five,&#8221; she said slowly in a low voice, and
+her eyes stared into their own reflection rather wildly.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="83">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+
+<p>Brook Johnstone&#8217;s people did not come on the next day, nor on the day
+after that, but he expressed no surprise at the delay, and did not again
+say that it was a bore to have to wait for them. Meanwhile he spent a
+great deal of his time with the Bowrings, and the acquaintance ripened
+quickly towards intimacy, without passing near friendship, as such
+acquaintance sometimes will, when it springs up suddenly in the shallow
+ground of an out-of-the-way hotel on the Continent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For Heaven&#8217;s sake don&#8217;t let that man fall in love with you, Clare!&#8221;
+said Mrs. Bowring one morning, with what seemed unnecessary vehemence.</p>
+
+<p>Clare&#8217;s lip curled scornfully as she thought of poor Lady Fan.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There isn&#8217;t the slightest danger of that!&#8221; she answered. &#8220;Any more than
+there is of my falling in love with him,&#8221; she added.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you sure of that?&#8221; asked her mother. &#8220;You seem to like him.
+Besides, he is very nice, and very good-looking.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="84">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh yes&mdash;of course he is. But one doesn&#8217;t necessarily fall in love with
+every nice and good-looking man one meets.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Thereupon Clare cut the conversation short by going off to her own room.
+She had been expecting for some time that her mother would make some
+remark about the growing intimacy with young Johnstone. To tell the
+truth, Mrs. Bowring had not the slightest ground for anxiety in any
+previous attachment of her daughter. She was beginning to wonder whether
+Clare would ever show any preference for any man.</p>
+
+<p>But she did not at all wish to marry her at present, for she felt that
+life without the girl would be unbearably lonely. On the other hand,
+Clare had a right to marry. They were poor. A part of their little
+income was the pension that Mrs. Bowring had been fortunate enough to
+get as the widow of an officer killed in action, but that would cease at
+her death, as poor Captain Bowring&#8217;s allowance from his family had
+ceased at his death. The family had objected to the marriage from the
+first, and refused to do anything for his child after he was gone. It
+would go hard with Clare if she were left alone in the world with what
+her mother could leave her. On the other hand, that little, or the
+prospect of it, was quite safe, and would make a great difference to
+her, as a married woman. The
+<span class="pagebreak" title="85">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a>
+ two lived on it, with economy. Clare could
+certainly dress very well on it if she married a rich man, but she could
+as certainly not afford to marry a poor one.</p>
+
+<p>As for this young Johnstone, he had not volunteered much information
+about himself, and, though Mrs. Bowring sometimes asked him questions,
+she was extremely careful not to ask any which could be taken in the
+nature of an inquiry as to his prospects in life, merely because that
+might possibly suggest to him that she was thinking of her daughter. And
+when an Englishman is reticent in such matters, it is utterly impossible
+to guess whether he be a millionaire or a penniless younger son.
+Johnstone never spoke of money, in any connection. He never said that he
+could afford one thing or could not afford another. He talked a good
+deal of shooting and sport, but never hinted that his father had any
+land. He never mentioned a family place in the country, nor anything of
+the sort. He did not even tell the Bowrings to whom the yacht belonged
+in which he had come, though he frequently alluded to things which had
+been said and done by the party during a two months&#8217; cruise, chiefly in
+eastern waters.</p>
+
+<p>The Bowrings were quite as reticent about themselves, and each respected
+the other&#8217;s silence. Nevertheless they grew intimate, scarcely knowing
+
+<span class="pagebreak" title="86">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a>
+how the intimacy developed. That is to say, they very quickly became
+accustomed, all three, to one another&#8217;s society. If Johnstone was out of
+the hotel first, of an afternoon, he moped about with his pipe in an
+objectless way, as though he had lost something, until the Bowrings came
+out. If he was writing letters and they appeared first, they talked in
+detached phrases and looked often towards the door, until he came and
+sat down beside them.</p>
+
+<p>On the third evening, at dinner, he seemed very much amused at
+something, and then, as though he could not keep the joke to himself, he
+told his companions that he had received a telegram from his father, in
+answer to one of his own, informing him that he had made a mistake of a
+whole fortnight in the date, and must amuse himself as he pleased in the
+interval.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just like me!&#8221; he observed. &#8220;I got the letter in Smyrna or somewhere&mdash;I
+forget&mdash;and I managed to lose it before I had read it through. But I
+thought I had the date all right. I&#8217;m glad, at all events. I was tired
+of those good people, and it&#8217;s ever so much pleasanter here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare&#8217;s gentle mouth hardened suddenly as she thought of Lady Fan.
+Johnstone had been thoroughly tired of her. That was what he meant when
+he spoke of &#8220;those good people.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="87">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You get tired of people easily, don&#8217;t you?&#8221; she inquired coldly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh no&mdash;not always,&#8221; answered Johnstone.</p>
+
+<p>By this time he was growing used to her sudden changes of manner and to
+the occasional scornful speeches she made. He could not understand them
+in the least, as may be imagined, and having considerable experience he
+set them down to the score of a certain girlish shyness, which showed
+itself in no other way. He had known women whose shyness manifested
+itself in saying disagreeable things for which they were sometimes sorry
+afterwards.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; he added reflectively. &#8220;I don&#8217;t think I&#8217;m a very fickle person.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare turned upon him the terrible innocence of her clear blue eyes. She
+thought she knew the truth about him too, and that he could not look her
+in the face. But she was mistaken. He met her glance fearlessly and
+quietly, with a frank smile and a little wonder at its fixed scrutiny.
+She would not look away, rude though she might seem, nor be stared out
+of countenance by a man whom she believed to be false and untrue. But
+his eyes were very bright, and in a few seconds they began to dazzle
+her, and she felt her eyelids trembling violently. It was a new
+sensation, and a very unpleasant one.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="88">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a>
+ It seemed to her that the man had
+suddenly got some power over her. She made a strong effort and turned
+away her face, and again she blushed with annoyance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon,&#8221; Johnstone said quickly, in a very low voice. &#8220;I
+didn&#8217;t mean to be so rude.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare said nothing as she sat beside him, but she looked at the opposite
+wall, and her hand made an impatient little gesture as the fingers lay
+on the edge of the table. Possibly, if her mother had not been on her
+other side, she might have answered him. As it was, she felt that she
+could not speak just then. She was very much disturbed, as though
+something new and totally unknown had got hold of her. It was not only
+that she hated the man for his heartlessness, while she felt that he had
+some sort of influence over her, which was more than mere attraction.
+There was something beyond, deep down in her heart, which was nameless,
+and painful, but which she somehow felt that she wanted. And aside from
+it all, she was angry with him for having stared her out of countenance,
+forgetting that when she had turned upon him she had meant to do the
+same by him, feeling quite sure that he could not look her in the face.</p>
+
+<p>They spoke little during the remainder of the
+<span class="pagebreak" title="89">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a>
+ meal, for Clare was quite
+willing to show that she was angry, though she had little right to be.
+After all, she had looked at him, and he had looked at her. After dinner
+she disappeared, and was not seen during the remainder of the evening.</p>
+
+<p>When she was alone, however, she went over the whole matter
+thoughtfully, and she made up her mind that she had been hasty. For she
+was naturally just. She said to herself that she had no claim to the
+man&#8217;s secrets, which she had learned in a way of which she was not at
+all proud; and that if he could keep his own counsel, he, on his side,
+had a right to do so. The fact that she knew him to be heartless and
+faithless by no means implied that he was also indiscreet, though when
+an individual has done anything which we think bad we easily suppose
+that he may do every other bad thing imaginable. Johnstone&#8217;s discretion,
+at least, was admirable, now that she thought of it. His bright eyes and
+frank look would have disarmed any suspicion short of the certainty she
+possessed. There had not been the least contraction of the lids, the
+smallest change in the expression of his mouth, not the faintest
+increase of colour in his young face.</p>
+
+<p>So much the worse, thought the young girl suddenly. He was not only bad.
+He was also
+<span class="pagebreak" title="90">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a>
+ an accomplished actor. No doubt his eyes had been as steady
+and bright and his whole face as truthful when he had made love to Lady
+Fan at sunset on the Acropolis. Somehow, the allusion to that scene had
+produced a vivid impression on Clare&#8217;s mind, and she often found herself
+wondering what he had said, and how he had looked just then.</p>
+
+<p>Her resentment against him increased as she thought it all over, and
+again she felt a longing to be cruel to him, and to make him suffer just
+what he had made Lady Fan endure.</p>
+
+<p>Then she was suddenly and unexpectedly overcome by a shamed sense of her
+inability to accomplish any such act of justice. It was as though she
+had already tried, and had failed, and he had laughed in her face and
+turned away. It seemed to her that there could be nothing in her which
+could appeal to such a man. There was Lady Fan, much older, with plenty
+of experience, doubtless; and she had been deceived, and betrayed, and
+abandoned, before the young girl&#8217;s very eyes. What chance could such a
+mere girl possibly have? It was folly, and moreover it was wicked of her
+to think of such things. She would be willingly lowering herself to his
+level, trying to do the very thing which she despised and hated in him,
+trying to outwit him, to out-deceive him, to out-betray him. One side
+of
+<span class="pagebreak" title="91">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a>
+ her nature, at least, revolted against any such scheme. Besides, she
+could never do it.</p>
+
+<p>She was not a great beauty; she was not extraordinarily clever&mdash;not
+clever at all, she said to herself in her sudden fit of humility; she
+had no &#8220;experience.&#8221; That last word means a good deal more to most young
+girls than they can find in it after life&#8217;s illogical surprises have
+taught them the terrible power of chance and mood and impulse.</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at her face in the mirror, and looked away. Then she glanced
+again. The third time she turned to the glass she began to examine her
+features in detail. Lady Fan was a fair woman, too. But, without vanity,
+she had to admit that she was much better-looking than Lady Fan. She was
+also much younger and fresher, which should be an advantage, she
+thought. She wished that her hair were golden instead of flaxen; that
+her eyes were dark instead of blue; that her cheeks were not so thin,
+and her throat a shade less slender. Nevertheless, she would have been
+willing to stand any comparison with the little lady in white. Of
+course, compared with the famous beauties, some of whom she had seen,
+she was scarcely worth a glance. Doubtless, Brook Johnstone knew them
+all.</p>
+
+<p>Then she gazed into her own eyes. She did
+<span class="pagebreak" title="92">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a>
+ not know that a woman, alone,
+may look into her own eyes and blush and turn away. She looked long and
+steadily, and quite quietly. After all, they looked dark, for the pupils
+were very large and the blue iris was of that deep colour which borders
+upon violet. There was something a little unusual in them, too, though
+she could not quite make out what it was. Why did not all women look
+straight before them as she did? There must be some mysterious reason.
+It was a pity that her eyelashes were almost white. Yet they, too, added
+something to the peculiarity of that strange gaze.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They are like periwinkles in a snowstorm!&#8221; exclaimed Clare, tired of
+her own face; and she turned from the mirror and went to bed.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="93">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+
+<p>The first sign that two people no longer stand to each other in the
+relation of mere acquaintances is generally that the tones of their
+voices change, while they feel a slight and unaccountable constraint
+when they happen to be left alone together.</p>
+
+<p>Two days passed after the little incident which had occurred at dinner
+before Clare and Johnstone were momentarily face to face out of Mrs.
+Bowring&#8217;s sight. At first Clare had not been aware that her mother was
+taking pains to be always present when the young man was about, but when
+she noticed the fact she at once began to resent it. Such constant
+watchfulness was unlike her mother, un-English, and almost unnatural.
+When they were all seated together on the terrace, if Mrs. Bowring
+wished to go indoors to write a letter or to get something she invented
+some excuse for making her daughter go with her, and stay with her till
+she came out again. A French or Italian mother could not have been more
+particular or careful, but a French or Italian girl would have been
+accustomed
+<span class="pagebreak" title="94">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a>
+to such treatment, and would not have seen anything unusual
+in it. But Mrs. Bowring had never acted in such a way before now, and it
+irritated the young girl extremely. She felt that she was being treated
+like a child, and that Johnstone must see it and think it ridiculous. At
+last Clare made an attempt at resistance, out of sheer contrariety.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to write letters!&#8221; she answered impatiently. &#8220;I wrote two
+yesterday. It is hot indoors, and I would much rather stay here!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring went as far as the parapet, and looked down at the sea for
+a moment. Then she came back and sat down again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s quite true,&#8221; she said. &#8220;It is hot indoors. I don&#8217;t think I shall
+write, after all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Brook Johnstone could not help smiling a little, though he turned away
+his face to hide his amusement. It was so perfectly evident that Mrs.
+Bowring was determined not to leave Clare alone with him that he must
+have been blind not to see it. Clare saw the smile, and was angry. She
+was nineteen years old, she had been out in the world, the terrace was a
+public place, Johnstone was a gentleman, and the whole thing was absurd.
+She took up her work and closed her lips tightly.</p>
+
+<p>Johnstone felt the awkwardness, rose suddenly, and said he would go for
+a walk. Clare raised
+<span class="pagebreak" title="95">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a>
+ her eyes and nodded as he lifted his hat. He was
+still smiling, and her resentment deepened. A moment later, mother and
+daughter were alone. Clare did not lay down her work, nor look up when
+she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really, mother, it&#8217;s too absurd!&#8221; she exclaimed, and a little colour
+came to her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is absurd, my dear?&#8221; asked Mrs. Bowring, affecting not to
+understand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your abject fear of leaving me for five minutes with Mr. Johnstone. I&#8217;m
+not a baby. He was laughing. I was positively ashamed! What do you
+suppose could have happened, if you had gone in and written your letters
+and left us quietly here? And it happens every day, you know! If you
+want a glass of water, I have to go in with you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear! What an exaggeration!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s not an exaggeration, mother&mdash;really. You know that you wouldn&#8217;t
+leave me with him for five minutes, for anything in the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you wish to be left alone with him, my dear?&#8221; asked Mrs. Bowring,
+rather abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>Clare was indignant.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wish it? No! Certainly not! But if it should happen naturally, by
+accident, I should not get up and run away. I&#8217;m not afraid of the man,
+as you seem to be. What can he do to me? And you have no idea how
+strangely you behave,
+<span class="pagebreak" title="96">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a>
+ and what ridiculous excuses you invent for me.
+The other day you insisted on my going in to look for a train in the
+time-tables when you know we haven&#8217;t the slightest intention of going
+away for ever so long. Really&mdash;you&#8217;re turning into a perfect duenna. I
+wish you would behave naturally, as you always used to do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think you exaggerate,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring. &#8220;I never leave you alone
+with men you hardly know&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can&#8217;t exactly say that we hardly know Mr. Johnstone, when he has
+been with us, morning, noon, and night, for nearly a week, mother.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear, we know nothing about him&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you are so anxious to know his father&#8217;s Christian name, ask him. It
+wouldn&#8217;t seem at all odd. I will, if you like.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t!&#8221; cried Mrs. Bowring, with unusual energy. &#8220;I mean,&#8221; she added in
+a lower tone and looking away, &#8220;it would be very rude&mdash;he would think it
+very strange. In fact, it is merely idle curiosity on my part&mdash;really, I
+would much rather not know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare looked at her mother in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How oddly you talk!&#8221; she exclaimed. Then her tone changed. &#8220;Mother
+dear&mdash;is anything the matter? You don&#8217;t seem quite&mdash;what shall I say?
+Are you suffering, dearest? Has anything happened?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="97">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a>
+She dropped her work, and leaned forward, her hand on her mother&#8217;s, and
+gazing into her face with a look of anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, dear,&#8221; answered Mrs. Bowring. &#8220;No, no&mdash;it&#8217;s nothing. Perhaps I&#8217;m a
+little nervous&mdash;that&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe the air of this place doesn&#8217;t suit you. Why shouldn&#8217;t we go
+away at once?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring shook her head and protested energetically.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;oh no! I wouldn&#8217;t go away for anything. I like the place immensely,
+and we are both getting perfectly well here. Oh no! I wouldn&#8217;t think of
+going away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare leaned back in her seat again. She was devotedly fond of her
+mother, and she could not but see that something was wrong. In spite of
+what she said, Mrs. Bowring was certainly not growing stronger, though
+she was not exactly ill. The pale face was paler, and there was a worn
+and restless look in the long-suffering, almost colourless eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry I made such a fuss about Mr. Johnstone,&#8221; said Clare softly,
+after a short pause.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, darling,&#8221; answered her mother instantly. &#8220;I dare say I have been a
+little over careful. I don&#8217;t know&mdash;I had a sort of presentiment that you
+might take a fancy to him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know. You said so the first day. But I
+<span class="pagebreak" title="98">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a>
+ sha&#8217;n&#8217;t, mother. You need not
+be at all afraid. He is not at all the sort of man to whom I should ever
+take a fancy, as you call it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see why not,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course&mdash;it&#8217;s hard to explain.&#8221; Clare smiled. &#8220;But if that is what
+you are afraid of, you can leave us alone all day. My &#8216;fancy&#8217; would be
+quite, quite different.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well, darling. At all events, I&#8217;ll try not to turn into a duenna.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Johnstone did not appear again until dinner, and then he was unusually
+silent, only exchanging a remark with Clare now and then, and not once
+leaning forward to say a few words to Mrs. Bowring as he generally did.
+The latter had at first thought of exchanging places with her daughter,
+but had reflected that it would be almost a rudeness to make such a
+change after the second day.</p>
+
+<p>They went out upon the terrace, and had their coffee there. Several of
+the other people did the same, and walked slowly up and down under the
+vines. Mrs. Bowring, wishing to destroy as soon as possible the
+unpleasant impression she had created, left the two together, saying
+that she would get something to put over her shoulders, as the air was
+cool.</p>
+
+<p>Clare and Johnstone stood by the parapet and
+<span class="pagebreak" title="99">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a>
+ looked at each other. Then
+Clare leaned with her elbows on the wall and stared in silence at the
+little lights on the beach below, trying to make out the shapes of the
+boats which were hauled up in a long row. Neither spoke for a long time,
+and Clare, at least, felt unpleasantly the constraint of the unusual
+silence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is a beautiful place, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221; observed Johnstone at last, for the
+sake of hearing his own voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh yes, quite beautiful,&#8221; answered the young girl in a
+half-indifferent, half-discontented tone, and the words ended with a
+sort of girlish sniff.</p>
+
+<p>Again there was silence. Johnstone, standing up beside her, looked
+towards the hotel, to see whether Mrs. Bowring were coming back. But she
+was anxious to appear indifferent to their being together, and was in no
+hurry to return. Johnstone sat down upon the wall, while Clare leaned
+over it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Bowring!&#8221; he said suddenly, to call her attention.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes?&#8221; She did not look up; but to her own amazement she felt a queer
+little thrill at the sound of his voice, for it had not its usual tone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t you think I had better go to Naples?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="100">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a>
+Clare felt herself start a little, and she waited a moment before she
+said anything in reply. She did not wish to betray any astonishment in
+her voice. Johnstone had asked the question under a sudden impulse; but
+a far wiser and more skilful man than himself could not have hit upon
+one better calculated to precipitate intimacy. Clare, on her side, was
+woman enough to know that she had a choice of answers, and to see that
+the answer she should choose must make a difference hereafter. At the
+same time, she had been surprised, and when she thought of it afterwards
+it seemed to her that the question itself had been an impertinent one,
+merely because it forced her to make an answer of some sort. She decided
+in favour of making everything as clear as possible.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; she asked, without looking round.</p>
+
+<p>At all events she would throw the burden of an elucidation upon him. He
+was not afraid of taking it up.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s this,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;I&#8217;ve rather thrust my acquaintance upon you,
+and, if I stay here until my people come, I can&#8217;t exactly change my seat
+and go and sit at the other end of the table, nor pretend to be busy all
+day, and never come out here and sit with you, after telling you
+repeatedly that I have nothing on earth to do. Can I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why should you?
+<span class="pagebreak" title="101">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because Mrs. Bowring doesn&#8217;t like me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare rose from her elbows and stood up, resting her hands upon the
+wall, but still looking down at the lights on the beach.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I assure you, you&#8217;re quite mistaken,&#8221; she answered, with quiet
+emphasis. &#8220;My mother thinks you&#8217;re very nice.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then why&mdash;&#8221; Johnstone checked himself, and crumbled little bits of
+mortar from the rough wall with his thumbs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know whether I know you well enough to ask the question, Miss
+Bowring.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let&#8217;s assume that you do&mdash;for the sake of argument,&#8221; said Clare, with a
+short laugh, as she glanced at his face, dimly visible in the falling
+darkness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks awfully,&#8221; he answered, but he did not laugh with her. &#8220;It isn&#8217;t
+exactly an easy thing to say, is it? Only&mdash;I couldn&#8217;t help noticing&mdash;I
+hope you&#8217;ll forgive me, if you think I&#8217;m rude, won&#8217;t you? I couldn&#8217;t
+help noticing that your mother was most awfully afraid of leaving us
+alone for a minute, you know&mdash;as though she thought I were a suspicious
+character, don&#8217;t you know? Something of that sort. So, of course, I
+thought she didn&#8217;t like me. Do you see? Tremendously cheeky of me to
+talk in this way, isn&#8217;t it?
+<span class="pagebreak" title="102">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you know? It is, rather.&#8221; Clare was more inclined to laugh than
+before, but she only smiled in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, it would be, of course, if I didn&#8217;t happen to be so painfully
+respectable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Painfully respectable! What an expression!&#8221; This time, Clare laughed
+aloud.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. That&#8217;s just it. Well, I couldn&#8217;t exactly tell Mrs. Bowring that,
+could I? Besides, one isn&#8217;t vain of being respectable. I couldn&#8217;t say,
+Please, Mrs. Bowring, my father is Mr. Smith, and my mother was a Miss
+Brown, of very good family, and we&#8217;ve got five hundred a year in
+Consols, and we&#8217;re not in trade, and I&#8217;ve been to a good school, and am
+not at all dangerous. It would have sounded so&mdash;so uncalled for, don&#8217;t
+you know? Wouldn&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very. But now that you&#8217;ve explained it to me, I suppose I may tell my
+mother, mayn&#8217;t I? Let me see. Your father is Mr. Smith, and your mother
+was a Miss Brown&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, please&mdash;no!&#8221; interrupted Johnstone. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t mean it so very
+literally. But it is just about that sort of thing&mdash;just like anybody
+else. Only about our not being in trade, I&#8217;m not so sure of that. My
+father is a brewer. Brewing is not a profession, so I suppose it must be
+a trade, isn&#8217;t it?
+<span class="pagebreak" title="103">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You might call it a manufacture,&#8221; suggested Clare.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. It sounds better. But that isn&#8217;t the question, you know. You&#8217;ll
+see my people when they come, and then you&#8217;ll understand what I
+mean&mdash;they really are tremendously respectable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course!&#8221; assented the young girl. &#8220;Like the party you came with on
+the yacht. That kind of people.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh dear no!&#8221; exclaimed Johnstone. &#8220;Not at all those kind of people.
+They wouldn&#8217;t like it at all, if you said so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah! indeed!&#8221; Clare was inclined to laugh again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The party I came with belong rather to a gay set. Awfully nice, you
+know,&#8221; he hastened to add, &#8220;and quite the people one knows at home. But
+my father and mother&mdash;oh no! they are quite different&mdash;the difference
+between whist and baccarat, you know, if you understand that sort of
+thing&mdash;old port and brandy and soda&mdash;both very good in their way, but
+quite different.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should think so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then&mdash;&#8221; Johnstone hesitated again. &#8220;Then, Miss Bowring&mdash;you don&#8217;t think
+that your mother really dislikes me, after all?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh dear no! Not in the least. I&#8217;ve heard her say all sorts of nice
+things about you.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="104">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really? Then I think I&#8217;ll stay here. I didn&#8217;t want to be a nuisance,
+you know&mdash;always in the way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re not in the way,&#8221; answered Clare.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring came back with her shawl, and the rest of the evening
+passed off as usual. Later, when she was alone, the young girl
+remembered all the conversation, and she saw that it had been in her
+power to make Johnstone leave Amalfi. While she was wondering why she
+had not done so, since she hated him for what she knew of him, she fell
+asleep, and the question remained unanswered. In the morning she told
+the substance of it all to her mother, and ended by telling her that
+Johnstone&#8217;s father was a brewer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course,&#8221; answered Mrs. Bowring absently. &#8220;I know that.&#8221; Then she
+realised what she had said, and glanced at Clare with an odd, scared
+look.</p>
+
+<p>Clare uttered an exclamation of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mother! Why, then&mdash;you knew all about him! Why didn&#8217;t you tell me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A long silence followed, during which Mrs. Bowring sat with her face
+turned from her daughter. Then she raised her hand and passed it slowly
+over her forehead, as though trying to collect her thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One comes across very strange things in
+<span class="pagebreak" title="105">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a>
+ life, my dear,&#8221; she said at
+last. &#8220;I am not sure that we had not better go away, after all. I&#8217;ll
+think about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Beyond this Clare could get no information, nor any explanation of the
+fact that Mrs. Bowring should have known something about Brook
+Johnstone&#8217;s father. The girl made a guess, of course. The elder
+Johnstone must be a relation of her mother&#8217;s first husband; though,
+considering that Mrs. Bowring had never seen Brook before now, and that
+the latter had never told her anything about his father, it was hard to
+see how she could be so sure of the fact. Possibly, Brook strongly
+resembled his father&#8217;s family. That, indeed, was the only admissible
+theory. But all that Clare knew and could put together into reasonable
+shape could not explain why her mother so much disliked leaving her
+alone with the man, even for five minutes.</p>
+
+<p>In this, however, Mrs. Bowring changed suddenly, after the first evening
+when she had left them on the terrace. She either took a totally
+different view of the situation, or else she was ashamed of seeming to
+watch them all the time, and the consequence was that during the next
+three or four days they were very often together without her.</p>
+
+<p>Johnstone enjoyed the young girl&#8217;s society, and did not pretend to deny
+the fact in his own
+<span class="pagebreak" title="106">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a>
+ thoughts. Whatever mischief he might have been in
+while on the yacht, his natural instincts were simple and honest. In a
+certain way, Clare was a revelation to him of something to which he had
+never been accustomed, and which he had most carefully avoided. He had
+no sisters, and as a boy he had not been thrown with girls. He was an
+only son, and his mother, a very practical woman, had warned him as he
+grew up that he was a great match, and had better avoid young girls
+altogether until he saw one whom he should like to marry, though how he
+was to see that particular one, if he avoided all alike, was a question
+into which his mother did not choose to enter. Having first gone into
+society upon this principle, however, and having been at once taken up
+and made much of by an extremely fashionable young woman afflicted with
+an elderly and eccentric husband, it was not likely that Brook would
+return to the threshold of the schoolroom for women&#8217;s society. He went
+on as he had begun in his first &#8220;salad&#8221; days, and at five-and-twenty he
+had the reputation of having done more damage than any of his young
+contemporaries, while he had never once shown the slightest inclination
+to marry. His mother, always a practical woman, did not press the
+question of marriage, deeming that with his disposition he would stand a
+better
+<span class="pagebreak" title="107">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a>
+ chance of married peace when he had expended a good deal of what
+she called his vivacity; and his father, who came of very long-lived
+people, always said that no man should take a wife before he was thirty.
+As Brook did not gamble immoderately, nor start a racing stable, nor
+propose to manage an opera troupe, the practical lady felt that he was
+really a very good young man. His father liked him for his own sake; but
+as Adam Johnstone had been gay in his youth, in spite of his sober
+Scotch blood, even beyond the bounds of ordinary &#8220;fastness,&#8221; the fact of
+his being fond of Brook was not of itself a guarantee that the latter
+was such a very good young man as his mother said that he was. Somehow
+or other Brook had hitherto managed to keep clear of any entanglement
+which could hamper his life, probably by virtue of that hardness which
+he had shown to poor Lady Fan, and which had so strongly prejudiced
+Clare Bowring against him. His father said cynically that the lad was
+canny. Hitherto he had certainly shown that he could be selfish; and
+perhaps there is less difference between the meanings of the Scotch and
+English words than most people suppose.</p>
+
+<p>Daily and almost hourly intercourse with such a young girl as Clare was
+a totally new experience to Brook Johnstone, and there were
+<span class="pagebreak" title="108">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a>
+ moments
+when he hardly recognised himself for the man who had landed from the
+yacht ten days earlier, and who had said good-bye to Lady Fan on the
+platform behind the hotel.</p>
+
+<p>Hitherto he had always known in a day or two whether he was inclined to
+make love to a woman or not. An inclination to make love and the
+satisfaction of it had been, so far, his nearest approach to being in
+love at all. Nor, when he had felt the inclination, had he ever
+hesitated. Like a certain great English statesman of similar
+disposition, he had sometimes been repulsed, but he never remembered
+having given offence. For he possessed that tactful intuition which
+guides some men through life in their intercourse with women. He rarely
+spoke the first word too soon, and if he were going to speak at all he
+never spoke too late&mdash;which error is, of the two, by far the greater. He
+was young, perhaps, to have had such experience; but in the social world
+of to-day it is especially the fashion for men to be extremely young,
+even to youthfulness, and lack of years is no longer the atrocious crime
+which Pitt would neither attempt to palliate or deny. We have just
+emerged from a period of wrinkles and paint, during which we were told
+that age knew everything and youth nothing. The explosion into nonsense
+of nine tenths of all we
+<span class="pagebreak" title="109">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a>
+ were taught at school and college has given
+our children a terrible weapon against us; and women, who are all
+practical in their own way, prefer the blundering whole-heartedness of
+youth to the skilful tactics and over-effective effects of the
+middle-aged love-actor. In this direction, at least, the breeze that
+goes before the dawn of a new century is already blowing. Perhaps it is
+a good sign&mdash;but a sign of some sort it certainly is.</p>
+
+<p>Brook Johnstone felt that he was in an unfamiliar position, and he tried
+to analyse his own feelings. He was perfectly honest about it, but he
+had very little talent for analysis. On the other hand, he had a very
+keen sense of what we roughly call honour. Clare was not Lady Fan, and
+would probably never get into that category. Clare belonged amongst the
+women whom he respected, and he respected them all, with all his heart.
+They included all young girls, and his mother, and all young women who
+were happily married. It will be admitted that, for a man who made no
+pretence to higher virtues, Brook was no worse than his contemporaries,
+and was better than a great many.</p>
+
+<p>Be that as it may, in lack of any finer means of discrimination, he
+tried to define his own position with regard to Clare Bowring very
+simply and honestly. Either he was falling in love,
+<span class="pagebreak" title="110">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a>
+ or he was not.
+Secondly, Clare was either the kind of girl whom he should like to
+marry, spoken of by his practical mother&mdash;or she was not.</p>
+
+<p>So far, all was extremely plain. The trouble was that he could not find
+any answers to the questions. He could not in the least be sure that he
+was falling in love, because he knew that he had never really been in
+love in his life. And as for saying at once that Clare was, or was not,
+the girl whom he should like to marry, how in the world could he tell
+that, unless he fell in love with her? Of course he did not wish to
+marry her unless he loved her. But he conceived it possible that he
+might fall in love with her and then not wish to marry her after all,
+which, in his simple opinion, would have been entirely despicable. If
+there were any chance of that, he ought to go away at once. But he did
+not know whether there were any chance of it or not. He could go away in
+any case, in order to be on the safe side; but then, there was no reason
+in the world why he should not marry her, if he should love her, and if
+she would marry him. The question became very badly mixed, and under the
+circumstances he told himself that he was splitting hairs on the
+mountains he had made of his molehills. He determined to stay where he
+was. At all events,
+<span class="pagebreak" title="111">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a>
+ judging from all signs with which he was
+acquainted, Clare was very far indeed from being in love with him, so
+that in this respect his sense of honour was perfectly safe and
+undisturbed.</p>
+
+<p>Having set his mind at rest in this way, he allowed himself to talk with
+her as he pleased. There was no reason why he should hamper himself in
+conversation, so long as he said nothing calculated to make an
+impression&mdash;nothing which could come under the general head of &#8220;making
+love.&#8221; The result was that he was much more agreeable than he supposed.
+Clare&#8217;s innocent eyes watched him, and her mind was divided about him.</p>
+
+<p>She was utterly young and inexperienced, but she was a woman, and she
+believed him to be false, faithless, and designing. She had no idea of
+the broad distinction he drew between all good and innocent women like
+herself, and all the rest whom he considered lawful prey. She concluded
+therefore, very rashly, that he was simply pursuing his usual tactics, a
+main part of which consisted in seeming perfectly unaffected and natural
+while only waiting for a faint sign of encouragement in order then to
+play the part of the passionate lover.</p>
+
+<p>The generalisations of youth are terrible. What has failed once is
+despicably damned for ever. What is true to-day is true enough to-morrow
+
+<span class="pagebreak" title="112">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a>
+to kill all other truths outright. The man whose hand has shaken once
+is a coward; he who has fought one battle is to be the hero of seventy.
+Life is a forest of inverted pyramids, for the young; upon every point
+is balanced a gigantic weight of top-heavy ideals, spreading
+base-upwards.</p>
+
+<p>To Clare, everything Johnstone said or did was the working of a
+faithless intention towards its end. It was clear enough that he sought
+her and stayed with her as long as he could, day by day. Therefore he
+intended to make love to her, sooner or later, and then, when he was
+tired, he would say good-bye to her just as he had said good-bye to Lady
+Fan, and break her heart, and have one story more to laugh over when he
+was alone. It was quite clear that he could not mean anything else,
+after what she had seen.</p>
+
+<p>All the same, he pleased her when he was with her, and attracted her
+oddly. She told herself that unless he had some unusual qualities he
+could not possibly break hearts for pastime, as he undoubtedly did, from
+year&#8217;s end to year&#8217;s end. She studied the question, and reached the
+conclusion that his strength was in his eyes. They were the most frank,
+brave, good-humoured, clear, unaffected eyes she had ever seen, but she
+could not look at them long. There was no reason why she should, indeed,
+but she
+<span class="pagebreak" title="113">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a>
+ hated to feel that she could not, if she chose. Whenever she
+tried, she at once had the feeling that he had power over her, to make
+her do things she did not wish to do. That was probably the way in which
+he had influenced Lady Fan and the other women, probably a dozen,
+thought Clare. If they were really as honest as they seemed, she thought
+she should have been able to meet them without the least sensation of
+nervousness.</p>
+
+<p>One day she caught herself wishing that he had never done the thing she
+so hated. She was too honest to attribute to him outward defects which
+he did not possess, and she could not help thinking what a fine fellow
+he would be if he were not so bad. She might have liked him very much,
+then. But as it was, it was impossible that she should ever not hate
+him. Then she smiled to herself, as she thought how surprised he would
+be if he could guess what she thought of him.</p>
+
+<p>But there was no probability of that, for she felt that she had no right
+to know what she knew, and so she treated him always, as she thought,
+with the same even, indifferent civility. But not seldom she knew that
+she was wickedly wishing that he might really fall in love with her and
+find out that men could break their hearts as well as women. She should
+like to
+<span class="pagebreak" title="114">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a>
+ fight with him, with his own weapons, for the glory of all her
+sex, and make him thoroughly miserable for his sins. It could not be
+wrong to wish that, after what she had seen, but it would be very wrong
+to try and make him fall in love, just with that intention. That would
+be almost as bad as what he had done; not quite so bad, of course,
+because it would serve him right, but yet a deed which she might be
+ashamed to remember.</p>
+
+<p>She herself felt perfectly safe. She was neither sentimental nor
+susceptible, for if she had been one or the other she must by this time
+have had some &#8220;experience,&#8221; as she vaguely called it. But she had not.
+She had never even liked any man so much as she liked this man whom she
+hated. This was not a contradiction of facts, which, as Euclid teaches
+us, is impossible. She liked him for what she saw, and she hated him for
+what she knew.</p>
+
+<p>One day, when Mrs. Bowring was present, the conversation turned upon a
+recent novel in which the hero, after making love to a woman, found that
+he had made a mistake, and promptly made love to her sister, whom he
+married in the end.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I despise that sort of man!&#8221; cried Clare, rather vehemently, and
+flashing her eyes upon Johnstone.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="115">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a>
+For a moment she had thought that she could surprise him, that he would
+look away, or change colour, or in some way betray his most guilty
+conscience. But he did not seem in the least disturbed, and met her
+glance as calmly as ever.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you?&#8221; he asked with an indifferent laugh. &#8220;Why? The fellow was
+honest, at all events. He found that he didn&#8217;t love the one to whom he
+was engaged, and that he did love the other. So he set things straight
+before it was too late, and married the right one. He was a very
+sensible man, and it must have taken courage to be so honest about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Courage!&#8221; exclaimed the young girl in high scorn. &#8220;He was a brute and a
+coward!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dear me!&#8221; laughed Brook. &#8220;Don&#8217;t you admit that a man may ever make a
+mistake?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When a man makes a mistake of that sort, he should either cut his
+throat, or else keep his word to the woman and try to make her happy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s a violent view&mdash;really! It seems to me that when a man has made
+a mistake the best thing to do is to go and say so. The bigger the
+mistake, the harder it is to acknowledge it, and the more courage it
+needs. Don&#8217;t you think so, Mrs. Bowring?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The mistake of all mistakes is a mistake in marriage,&#8221; said the elder
+woman, looking away. &#8220;There is no remedy for that, but death.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="116">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; answered Clare. &#8220;But don&#8217;t you think that I&#8217;m right? It&#8217;s what
+you say, after all&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not exactly, my dear. No man who doesn&#8217;t love a woman can make her
+happy for long.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;a man who makes a woman think that he loves her, and then leaves
+her for some one else, is a brute, and a beast, and a coward, and a
+wretch, and a villain&mdash;and I hate him, and so do all women!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s categorical!&#8221; observed Brook, with a laugh. &#8220;But I dare say you
+are quite right in theory, only practice is so awfully different, you
+know. And a woman doesn&#8217;t thank a man for pretending to love her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare&#8217;s eyes flashed almost savagely, and her lip curled in scorn.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s only one right,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I don&#8217;t know how many wrongs there
+are&mdash;and I don&#8217;t want to know!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; answered Brook, gravely enough. &#8220;And there is no reason why you
+ever should.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="117">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+
+<p>&#8220;You seemed to be most tremendously in earnest yesterday, when we were
+talking about that book,&#8221; observed Brook on the following afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course I was,&#8221; answered Clare. &#8220;I said just what I thought.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They were walking together along the high road which leads from Amalfi
+towards Salerno. It is certainly one of the most beautiful roads in
+Europe, and in the whole world. The chain of rocky heights dashes with
+wild abruptness from its five thousand feet straight to the dark-blue
+sea, bristling with sharp needles and spikes of stone, rough with a
+chaos of brown boulders, cracked from peak to foot with deep torn
+gorges. In each gorge nestles a garden of orange and lemons and
+pomegranates, and out of the stones there blows a perfume of southern
+blossom through all the month of May. The sea lies dark and clear below,
+ever tideless, often still as a woodland pool; then, sometimes, it rises
+suddenly in deep-toned wrath, smiting the face of the cliff, booming
+through the low-mouthed
+<span class="pagebreak" title="118">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a>
+ caves, curling its great green curls and
+combing them out to frothing ringlets along the strips of beach, winding
+itself about the rock of Conca in a heavily gleaming sheet and whirling
+its wraith of foam to heaven, the very ghost of storm.</p>
+
+<p>And in the face of those rough rocks, high above the water, is hewn a
+way that leads round the mountain&#8217;s base, many miles along it, over the
+sharp-jutting spurs, and in between the boulders and the needles, down
+into the gardens of the gorges and past the dark towers whence watchmen
+once descried the Saracen&#8217;s ill-boding sail and sent up their warning
+beacon of smoke by day and fire by night.</p>
+
+<p>It is the most beautiful road in the world, in its infinite variety, in
+the grandeur above and the breadth below, and the marvellous rich
+sweetness of the deep gardens&mdash;passing as it does out of wilderness into
+splendour, out of splendour into wealth of colour and light and odour,
+and again out to the rugged strength of the loneliness beyond.</p>
+
+<p>Clare and Johnstone had exchanged idle phrases for a while, until they
+had passed Atrani and the turn where the new way leads up to Ravello,
+and were fairly out on the road. They were both glad to be out together
+and walking, for Clare had grown stronger, and was weary of always
+sitting on the terrace, and
+<span class="pagebreak" title="119">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a>
+ Johnstone was tired of taking long walks
+alone, merely for the sake of being hungry afterwards, and of late had
+given it up altogether. Mrs. Bowring herself was glad to be alone for
+once, and made little or no objection, and so the two had started in the
+early afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>Johnstone&#8217;s remark had been premeditated, for his curiosity had been
+aroused on the preceding day by Clare&#8217;s words and manner. But after she
+had given him her brief answer she said no more, and they walked on in
+silence for a few moments.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said Johnstone at last, as though he had been reflecting, &#8220;you
+generally say what you think. I didn&#8217;t doubt it at the time. But you
+seem rather hard on the men. Women are all angels, of course&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not at all!&#8221; interrupted Clare. &#8220;Some of us are quite the contrary.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, it&#8217;s a generally accepted thing, you know. That&#8217;s what I mean.
+But it isn&#8217;t generally accepted that men are. If you take men into
+consideration at all, you must make some allowances.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see why. You are much stronger than we are. You all think that
+you have much more pride. You always say that you have a sense of honour
+which we can&#8217;t understand. I should think that with all those advantages
+
+<span class="pagebreak" title="120">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a>
+you would be much too proud to insist upon our making allowances for
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s rather keen, you know,&#8221; answered Brook, with a laugh. &#8220;All the
+same, it&#8217;s a woman&#8217;s occupation to be good, and a man has a lot of other
+things to do besides. That&#8217;s the plain English of it. When a woman isn&#8217;t
+good she falls. When a man is bad, he doesn&#8217;t&mdash;it&#8217;s his nature.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;if you begin by saying that all men are bad! That&#8217;s an odd way out
+of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not at all. Good men and bad women are the exceptions, that&#8217;s all&mdash;in
+the way you mean goodness and badness.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And how do you think I mean goodness and badness? It seems to me that
+you are taking a great deal for granted, aren&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; said Brook, growing vague on a sudden. &#8220;Those are
+rather hard things to talk about.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I like to talk about them. How do you think I understand those two
+words?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; repeated Johnstone, still more vaguely. &#8220;I suppose your
+theory is that men and women are exactly equal, and that a man shouldn&#8217;t
+do what a woman ought not to do&mdash;and all that, you know. I don&#8217;t exactly
+know how to put it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see why what is wrong for a woman
+<span class="pagebreak" title="121">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a>
+ should be right for a man,&#8221;
+said Clare. &#8220;The law doesn&#8217;t make any difference, does it? A man goes to
+prison for stealing or forging, and so does a woman. I don&#8217;t see why
+society should make any distinction about other things. If there were a
+law against flirting, it would send the men to prison just like the
+women, wouldn&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What an awful idea!&#8221; laughed Brook.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, but in theory&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, in theory it&#8217;s all right. But in practice we men are not wrapped in
+cotton and tied up with pink ribbons from the day we are born to the day
+we are married. I&mdash;I don&#8217;t exactly know how to explain what I mean, but
+that&#8217;s the general idea. Among poor people&mdash;I believe one mustn&#8217;t say
+the lower classes any more&mdash;well, with them it isn&#8217;t quite the same. The
+women don&#8217;t get so much care and looking after, when they are young, you
+know&mdash;that sort of thing. The consequence is, that there&#8217;s much more
+equality between men and women. I believe the women are worse, and the
+men are better&mdash;it&#8217;s my opinion, at all events. I dare say it isn&#8217;t
+worth much. It&#8217;s only what I see at home, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But the working people don&#8217;t flirt!&#8221; exclaimed Clare. &#8220;They drink, and
+that sort of thing
+<span class="pagebreak" title="122">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a>
+&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, lots of them drink, men and women. And as for flirting&mdash;they
+don&#8217;t call it flirting, but in their way I dare say it&#8217;s very much the
+same thing. Only, in our part of the country, a man who flirts, if you
+call it so, gets just as bad a name as a woman. You see, they have all
+had about the same bringing up. But with us it&#8217;s quite different. A girl
+is brought up in a cage, like a turtle dove, with nothing to do except
+to be good, while a boy is sent to a public school when he is eleven or
+twelve, which is exactly the same as sending him to hell, except that he
+has the certainty of getting away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But boys don&#8217;t learn to flirt at Eton,&#8221; observed the young girl.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;no,&#8221; answered Johnstone. &#8220;But they learn everything else, except
+Latin and Greek, and they go to a private tutor to learn those things
+before they go to the university.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mean that they learn to drink and gamble, and all that?&#8221; asked
+Clare.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;more or less&mdash;a little of everything that does no good&mdash;and then
+you expect us afterwards to be the same as you are, who have been
+brought up by your mothers at home. It isn&#8217;t fair, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; answered Clare, yielding. &#8220;It isn&#8217;t fair. That strikes me as the
+best argument you
+<span class="pagebreak" title="123">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a>
+ have used yet. But it doesn&#8217;t make it right, for all
+that. And why shouldn&#8217;t men be brought up to be good, just as women
+are?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Brook laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s quite another matter. Only a paternal government could do
+that&mdash;or a maternal government. We haven&#8217;t got either, so we have to do
+the best we can. I only state the fact, and you are obliged to admit it.
+I can&#8217;t go back to the reason. The fact remains. In certain ways, at a
+certain age, all men as a rule are bad, and all women, on the whole, are
+good. Most of you know it, and you judge us accordingly and make
+allowances. But you yourself don&#8217;t seem inclined to be merciful. Perhaps
+you&#8217;ll be less hard-hearted when you are older.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not hard-hearted!&#8221; exclaimed Clare, indignantly. &#8220;I&#8217;m only just.
+And I shall always be the same, I&#8217;m sure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If I were a Frenchman,&#8221; said Brook, &#8220;I should be polite, and say that I
+hoped so. As I&#8217;m not, and as it would be rude to say that I didn&#8217;t
+believe it, I&#8217;ll say nothing. Only to be what you call just, isn&#8217;t the
+way to be liked, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to be liked,&#8221; Clare answered, rather sharply. &#8220;I hate what
+are called popular people!
+<span class="pagebreak" title="124">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So do I. They are generally awful bores, don&#8217;t you know? They want to
+keep the thing up and be liked all the time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;if one likes people at all, one ought to like them all the time,&#8221;
+objected Clare, with unnecessary contrariety.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That was the original point,&#8221; observed Brook. &#8220;That was your objection
+to the man in the book&mdash;that he loved first one sister and then the
+other. Poor chap! The first one loved him, and the second one prayed for
+him! He had no luck!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A man who will do that sort of thing is past praying for!&#8221; retorted the
+young girl. &#8220;It seems to me that when a man makes a woman believe that
+he loves her, the best thing he can do is to be faithful to her
+afterwards.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;but supposing that he is quite sure that he can&#8217;t make her
+happy&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then he had no right to make love to her at all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But he didn&#8217;t know it at first. He didn&#8217;t find out until he had known
+her a long time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That makes it all the worse,&#8221; exclaimed Clare with conviction, but
+without logic.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And while he was trying to find out, she fell in love with him,&#8221;
+continued Brook. &#8220;That was unlucky, but it wasn&#8217;t his fault, you know
+<span class="pagebreak" title="125">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a>
+&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh yes, it was&mdash;in that book at least. He asked her to marry him
+before he had half made up his mind. Really, Mr. Johnstone,&#8221; she
+continued, almost losing her temper, &#8220;you defend the man almost as
+though you were defending yourself!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s rather a hard thing to say to a man, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Johnstone was young enough to be annoyed, though he was amused.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then why do you defend the man?&#8221; asked Clare, standing still at a turn
+of the road and facing him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I won&#8217;t, if we are going to quarrel about a ridiculous book,&#8221; he
+answered, looking at her. &#8220;My opinion&#8217;s not worth enough for that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you have an opinion at all, it&#8217;s worth fighting for.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to fight, and I won&#8217;t fight with you,&#8221; he answered,
+beginning to laugh.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;With me or with any one else&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;not with you,&#8221; he said with sudden emphasis.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not with me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because I like you very much,&#8221; he answered boldly, and they stood
+looking at each other in the middle of the road.</p>
+
+<p>Clare had started in surprise, and the colour rose slowly to her face,
+but she would not take
+<span class="pagebreak" title="126">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a>
+ her eyes from his. For the first time it seemed
+to her that he had no power over her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry,&#8221; she answered. &#8220;For I don&#8217;t like you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you in earnest?&#8221; He could not help laughing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; There was no mistaking her tone.</p>
+
+<p>Johnstone&#8217;s face changed, and for the first time in their acquaintance
+he was the one to turn his eyes away.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry too,&#8221; he said quietly. &#8220;Shall we turn back?&#8221; he asked after a
+moment&#8217;s pause.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I want to walk,&#8221; answered Clare.</p>
+
+<p>She turned from him, and began to walk on in silence. For some time
+neither spoke. Johnstone was puzzled, surprised, and a little hurt, but
+he attributed what she had said to his own roughness in telling her that
+he liked her, though he could not see that he had done anything so very
+terrible. He had spoken spontaneously, too, without the least thought of
+producing an impression, or of beginning to make love to her. Perhaps he
+owed her an apology. If she thought so, he did, and it could do no harm
+to try.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m very sorry, if I have offended you just now,&#8221; he said gently. &#8220;I
+didn&#8217;t mean to.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You didn&#8217;t offend me,&#8221; answered Clare. &#8220;It isn&#8217;t rude to say that one
+likes a person.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="127">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;I beg your pardon&mdash;I thought perhaps&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated, surprised by her very unexpected answer. He could not
+imagine what she wanted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because I said that I didn&#8217;t like you?&#8221; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then it was I who offended you,&#8221; answered the young girl. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t
+mean to, either. Only, when you said that you liked me, I thought you
+were in earnest, you know, and so I wanted to be quite honest, because I
+thought it was fairer. You see, if I had let you think that I liked you,
+you might have thought we were going to drift into being friends, and
+that&#8217;s impossible, you know&mdash;because I never did like you, and I never
+shall. But that needn&#8217;t prevent our walking together, and talking, and
+all that. At least, I don&#8217;t mean that it should. That&#8217;s the reason why I
+won&#8217;t turn back just yet&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But how in the world can you enjoy walking and talking with a man you
+don&#8217;t like?&#8221; asked Johnstone, who was completely at sea, and began to
+think that he must be dreaming.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;you are awfully good company, you know, and I can&#8217;t always be
+sitting with my mother on the terrace, though we love each other
+dearly.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="128">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are the most extraordinary person!&#8221; exclaimed Johnstone, in
+genuine bewilderment. &#8220;And of course your mother dislikes me too,
+doesn&#8217;t she?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not at all,&#8221; answered Clare. &#8220;You asked me that before, and I told you
+the truth. Since then, she likes you better and better. She is always
+saying how nice you are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I had better always talk to her,&#8221; suggested Brook, feeling for a
+clue.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I shouldn&#8217;t like that at all!&#8221; cried the young girl, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And yet you don&#8217;t like me. This is like twenty questions. You must have
+some very particular reason for it,&#8221; he added thoughtfully. &#8220;I suppose I
+must have done some awful thing without knowing it. I wish you would
+tell me. Won&#8217;t you, please? Then I&#8217;ll go away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; Clare answered. &#8220;I won&#8217;t tell you. But I have a reason. I&#8217;m not
+capricious. I don&#8217;t take violent dislikes to people for nothing. Let it
+alone. We can talk very pleasantly about other things. Since you are
+good enough to like me, it might be amusing to tell me why. If you have
+any good reason, you know, you won&#8217;t stop liking me just because I don&#8217;t
+like you, will you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She glanced sideways at him as she spoke, and he was watching her and
+trying to understand
+<span class="pagebreak" title="129">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a>
+her, for the revelation of her dislike had come
+upon him very suddenly. She was on the right as they walked, and he saw
+her against the light sky, above the line of the low parapet. Perhaps
+the light behind her dazzled him; at all events, he had a strange
+impression for a moment. She seemed to have the better of him, and to be
+stronger and more determined than he. She seemed taller than she was,
+too, for she was on the higher part of the road, in the middle of it.
+For an instant he felt precisely what she so often felt with him, that
+she had power over him. But he did not resent the sensation as she did,
+though it was quite as new to him.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, he did not answer her, for she had spoken only half in
+earnest, and he himself was not just then inclined to joke for the mere
+sake of joking. He looked down at the road under his feet, and he knew
+all at once that Clare attracted him much more than he had imagined. The
+sidelong glance she had bestowed upon him had fascination in it. There
+was an odd charm about her girlish contrariety and in her frank avowal
+that she did not like him. Her dislike roused him. He did not choose to
+be disliked by her, especially for some absurd trifle in his behaviour,
+which he had not even noticed when he had made the mistake, whatever it
+might be.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="130">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a>
+He walked along in silence, and he was aware of her light tread and the
+soft sound of her serge skirt as she moved. He wished her to like him,
+and wished that he knew what to do to change her mind. But that would
+not be easy, since he did not know the cause of her dislike. Presently
+she spoke again, and more gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should not have said that. I&#8217;m sorry. But of course you knew that I
+wasn&#8217;t in earnest.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know why you should not have said it,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;As a
+matter of fact, you are quite right. I don&#8217;t like you any the less
+because you don&#8217;t like me. Liking isn&#8217;t a bargain with cash on delivery.
+I think I like you all the more for being so honest. Do you mind?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not in the least. It&#8217;s a very good reason.&#8221; Clare smiled, and then
+suddenly looked grave again, wondering whether it would not be really
+honest to tell him then and there that she had overheard his last
+interview with Lady Fan.</p>
+
+<p>But she reflected that it could only make him feel uncomfortable.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And another reason why I like you is because you are combative,&#8221; he
+said thoughtfully. &#8220;I&#8217;m not, you know. One always admires the qualities
+one hasn&#8217;t oneself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you are not combative? You don&#8217;t like to be in the opposition?
+<span class="pagebreak" title="131">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not a bit! I&#8217;m not fond of fighting. I systematically avoid a row.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shouldn&#8217;t have thought that,&#8221; said Clare, looking at him again. &#8220;Do
+you know? I think most people would take you for a soldier.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do I look as though I would seek the bubble reputation at the cannon&#8217;s
+mouth?&#8221; Brook laughed. &#8220;Am I full of strange oaths?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, that&#8217;s ridiculous, you know!&#8221; exclaimed Clare. &#8220;I mean, you look as
+though you would fight.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I never would if I could help it. And so far I have managed &#8216;to help
+it&#8217; very well. I&#8217;m naturally mild, I think. You are not, you know. I
+don&#8217;t mean to be rude, but I think you are pugnacious&mdash;&#8216;combative&#8217; is
+prettier.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My father was a soldier,&#8221; said the girl, with some pride.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And mine is a brewer. There&#8217;s a lot of inheritable difference between
+handling gunpowder and brewing mild ale. Like father, like son. I shall
+brew mild ale too. If you could have charged at Balaclava, you would. By
+the way, it isn&#8217;t the beer that you object to? Please tell me. I
+shouldn&#8217;t mind at all, and I&#8217;d much rather know that it was only that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How absurd!&#8221; cried Clare with scorn. &#8220;As though it made any
+difference!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;what is it, then?&#8221; asked Brook with
+<span class="pagebreak" title="132">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a>
+ sudden impatience. &#8220;You have
+no right to hate me without telling me why.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No right?&#8221; The young girl turned on him half fiercely, and then
+laughed. &#8220;You haven&#8217;t a standing order from Heaven to be liked by the
+whole human race, you know!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And if I had, you would be the solitary exception, I suppose,&#8221;
+suggested Johnstone with a rather discontented smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is there anything I could do to make you change your mind? Because, if
+it were anything in reason, I&#8217;d do it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s rather a pity that you should put in the condition of its being in
+reason,&#8221; answered Clare, as her lip curled. &#8220;But there isn&#8217;t anything.
+You may just as well give it up at once.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I won&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a waste of time, I assure you. Besides, it&#8217;s mere vanity. It&#8217;s
+only because everybody likes you&mdash;so you think that I should too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Between us, we are getting at my character at last,&#8221; observed Brook
+with some asperity. &#8220;You&#8217;ve discovered my vanity, now. By-and-by we
+shall find out some more good qualities.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps. Each one will be a step in our acquaintance, you know. Steps
+may lead down, as well as up. We are walking down hill on
+<span class="pagebreak" title="133">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a>
+ this road
+just now, and it&#8217;s steep. Look at that unfortunate mule dragging that
+cart up hill towards us! That&#8217;s like trying to be friends, against odds.
+I wish the man would not beat the beast like that, though! What brutes
+these people are!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her dark blue eyes fixed themselves keenly on the sight, and the pupils
+grew wide and angry. The cart was a hundred yards away, coming up the
+road, piled high with sacks of potatoes, and drawn by one wretched mule.
+The huge carter was sprawling on the front sacks, yelling a tuneless
+chant at the top of his voice. He was a black-haired man, with a hideous
+mouth, and his face was red with wine. As he yelled his song he flogged
+his miserable beast with a heavy whip, accenting his howls with cruel
+blows. Clare grew pale with anger as she came nearer and saw it all more
+distinctly. The mule&#8217;s knees bent nearly double at every violent step,
+its wide eyes were bright red all round, its white tongue hung out, and
+it gasped for breath. The road was stony, too, besides being steep, for
+it had been lately mended and not rolled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Brute!&#8221; exclaimed Clare, in a low voice, and her face grew paler.</p>
+
+<p>Johnstone said nothing, and his face did not change as they advanced.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="134">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t you see?&#8221; cried the young girl. &#8220;Can&#8217;t you do anything? Can&#8217;t
+you stop him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh yes. I think I can do that,&#8221; answered Brook indifferently. &#8220;It is
+rather rough on the mule.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Rough! It&#8217;s brutal, it&#8217;s beastly, it&#8217;s cowardly, it&#8217;s perfectly
+inhuman!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>At that moment the unfortunate animal stumbled, struggled to recover
+itself as the lash descended pitilessly upon its thin flanks, and then
+fell headlong and tumbled upon its side. The heavy cart pulled back,
+half turning, so that the shafts were dragged sideways across the mule,
+whose weight prevented the load from rolling down hill. The carrier
+stopped singing and swore, beating the beast with all his might, as it
+lay still gasping for breath.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, assassin! Ah, carrion! I will teach thee! Curses on the dead of thy
+house!&#8221; he roared.</p>
+
+<p>Brook and Clare were coming nearer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s not very intelligent of the fellow,&#8221; observed Johnstone
+indifferently. &#8220;He had much better get down.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, stop it, stop it!&#8221; cried the young girl, suffering acutely for the
+helpless creature.</p>
+
+<p>But the man had apparently recognised the impossibility of producing any
+impression unless he descended from his perch. He threw the whip to the
+ground and slid off the sacks. He
+<span class="pagebreak" title="135">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a>
+ stood looking at the mule for a
+moment, and then kicked it in the back with all his might. Then, just as
+Johnstone and Clare came up, he went round to the back of the cart,
+walking unsteadily, for he was evidently drunk. The two stopped by the
+parapet and looked on.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s going to unload,&#8221; said Johnstone. &#8220;That&#8217;s sensible, at all
+events.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The sacks, as usual in Italy, were bound to the cart by cords, which
+were fast in front, but which wound upon a heavy spindle at the back.
+The spindle had three holes in it, in which staves were thrust as
+levers, to turn it and hold the ropes taut. Two of the staves were
+tightly pressed against the load, while the third stood nearly upright
+in its hole.</p>
+
+<p>The man took the third stave, a bar of elm four feet long and as thick
+as a man&#8217;s wrist, and came round to the mule again on the side away from
+Clare and Johnstone. He lifted the weapon high in air, and almost before
+they realised what horror he was perpetrating he had struck three or
+four tremendous blows upon the creature&#8217;s back, making as many bleeding
+wounds. The mule kicked and shivered violently, and its eyes were almost
+starting from its head.</p>
+
+<p>Johnstone came up first, caught the stave in air as it was about to
+descend again, wrenched
+<span class="pagebreak" title="136">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a>
+ it out of the man&#8217;s hands, and hurled it over
+Clare&#8217;s head, across the parapet and into the sea. The man fell back a
+step, and his face grew purple with rage. He roared out a volley of
+horrible oaths, in a dialect perfectly incomprehensible even to Clare,
+who knew Italian well.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You needn&#8217;t yell like that, my good man,&#8221; said Johnstone, smiling at
+him.</p>
+
+<p>The man was big and strong, and drunk. He clenched his fists, and made
+for his adversary, head down, in the futile Italian fashion. The
+Englishman stepped aside, landed a left-handed blow behind his ear, and
+followed it up with a tremendous kick, which sent the fellow upon his
+face in the ditch under the rocks. Clare looked on, and her eyes
+brightened singularly, for she had fighting blood in her veins. The man
+seemed stunned, and lay still where he had fallen. Johnstone turned to
+the fallen mule, which lay bleeding and gasping under the shafts, and he
+began to unbuckle the harness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Could you put a big stone behind the wheel?&#8221; he asked, as Clare tried
+to help him.</p>
+
+<p>He knew that the cart must roll back if it were not blocked, for he had
+noticed how it stood. Clare looked about for a stone, picked one up by
+the roadside, and went to the back of the cart, while Johnstone patted
+the mule&#8217;s head, and busied himself with the buckles of the harness,
+
+<span class="pagebreak" title="137">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a>
+bending low as he did so. Clare also bent down, trying to force the
+stone under the wheel, and did not notice that the carter was sitting up
+by the roadside, feeling for something in his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>An instant later he was on his feet. When Clare stood up, he was
+stepping softly up behind Johnstone. As he moved, she saw that he had an
+open clasp-knife in his right hand. Johnstone was still bending down
+unconscious of his danger. The young girl was light on her feet and
+quick, and not cowardly. The man was before her, halfway between her and
+Brook. She sprang with all her might, threw her arms round the drunken
+man&#8217;s neck from behind, and dragged him backward. He struck wildly
+behind him with the knife, and roared out curses.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Quick!&#8221; cried Clare, in her high, clear voice. &#8220;He&#8217;s got a knife!
+Quick!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But Johnstone had heard their steps, and was already upon him from
+before, while the young girl&#8217;s arms tightened round his neck from
+behind. The fellow struck about him wildly with his blade, staggering
+backwards as Clare dragged upon him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let go, or you&#8217;ll fall!&#8221; Brook shouted to her.</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, dodging the knife, he struck the man twice in the face,
+left and right, in an earnest, business-like way. Clare caught herself
+<span class="pagebreak" title="138">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a>
+
+by the wheel of the cart as she sprang aside, almost falling under the
+man&#8217;s weight. A moment later, Brook was kneeling on his chest, having
+the knife in his hand and holding it near the carter&#8217;s throat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Lie still!&#8221; he said rather quietly, in English. &#8220;Give me the halter,
+please!&#8221; he said to Clare, without looking up. &#8220;It&#8217;s hanging to the
+shaft there in a coil.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Kneeling on the man&#8217;s chest&mdash;to tell the truth, he was badly stunned,
+though not unconscious&mdash;Brook took two half-hitches with the halter
+round one wrist, passed the line under his neck as he lay, and hauled on
+it till the arm came under his side, then hitched the other wrist,
+passed the line back, hauled on it, and finally took two turns round the
+throat. Clare watched the operation, very pale and breathing hard.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s drunk,&#8221; observed Johnstone. &#8220;Otherwise I wouldn&#8217;t tie him up, you
+know. Now, if you move,&#8221; he said in English to his prisoner, &#8220;you&#8217;ll
+strangle yourself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Thereupon he rose, forced the fellow to roll over, and hitched the fall
+of the line round both wrists again, and made it fast, so that the man
+lay, with his head drawn back by his own hands, which he could not move
+without tightening the rope round his neck.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="139">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s frightened now,&#8221; said Brook. &#8220;Let&#8217;s get the poor mule out of
+that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes he got the wretched beast free. It was ready enough to
+rise as soon as it felt that it could do so, and it struggled to its
+feet, badly hurt by the beating and bleeding in many places, but not
+seriously injured. The carter watched them as he lay on the road, half
+strangled, and cursed them in a choking voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And now, what in the world are we going to do with them?&#8221; asked Brook,
+rubbing the mule&#8217;s nose. &#8220;It&#8217;s a pretty bad case,&#8221; he continued,
+thoughtfully. &#8220;The mule can&#8217;t draw the load, the carter can&#8217;t be allowed
+to beat the mule, and we can&#8217;t afford to let the carter have his head.
+What the dickens are we to do?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laughed a little. Then he suddenly looked hard at Clare, as though
+remembering something.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was awfully plucky of you to jump on him in that way,&#8221; he said.
+&#8220;Just at the right moment, too, by Jove! That devil would have got at me
+if you hadn&#8217;t stopped him. Awfully plucky, upon my word! And I&#8217;m
+tremendously obliged, Miss Bowring, indeed I am!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s nothing to be grateful for, it seems to me,&#8221; Clare answered. &#8220;I
+suppose there&#8217;s nothing to be done but to sit down and wait until
+<span class="pagebreak" title="140">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a>
+
+somebody comes. It&#8217;s a lonely road, of course, and we may wait a long
+time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I say,&#8221; exclaimed Johnstone, &#8220;you&#8217;ve torn your frock rather badly! Look
+at it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She drew her skirt round with her hand. There were long, clean rents in
+the skirt, on her right side.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was his knife,&#8221; she said, thoughtfully surveying the damage. &#8220;He
+kept trying to get at me with it. I&#8217;m sorry, for I haven&#8217;t another serge
+skirt with me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then she felt herself blushing, and turned away.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll just pin it up,&#8221; she said, and she disappeared behind the cart
+rather precipitately.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By Jove! You have pretty good nerves!&#8221; observed Johnstone, more to
+himself than to her. &#8220;Shut up!&#8221; he cried to the carter, who was swearing
+again. &#8220;Stop that noise, will you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He made a step angrily towards the man, for the sight of the slit frock
+had roused him again, when he thought what the knife might have done.
+The fellow was silent instantly, and lay quite still, for he knew that
+he should strangle himself if he moved.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll have you in prison before night,&#8221; continued Johnstone, speaking
+English to him. &#8220;Oh yes! the <i>carabinieri</i> will come, and you will go to
+<i>galera</i>&mdash;do you understand that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="141">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a>
+He had picked up the words somewhere. The man began to moan and pray.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Stop that noise!&#8221; cried Brook, with slow emphasis.</p>
+
+<p>He was not far wrong in saying that the carabineers would come. They
+patrol the roads day and night, in pairs, as they patrol every high road
+and every mountain path in Italy, all the year round. And just then, far
+up the road down which Johnstone and Clare had come, two of them
+appeared in sight, recognisable a mile away by their snow-white
+crossbelts and gleaming accoutrements. There are twelve or fourteen
+thousand of them in the country, trained soldiers and picked men, by all
+odds the finest corps in the army. Until lately no man could serve in
+the carabineers who could not show documentary evidence that neither he
+nor his father nor his mother had ever been in prison even for the
+smallest offence. They are feared and respected, and it is they who have
+so greatly reduced brigandage throughout the country.</p>
+
+<p>Clare came back to Johnstone&#8217;s side, having done what she could to pin
+the rents together.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s all right now,&#8221; she cried. &#8220;Here come the carabineers. They will
+take the man and his cart to the next village. Let me talk to them&mdash;I
+can speak Italian, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was pale again, and very quiet. She had
+<span class="pagebreak" title="142">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a>
+ noticed that her hands
+trembled violently when she was pinning her frock, though they had been
+steady enough when they had gone round the man&#8217;s throat.</p>
+
+<p>When the patrol men came up, she stepped forward and explained what had
+happened, clearly and briefly. There was the bleeding mule, Johnstone
+standing before it and rubbing its dusty nose; there was the knife;
+there was the man. With a modest gesture she showed them where her frock
+had been cut to shreds. Johnstone made remarks in English, reflecting
+upon the Italian character, which she did not think fit to translate.</p>
+
+<p>The carabineers were silent fellows with big moustaches&mdash;the one very
+dark, the other as fair as a Swede&mdash;they were clean, strong, sober men,
+with frank eyes, and they said very little. They asked the strangers&#8217;
+names, and Johnstone, at Clare&#8217;s request, wrote her name on his card,
+and the address in Amalfi. One of them knew the carter for a bad
+character.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We will take care of him and his cart,&#8221; said the dark man, who was the
+superior. &#8220;The signori may go in quiet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They untied the rope that bound the man. He rose trembling, and stood on
+his feet, for he knew that he was in their power. But they showed no
+intention of putting him in handcuffs.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="143">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Turn the cart round!&#8221; said the dark man.</p>
+
+<p>They helped the carter to do it, and blocked it with stones.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Put in the mule!&#8221; was the next order, and the carabineers held up the
+shafts while the man obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>Then both saluted Johnstone and Clare, and shouldered their short
+carbines, which had stood against the parapet.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Forward!&#8221; said the dark man, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>The carter took the mule by the head and started it gently enough. The
+creature understood, and was glad to go down hill; the wheels creaked,
+the cart moved, and the party went off, one of the carabineers marching
+on either side.</p>
+
+<p>Clare drew a long breath as she stood looking after them for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let us go home,&#8221; she said at last, and turned up the road.</p>
+
+<p>For some minutes they walked on in silence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think you probably saved my life at the risk of yours, Miss Bowring,&#8221;
+said Johnstone, at last, looking up. &#8220;Thank you very much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nonsense!&#8221; exclaimed the young girl, and she tried to laugh.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you were telling me that you were not combative&mdash;that you always
+avoided a fight, you know, and that you were so mild, and all that. For
+a very mild man, Mr. Johnstone, who
+<span class="pagebreak" title="144">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a>
+ hates fighting, you are a good &#8216;man
+of your hands,&#8217; as they say in the <i>Morte d&#8217;Arthur</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t call that a fight!&#8221; answered Johnstone, contemptuously.
+&#8220;Why, my collar isn&#8217;t even crumpled. As for my hands, if I could find a
+spring I would wash them, after touching that fellow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s the advantage of wearing gloves,&#8221; observed Clare, looking at her
+own.</p>
+
+<p>They were both very young, and though they knew that they had been in
+great danger they affected perfect indifference about it to each other,
+after the manner of true Britons. But each admired the other, and Brook
+was suddenly conscious that he had never known a woman whom, in some
+ways, he thought so admirable as Clare Bowring, but both felt a singular
+constraint as they walked homeward.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you know?&#8221; Clare began, when they were near Amalfi, &#8220;I think we had
+better say nothing about it to my mother&mdash;that is, if you don&#8217;t mind.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By all means,&#8221; answered Brook. &#8220;I&#8217;m sure I don&#8217;t want to talk about
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, and my mother is very nervous&mdash;you know&mdash;about my going off to walk
+without her. Oh, not about you&mdash;with anybody. You see, I&#8217;d been very ill
+before I came here.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="145">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+
+<p>In obedience to Clare&#8217;s expressed wish, Johnstone made no mention that
+evening of the rather serious adventure on the Salerno road. They had
+fallen into the habit of shaking hands when they bade each other
+good-night. When it was time, and the two ladies rose to withdraw,
+Johnstone suddenly wished that Clare would make some little sign to
+him&mdash;the least thing to show that this particular evening was not
+precisely what all the other evenings had been, that they were drawn a
+little closer together, that perhaps she would change her mind and not
+dislike him any more for that unknown reason at which he could not even
+guess.</p>
+
+<p>They joined hands, and his eyes met hers. But there was no unusual
+pressure&mdash;no little acknowledgment of a common danger past. The blue
+eyes looked at him straight and proudly, without softening, and the
+fresh lips calmly said good-night. Johnstone remained alone, and in a
+singularly bad humour for such a good-tempered man. He was angry with
+Clare for being so cold and indifferent, and he was
+<span class="pagebreak" title="146">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a>
+ ashamed of himself
+for wishing that she would admire him a little for having knocked down a
+tipsy carter. It was not much of an exploit. What she had done had been
+very much more remarkable. The man would not have killed him, of course,
+but he might have given him a very dangerous wound with that ugly
+clasp-knife. Clare&#8217;s frock was cut to pieces on one side, and it was a
+wonder that she had escaped without a scratch. He had no right to expect
+any praise for what he had done, when she had done so much more.</p>
+
+<p>To tell the truth, it was not praise that he wanted, but a sign that she
+was not indifferent to him, or at least that she no longer disliked him.
+He was ashamed to own to himself that he was half in love with a young
+girl who had told him that she did not like him and would never even be
+his friend. Women had not usually treated him in that way, so far. But
+the fact remained, that she had got possession of his thoughts, and made
+him think about his actions when she was present. It took a good deal to
+disturb Brook Johnstone&#8217;s young sleep, but he did not sleep well that
+night.</p>
+
+<p>As for Clare, when she was alone, she regretted that she had not just
+nodded kindly to him, and nothing more, when she had said good-night.
+She knew perfectly well that he expected something
+<span class="pagebreak" title="147">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a>
+of the sort, and
+that it would have been natural, and quite harmless, without any
+possibility of consequence. She consoled herself by repeating that she
+had done quite right, as the vision of Lady Fan rose distinctly before
+her in a flood of memory&#8217;s moonlight. Then it struck her, as the vision
+faded, that her position was a very odd one. Personally, she liked the
+man. Impersonally, she hated and despised him. At least she believed
+that she did, and that she should, for the sake of all women. To her, as
+she had known him, he was brave, kind, gentle in manner and speech,
+boyishly frank. As she had seen him that once, she had thought him
+heartless, cowardly, and cynical. She could not reconcile the two, and
+therefore, in her thoughts, she unconsciously divided him into two
+individualities&mdash;her Mr. Johnstone and Lady Fan&#8217;s Brook. There was very
+little resemblance between them. Oddly enough, she felt a sort of pang
+for him, that he could ever have been the other man whom she had first
+seen. She was getting into a very complicated frame of mind.</p>
+
+<p>They met in the morning and exchanged greetings with unusual coldness.
+Brook asked whether she were tired; she said that she had done nothing
+to tire her, as though she resented the question; he said nothing in
+answer, and they both looked at the sea and thought it extremely
+<span class="pagebreak" title="148">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a>
+ dull.
+Presently Johnstone went off for a walk alone, and Clare buried herself
+in a book for the morning. She did not wish to think, because her
+thoughts were so very contradictory. It was easier to try and follow
+some one else&#8217;s ideas. She found that almost worse than thinking, but,
+being very tenacious, she stuck to it and tried to read.</p>
+
+<p>At the midday meal they exchanged commonplaces, and neither looked at
+the other. Just as they left the dining-room a heavy thunderstorm broke
+overhead with a deluge of rain. Clare said that the thunder made her
+head ache, and she disappeared on pretence of lying down. Mrs. Bowring
+went to write letters, and Johnstone hung about the reading-room, and
+smoked a pipe in the long corridor, till he was sick of the sound of his
+own footsteps. Amalfi was all very well in fine weather, he reflected,
+but when it rained it was as dismal as penny whist, Sunday in London, or
+a volume of sermons&mdash;or all three together, he added viciously, in his
+thoughts. The German family had fallen back upon the guide book,
+Mommsen&#8217;s <i>History of Rome</i>, and the <i>Gartenlaube</i>. The Russian invalid
+was presumably in his room, with a teapot, and the two English old maids
+were reading a violently sensational novel aloud to each other by turns
+in the hotel drawing-room. They
+<span class="pagebreak" title="149">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a>
+ stopped reading and got very red, when
+Johnstone looked in.</p>
+
+<p>It was a dreary afternoon, and he wished that something would happen.
+The fight on the preceding day had stirred his blood&mdash;and other things
+perhaps had contributed to his restless state of mind. He thought of
+Clare&#8217;s torn frock, and he wished he had killed the carter outright. He
+reflected that, as the man was attacking him with a knife, he himself
+would have been acquitted.</p>
+
+<p>Late in the afternoon the sky cleared and the red light of the lowering
+sun struck the crests of the higher hills to eastward. Brook went out
+and smelled the earth-scented air, and the damp odour of the
+orange-blossoms. But that did not please him either, so he turned back
+and went through the long corridor to the platform at the back of the
+hotel. To his surprise he came face to face with Clare, who was walking
+briskly backwards and forwards, and saw him just as he emerged from the
+door. They both stood still and looked at each other with an odd little
+constraint, almost like anxiety, in their faces. There was a short,
+awkward silence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; said Clare, interrogatively, and raising her eyebrows a very
+little, as though wondering why he did not speak.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="150">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nothing,&#8221; Johnstone answered, turning his face seaward. &#8220;I wasn&#8217;t
+going to say anything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&mdash;you looked as though you were.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I came out to get a breath of air, that&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So did I. I&mdash;I think I&#8217;ve been out long enough. I&#8217;ll go in.&#8221; And she
+made a step towards the door.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, please, don&#8217;t!&#8221; he cried suddenly. &#8220;Can&#8217;t we walk together a little
+bit? That is, if you are not tired.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh no! I&#8217;m not tired,&#8221; answered the young girl with a cold little
+laugh. &#8220;I&#8217;ll stay if you like&mdash;just a few minutes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks, awfully,&#8221; said Brook in a shy, jerky way.</p>
+
+<p>They began to walk up and down, much less quickly than Clare had been
+walking when alone. They seemed to have nothing to say to each other.
+Johnstone remarked that he thought it would not rain again just then,
+and after some minutes of reflection Clare said that she remembered
+having seen two thunderstorms within an hour, with a clear sky between,
+not long ago. Johnstone also thought the matter over for some time
+before he answered, and then said that he supposed the clouds must have
+been somewhere in the meantime&mdash;an observation
+<span class="pagebreak" title="151">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a>
+which did not strike
+either Clare or even himself as particularly intelligent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think you know much about thunderstorms,&#8221; said Clare, after
+another silence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I? No&mdash;why should I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know. It&#8217;s supposed to be just as well to know about things,
+isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I dare say,&#8221; answered Brook, indifferently. &#8220;But science isn&#8217;t exactly
+in my line, if I have any line.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They recrossed the platform in silence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is your line&mdash;if you have any?&#8221; Clare asked, looking at the ground
+as she walked, and perfectly indifferent as to his answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It ought to be beer,&#8221; answered Brook, gravely. &#8220;But then, you know how
+it is&mdash;one has all sorts of experts, and one ends by taking their word
+for granted about it. I don&#8217;t believe I have any line&mdash;unless it&#8217;s in
+the way of out-of-door things. I&#8217;m fond of shooting, and I can ride
+fairly, you know, like anybody else.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said Clare, &#8220;you were telling me so the other day, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; Johnstone murmured thoughtfully, &#8220;that&#8217;s true. Please excuse me.
+I&#8217;m always repeating myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t mean that.&#8221; Her tone changed a
+<span class="pagebreak" title="152">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a>
+ little. &#8220;You can be very
+amusing when you like, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks, awfully. I should like to be amusing now, for instance, but I
+can&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now? Why now?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because I&#8217;m boring you to madness, little by little, and I&#8217;m awfully
+sorry too, for I want you to like me&mdash;though you say you never will&mdash;and
+of course you can&#8217;t like a bore, can you? I say, Miss Bowring, don&#8217;t you
+think we could strike some sort of friendly agreement&mdash;to be friends
+without &#8216;liking,&#8217; somehow? I&#8217;m beginning to hate the word. I believe
+it&#8217;s the colour of my hair or my coat&mdash;or something&mdash;that you dislike
+so. I wish you&#8217;d tell me. It would be much kinder. I&#8217;d go to work and
+change it&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dye your hair?&#8221; Clare laughed, glad that the ice was broken again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh yes&mdash;if you like,&#8221; he answered, laughing too. &#8220;Anything to please
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Anything &#8216;in reason&#8217;&mdash;as you proposed yesterday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;anything in reason or out of it. I&#8217;m getting desperate!&#8221; He laughed
+again, but in his laughter there was a little note of something new to
+the young girl, a sort of understreak of earnestness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t anything you can change,&#8221; said
+<span class="pagebreak" title="153">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a>
+ Clare, after a moment&#8217;s
+hesitation. &#8220;And it certainly has nothing to do with your appearance, or
+your manners, or your tailor,&#8221; she added.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh well, then, it&#8217;s evidently something I&#8217;ve done, or said,&#8221; Brook
+murmured, looking at her.</p>
+
+<p>But she did not return his glance, as they walked side by side; indeed,
+she turned her face from him a little, and she said nothing, for she was
+far too truthful to deny his assertion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I&#8217;m right,&#8221; he said, with an interrogation, after a long pause.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t ask me, please! It&#8217;s of no importance after all. Talk of
+something else.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t agree with you,&#8221; Brook answered. &#8220;It is very important to me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, nonsense!&#8221; Clare tried to laugh. &#8220;What difference can it make to
+you, whether I like you or not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t say that. It makes a great difference&mdash;more than I thought it
+could, in fact. One&mdash;one doesn&#8217;t like to be misjudged by one&#8217;s friends,
+you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I&#8217;m not your friend.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want you to be.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You won&#8217;t,&#8221; said Brook, in a lower tone, and almost angrily. &#8220;You&#8217;ve
+made up your mind against me, on account of something
+<span class="pagebreak" title="154">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a>
+ you&#8217;ve guessed
+at, and you won&#8217;t tell me what it is, so I can&#8217;t possibly defend myself.
+I haven&#8217;t the least idea what it can be. I never did anything
+particularly bad, I believe, and I never did anything I should be
+ashamed of owning. I don&#8217;t like to say that sort of thing, you know,
+about myself, but you drive me to it. It isn&#8217;t fair. Upon my word, it&#8217;s
+not fair play. You tell a man he&#8217;s a bad lot, like that, in the air, and
+then you refuse to say why you think so. Or else the whole thing is a
+sort of joke you&#8217;ve invented&mdash;if it is, it&#8217;s awfully one-sided, it seems
+to me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you really think me capable of anything so silly?&#8221; asked Clare.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I don&#8217;t. That makes it all the worse, because it proves that you
+have&mdash;or think you have&mdash;something against me. I don&#8217;t know much about
+law, but it strikes me as something tremendously like libel. Don&#8217;t you
+think so yourself?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh no! Indeed I don&#8217;t. Libel means saying things against people,
+doesn&#8217;t it? I haven&#8217;t done that&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed you have! I mean, I beg your pardon for contradicting you like
+that&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Rather flatly,&#8221; observed Clare, as they turned in their walk, and their
+eyes met.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;m sorry, but since we are talking
+<span class="pagebreak" title="155">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a>
+ about it, I&#8217;ve got to say
+what I think. After all, I&#8217;m the person attacked. I have a right to
+defend myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I haven&#8217;t attacked you,&#8221; answered the young girl, gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I won&#8217;t be rude, if I can help it,&#8221; said Brook, half roughly. &#8220;But I
+asked you if you disliked me for something I had done or said, and you
+couldn&#8217;t deny it. That means that I have done or said something bad
+enough to make you say that you will never be my friend&mdash;and that must
+be something very bad indeed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you think I&#8217;m not squeamish? It would have to be something very,
+very bad.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you. Well, I thought it very bad. Anybody would, I should fancy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I never did anything very, very bad, so you must be mistaken,&#8221; answered
+Johnstone, exasperated.</p>
+
+<p>Clare said nothing, but walked along with her head rather high, looking
+straight before her. It had all happened before her eyes, on the very
+ground under her feet, on that platform. Johnstone knew that he had
+spoken roughly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I say,&#8221; he began, &#8220;was I rude? I&#8217;m awfully sorry.&#8221; Clare stopped and
+stood still.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Johnstone, we sha&#8217;n&#8217;t agree. I will
+<span class="pagebreak" title="156">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a>
+ never tell you, and you will
+never be satisfied unless I do. So it&#8217;s a dead-lock.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are horribly unjust,&#8221; answered Brook, very much in earnest, and
+fixing his bright eyes on hers. &#8220;You seem to take a delight in
+tormenting me with this imaginary secret. After all, if it&#8217;s something
+you saw me do, or heard me say, I must know of it and remember it, so
+there&#8217;s no earthly reason why we shouldn&#8217;t discuss it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was again that fascination in his eyes, and she felt herself
+yielding.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll say one thing,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I wish you hadn&#8217;t done it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She felt that she could not look away from him, and that he was getting
+her into his power. The colour rose in her face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please don&#8217;t look at me!&#8221; she said suddenly, gazing helplessly into his
+eyes, but his steady look did not change.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please&mdash;oh, please look away!&#8221; she cried, half-frightened and growing
+pale again.</p>
+
+<p>He turned from her, surprised at her manner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid you&#8217;re not in earnest about this, after all,&#8221; he said,
+thoughtfully. &#8220;If you meant what you said, why shouldn&#8217;t you look at
+me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She blushed scarlet again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s very rude to stare like that!&#8221; she said,
+<span class="pagebreak" title="157">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a>
+ in an offended tone.
+&#8220;You know that you&#8217;ve got something&mdash;I don&#8217;t know what to call it&mdash;one
+can&#8217;t look away when you look at one. Of course you know it, and you
+ought not to do it. It isn&#8217;t nice.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t know there was anything peculiar about my eyes,&#8221; said Brook.
+&#8220;Indeed I didn&#8217;t! Nobody ever told me so, I&#8217;m sure. By Jove!&#8221; he
+exclaimed, &#8220;I believe it&#8217;s that! I&#8217;ve probably done it before&mdash;and
+that&#8217;s why you&mdash;&#8221; he stopped.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please don&#8217;t think me so silly,&#8221; answered Clare, recovering her
+composure. &#8220;It&#8217;s nothing of the sort. As for that&mdash;that way you have of
+looking&mdash;I dare say I&#8217;m nervous since my illness. Besides&mdash;&#8221; she
+hesitated, and then smiled. &#8220;Besides, do you know? If you had looked at
+me a moment longer I should have told you the whole thing, and then we
+should both have been sorry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should not, I&#8217;m sure,&#8221; said Brook, with conviction. &#8220;But I don&#8217;t
+understand about my looking at you. I never tried to mesmerise any
+one&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is no such thing as mesmerism. It&#8217;s all hypnotism, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know what they call it. You know what I mean. But I&#8217;m sure it&#8217;s
+your imagination.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="158">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh yes, I dare say,&#8221; answered the young girl with affected
+carelessness. &#8220;It&#8217;s merely because I&#8217;m nervous.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, so far as I&#8217;m concerned, it&#8217;s quite unconscious. I don&#8217;t know&mdash;I
+suppose I wanted to see in your eyes what you were thinking about.
+Besides, when one likes a person, one doesn&#8217;t think it so dreadfully
+rude to look at them&mdash;at him&mdash;I mean, at you&mdash;when one is in earnest
+about something&mdash;does one?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; said Clare. &#8220;But please don&#8217;t do it to me. It makes me
+feel awfully uncomfortable somehow. You won&#8217;t, will you?&#8221; she asked,
+with a sort of appeal. &#8220;You would make me tell you everything&mdash;and then
+I should hate myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I shouldn&#8217;t hate you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh yes, you would! You would hate me for knowing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By Jove! It&#8217;s too bad!&#8221; cried Brook. &#8220;But as for that,&#8221; he added
+humbly, &#8220;nothing would make me hate you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing? You don&#8217;t know!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I do! You couldn&#8217;t make me change my mind about you. I&#8217;ve grown
+to&mdash;to like you a great deal too much for that in this short time&mdash;a
+great deal more than is good for me, I believe,&#8221; he added, with a sort
+of rough impulsiveness. &#8220;Not that I&#8217;m at all surprised, you
+<span class="pagebreak" title="159">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a>
+ know,&#8221; he
+continued with an attempt at a laugh. &#8220;One can&#8217;t see a person like you,
+most of the day, for ten days or a fortnight, without&mdash;well, you know,
+admiring you most tremendously&mdash;can one? I dare say you think that might
+be put into better English. But it&#8217;s true all the same.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A silence followed. The warm blood mantled softly in the girl&#8217;s fair
+cheeks. She was taken by surprise with an odd little breath of
+happiness, as it were, suddenly blowing upon her, whence she knew not.
+It was so utterly new that she wondered at it, and was not conscious of
+the faint blush that answered it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One gets awfully intimate in a few days,&#8221; observed Brook, as though he
+had discovered something quite new.</p>
+
+<p>She nodded, but said nothing, and they still walked up and down. Then
+his words made her think of that sudden intimacy which had probably
+sprung up between him and Lady Fan on board the yacht, and her heart was
+hardened again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t worth while to be intimate, as you call it,&#8221; she said at last,
+with a little sudden sharpness. &#8220;People ought never to be intimate,
+unless they have to live together&mdash;in the same place, you know. Then
+they can&#8217;t exactly help it, I suppose.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why should they? One can&#8217;t exactly intrench
+<span class="pagebreak" title="160">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a>
+oneself behind a wall with
+pistols and say &#8216;Be my friend if you dare.&#8217; Life would be very
+uncomfortable, I should think.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you know what I mean! Don&#8217;t be so awfully literal.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was trying to understand,&#8221; said Johnstone, with unusual meekness. &#8220;I
+won&#8217;t, if you don&#8217;t want me to. But I don&#8217;t agree with you a bit. I
+think it&#8217;s very jolly to be intimate&mdash;in this sort of way&mdash;or perhaps a
+little more so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Intimate enemies? Enemies can be just as intimate as friends, you
+know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;d rather have you for my intimate enemy than not know you at all,&#8221;
+said Brook.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s saying a great deal, Mr. Johnstone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again she was pleased in a new way by what he said. And a temptation
+came upon her unawares. It was perfectly clear that he was beginning to
+make love to her. She thought of her reflections after she had seen him
+alone with Lady Fan, and of how she had wished that she could break his
+heart, and pay him back with suffering for the pain he had given another
+woman. The possibility seemed nearer now than then. At least, she could
+easily let him believe that she believed him, and then laugh at him and
+his acting. For of course it was acting. How could such a man be
+earnest? All at once the thought that he should respect her so little
+<span class="pagebreak" title="161">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a>
+
+as to pretend to make love to her incensed her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What an extraordinary idea!&#8221; she exclaimed rather scornfully. &#8220;You
+would rather be hated, than not known!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wasn&#8217;t talking generalities&mdash;I was speaking of you. Please don&#8217;t
+misunderstand me on purpose. It isn&#8217;t kind.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you in need of kindness just now? You don&#8217;t exactly strike one in
+that way, you know. But your people will be coming in a day or two, I
+suppose. I&#8217;ve no doubt they&#8217;ll be kind to you, as you call it&mdash;whatever
+that may mean. One speaks of being kind to animals and servants, you
+know&mdash;that sort of thing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Nothing can outdo the brutality of a perfectly unaffected young girl
+under certain circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t class myself with either, thank you,&#8221; said Brook, justly
+offended. &#8220;You certainly manage to put things in a new light sometimes.
+I feel rather like that mule we saw yesterday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;I thought you didn&#8217;t class yourself with animals!&#8221; she laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you any particular reason for saying horridly disagreeable
+things?&#8221; asked Brook coldly.</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t mean to be disagreeable&mdash;at least
+<span class="pagebreak" title="162">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a>
+ not so disagreeable as all
+that,&#8221; said Clare at last. &#8220;I don&#8217;t know why it is, but you have a
+talent for making me seem rude.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Force of example,&#8221; suggested Johnstone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I&#8217;ll say that for you&mdash;you have very good manners.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks, awfully. Considering the provocation, you know, that&#8217;s an
+immense compliment.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought I would be &#8216;kind&#8217; for a change. By the bye, what are we
+quarrelling about?&#8221; She laughed. &#8220;You began by saying something very
+nice to me, and then I told you that you were like the mule, didn&#8217;t I?
+It&#8217;s very odd! I believe you hypnotise me, after all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At all events, if we were not intimate, you couldn&#8217;t possibly say the
+things you do,&#8221; observed Brook, already pacified.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I suppose you would not take the things I say, so meekly, would
+you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I told you I was a very mild person,&#8221; said Johnstone. &#8220;We were talking
+about it yesterday, do you remember?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh yes! And then you illustrated your idea of meekness by knocking down
+the first man we met.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was your fault,&#8221; retorted Brook. &#8220;You told me to stop his beating
+the mule. So I did. Fortunately you stopped him from sticking a knife
+into me. Do you know? You have
+<span class="pagebreak" title="163">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a>
+ awfully good nerves. Most women would
+have screamed and run up a tree&mdash;or something. They would have got out
+of the way, at all events.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think most women would have done precisely what I did,&#8221; said Clare.
+&#8220;Why should you say that most women are cowards?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t,&#8221; answered Brook. &#8220;But I refuse to quarrel about it. I meant
+to say that I admired you&mdash;I mean, what you did&mdash;well, more than
+anything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s a sweeping sort of compliment. Am I to return it?&#8221; She glanced
+at him and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You couldn&#8217;t, with truth.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course I could. I don&#8217;t remember ever seeing anything of that sort
+before, but I don&#8217;t believe that anybody could have done it better. I
+admired you more than anything just then, you know.&#8221; She laughed once
+more as she added the last words.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t expect you to go on admiring me. I&#8217;m quite satisfied, and
+grateful, and all that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m glad you&#8217;re so easily satisfied. Couldn&#8217;t we talk seriously about
+something or other? It seems to me that we&#8217;ve been chaffing for half an
+hour, haven&#8217;t we?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It hasn&#8217;t been all chaff, Miss Bowring,&#8221; said Johnstone. &#8220;At least, not
+on my side.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="164">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I&#8217;m sorry,&#8221; Clare answered. They relapsed into silence, as they
+walked their beat, to and fro. The sun had gone down, and it was already
+twilight on that side of the mountains. The rain had cooled the air, and
+the far land to southward was darkly distinct beyond the purple water.
+It was very chilly, and Clare was without a shawl, and Johnstone was
+hatless, but neither of them noticed that it was cool. Johnstone was the
+first to speak.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is this sort of thing to go on for ever, Miss Bowring?&#8221; he asked
+gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What?&#8221; But she knew very well what he meant.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This&mdash;this very odd footing we are on, you and I&mdash;are we never going to
+get past it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;I hope not,&#8221; answered Clare, cheerfully. &#8220;I think it&#8217;s very
+pleasant, don&#8217;t you? And most original. We are intimate enough to say
+all sorts of things, and I&#8217;m your enemy, and you say you are my friend.
+I can&#8217;t imagine any better arrangement. We shall always laugh when we
+think of it&mdash;even years hence. You will be going away in a few days, and
+we shall stay here into the summer and we shall never see each other
+again, in all probability. We shall always look back on this time&mdash;as
+something quite odd, you know.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="165">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are quite mistaken if you think that we shall never meet again,&#8221;
+said Johnstone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mean that it&#8217;s very unlikely. You see we don&#8217;t go home very often,
+and when we do we stop with friends in the country. We don&#8217;t go much
+into society. And the rest of the time we generally live in Florence.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is nothing to prevent me from coming to Florence&mdash;or living
+there, if I choose.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh no&mdash;I suppose not. Except that you would be bored to death. It&#8217;s not
+very amusing, unless you happen to be fond of pictures, and you never
+said you were.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should go to see you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;yes&mdash;you could call, and of course if we were at home we should be
+very glad to see you. But that would only occupy about half an hour of
+one day. That isn&#8217;t much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mean that I should go to Florence simply for the sake of seeing you,
+and seeing you often&mdash;all the time, in fact.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dear me! That would be a great deal, wouldn&#8217;t it? I thought you meant
+just to call, don&#8217;t you know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m in earnest, though it sounds very funny, I dare say,&#8221; said
+Johnstone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It sounds rather mad,&#8221; answered Clare, laughing a little. &#8220;I hope you
+won&#8217;t do anything of the kind, because I wouldn&#8217;t see you
+<span class="pagebreak" title="166">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a>
+ more than
+once or twice. I&#8217;d have headaches and colds and concerts&mdash;all the things
+one has when one isn&#8217;t at home to people. But my mother would be
+delighted. She likes you tremendously, you know, and you could go about
+to galleries together and read Ruskin and Browning&mdash;do you know the
+Statue and the Bust? And you could go and see Casa Guidi, where the
+Brownings lived, and you could drive up to San Miniato, and then, you
+know, you could drive up again and read more Browning and more Ruskin.
+I&#8217;m sure you would enjoy it to any extent. But I should have to go
+through a terrific siege of colds and headaches. It would be rather hard
+on me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And harder on me,&#8221; observed Brook, &#8220;and quite fearful for Mrs.
+Bowring.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh no! She would enjoy every minute of it. You forget that she likes
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are afraid I should forget that you don&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I almost&mdash;oh, a long way from quite! I almost liked you yesterday when
+you thrashed the carter and tied him up so neatly. It was beautifully
+done&mdash;all those knots! I suppose you learned them on board of the yacht,
+didn&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve yachted a good deal,&#8221; said Brook.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Generally with that party?&#8221; inquired Clare.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="167">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;No. That was the first time. My father has an old tub he goes about
+in, and we sometimes go together.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is he coming here in his &#8216;old tub&#8217;?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh no&mdash;he&#8217;s lent her to a fellow who has taken her off to Japan, I
+believe.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Japan! Is it safe? In an &#8216;old tub&#8217;!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, well&mdash;that&#8217;s a way of talking, you know. She&#8217;s a good enough boat,
+you know. My father went to New York in her, last year. She&#8217;s a steamer,
+you know. I hate steamers. They are such dirty noisy things! But of
+course if you are going a long way, they are the only things.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He spoke in a jerky way, annoyed and discomfited by her forcing the
+conversation off the track. Though he was aware that he had gone further
+than he intended, when he proposed to spend the winter in Florence.
+Moreover, he was very tenacious by nature, and had rarely been seriously
+opposed during his short life. Her persistent refusal to tell him the
+cause of her deep-rooted dislike exasperated him, while her frank and
+careless manner and good-fellowship fascinated him more and more.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell me all about the yacht,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I&#8217;m sure she is a beauty,
+though you call her an old tub.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to talk about yachts,&#8221; he answered,
+<span class="pagebreak" title="168">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a>
+returning to the
+attack in spite of her. &#8220;I want to talk about the chances of seeing you
+after we part here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There aren&#8217;t any,&#8221; replied the young girl carelessly. &#8220;What is the name
+of the yacht?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very commonplace&mdash;&#8216;Lucy,&#8217; that&#8217;s all. I&#8217;ll make chances if there are
+none&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mustn&#8217;t say that &#8216;Lucy&#8217; is commonplace. That&#8217;s my mother&#8217;s name.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon. I couldn&#8217;t know that. It always struck me that it
+wasn&#8217;t much of a name for a yacht, you know. That was all I meant. He&#8217;s
+a queer old bird, my father; he always says he took it from the Bride of
+Lammermoor, Heaven knows why. But please&mdash;I really can&#8217;t go away and
+feel that I&#8217;m not to see you again soon. You seem to think that I&#8217;m
+chaffing. I&#8217;m not. I&#8217;m very serious. I like you very much, and I don&#8217;t
+see why one should just meet and then go off, and let that be the
+end&mdash;do you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see why not,&#8221; exclaimed Clare, hating the unexpected longing
+she felt to agree with him, and tell him to come and stay in Florence as
+much as he pleased. &#8220;Come&mdash;it&#8217;s too cold here. I must be going in.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="169">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+
+<p>Brook Johnstone had never been in the habit of observing his sensations
+nor of paying any great attention to his actions. He was not at all an
+actor, as Clare believed him to be, and the idea that he could ever have
+taken pleasure in giving pain would have made him laugh. Possibly, it
+would have made him very angry, but it certainly had no foundation at
+all in fact. He had been liked, loved, and made much of, not for
+anything he had ever taken the trouble to do, but partly for his own
+sake, and partly on account of his position. Such charm as he had for
+women lay in his frankness, good humour, and simplicity of character.
+That he had appeared to be changeable in his affection was merely due to
+the fact that he had never been in love. He vaguely recognised the fact
+in his inner consciousness, though he would have said that he had been
+in love half a dozen times; which only amounted to saying that women he
+had liked had been in love with him or had thought that they were, or
+had wished to have it thought that he loved them or had perhaps,
+<span class="pagebreak" title="170">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a>
+like
+poor Lady Fan, been willing to risk a good deal on the bare chance of
+marrying one of the best of society&#8217;s matches in the end. He was too
+young to look upon such affairs very seriously. When he had been tired
+of the game he had not lacked the courage to say so, and in most cases
+he had been forgiven. Lady Fan might prove an exception, but he hoped
+not. He was enormously far removed from being a saint, it is true, but
+it is due to him to repeat that he had drawn the line rigidly at a
+certain limit, and that all women beyond that line had been to him as
+his own mother, in thought and deed. Let those who have the right to
+cast stones&mdash;and the cruelty to do so&mdash;decide for themselves whether
+Brook Johnstone was a bad man at heart, or not. It need not be hinted
+that a proportion of the stone-throwing Pharisees owe their immaculate
+reputation to their conspicuous lack of attraction; the little band has
+a place apart and they stand there and lapidate most of us, and secretly
+wish that they had ever had the chance of being as bad as we are without
+being found out. But the great army of the pure in heart are mixed with
+us sinners in the fight, and though they may pray for us, they do not
+carp at our imperfections&mdash;and occasionally they get hit by the
+Pharisees just as we do, being rather whiter than we and
+<span class="pagebreak" title="171">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a>
+ therefore
+offering a more tempting mark for a jagged stone or a handful of pious
+mud. You may know the Pharisee by his intimate knowledge of the sins he
+has never committed.</p>
+
+<p>Besides, though the code of honour is not worth much as compared with
+the Ten Commandments, it is notably better than nothing, in the way of
+morality. It will keep a man from lying and evil speaking as well as
+from picking and stealing, and if it does not force him to honour all
+women as angels, it makes him respect a very large proportion of them as
+good women and therefore sacred, in a very practical way of sacredness.
+Brook Johnstone always was very careful in all matters where honour and
+his own feeling about honour were concerned. For that reason he had told
+Clare that he had never done anything very bad, whereas what she had
+seen him do was monstrous in her eyes. She had not reflected that she
+knew nothing about Lady Fan; and if she had heard half there was to be
+known she would not have understood. That night on the platform Lady Fan
+had given her own version of what had taken place on the Acropolis at
+sunset, and Brook had not denied anything. Clare did not reflect that
+Lady Fan might very possibly have exaggerated the facts very much in her
+statement of them, and that at such a time Brook was certainly not the
+man to argue
+<span class="pagebreak" title="172">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a>
+ the case, since it had manifestly been his only course to
+take all the apparent blame on himself. Even if he had known that Clare
+had heard the conversation, he could not possibly have explained the
+matter to her&mdash;not even if she had been an old woman&mdash;without telling
+all the truth about Lady Fan, and he was too honourable a man to do
+that, under any conceivable circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>He was decidedly and really in love with the girl. He knew it, because
+what he felt was not like anything he had ever felt before. It was
+anything but the pleasurable excitement to which he was accustomed.
+There might have been something of that if he had received even the
+smallest encouragement. But, do what he would, he could find none. The
+attraction increased, and the encouragement was daily less, he thought.
+Clare occasionally said things which made him half believe that she did
+not wholly dislike him. That was as much as he could say. He cudgelled
+his brains and wrung his memory to discover what he could have done to
+offend her, and he could not remember anything&mdash;which was not
+surprising. It was clear that she had never heard of him before he had
+come to Amalfi. He had satisfied himself of that by questions, otherwise
+he would naturally enough have come near the truth and guessed that she
+<span class="pagebreak" title="173">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a>
+
+must have known of some affair in which he had been concerned, which she
+judged harshly from her own point of view.</p>
+
+<p>He was beginning to suffer, and he was not accustomed to suffering,
+least of all to any of the mental kind, for his life had always gone
+smoothly. He had believed hitherto that most people exaggerated, and
+worried themselves unnecessarily, but when he found it hard to sleep,
+and noticed that he had a dull, unsatisfied sort of misery with him all
+day long, he began to understand. He did not think that Clare could
+really enjoy teasing him, and, besides, it was not like mere teasing,
+either. She was evidently in earnest when she repeated that she did not
+like him. He knew her face when she was chaffing, and her tone, and the
+little bending of the delicate, swan-like throat, too long for perfect
+beauty, but not for perfect grace. When she was in earnest, her head
+rose, her eyes looked straight before her, and her voice sank to a
+graver note. He knew all the signs of truth, for with her it was always
+very near the surface, dwelling not in a deep well, but in clear water,
+as it were, open to the sky. Her truth was evidently truth, and her
+jesting was transparent as a child&#8217;s.</p>
+
+<p>It looked a hopeless case, but he had no intention of considering it
+without hope, nor any
+<span class="pagebreak" title="174">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a>
+ inclination to relinquish his attempts. He did
+not tell himself in so many words that he wished to marry her, and
+intended to marry her, and would marry her, if it were humanly possible,
+and he assuredly made no such promises to himself. Nor did he look at
+her as he had looked at women in whom he had been momentarily
+interested, appreciating her good points of face and figure, cataloguing
+and compiling her attractions so as to admire them all in turn, forget
+none, and receive their whole effect.</p>
+
+<p>He had a restless, hungry craving that left him no peace, and that
+seemed to desire only a word, a look, the slightest touch of sympathy,
+to be instantly satisfied. And he could not get from her one softened
+glance, nor one sympathetic pressure of the hand, nor one word spoken
+more gravely than another, except the assurance of her genuine dislike.</p>
+
+<p>That was the only thing he had to complain of, but it was enough. He
+could not reproach her with having encouraged him, for she had told him
+the truth from the first. He had not quite believed her. So much the
+worse for him. If he had, and if he had gone to Naples to wait for his
+people, all this would not have happened, for he had not fallen in love
+at first sight. A fortnight of daily and almost hourly intercourse was
+very good and reasonable ground for being in love.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="175">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a>
+He grew absent-minded, and his pipe went out unexpectedly, which always
+irritated him, and sometimes he did not take the trouble to light it
+again. He rose at dawn and went for long walks in the hills, with the
+idea that the early air and the lofty coolness would do him good, and
+with the acknowledged intention of doing his walking at an hour when he
+could not possibly be with Clare. For he could not keep away from her,
+whether Mrs. Bowring were with her or not. He was too much a man of the
+world to sit all day long before her, glaring at her in shy silence, as
+a boy might have done, and as he would have been content to do; so he
+took immense pains to be agreeable, when her mother was present, and
+Mrs. Bowring liked him, and said that he had really a most extraordinary
+talent for conversation. It was not that he ever said anything very
+memorable; but he talked most of the time, and always pleasantly,
+telling stories about people and places he had known, discussing the
+lighter books of the day, and affecting that profound ignorance of
+politics which makes some women feel at their ease, and encourages
+amusing discussion.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring watched him when she was there with a persistency which
+might have made him nervous if he had not been wholly absorbed in her
+daughter. She evidently saw something
+<span class="pagebreak" title="176">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a>
+ in him which reminded her of some
+one or something. She had changed of late, and Clare was beginning to
+think that she must be ill, though she scouted the suggestion, and said
+that she was growing daily stronger. She had altogether relaxed her
+vigilance with regard to the two young people, and seemed willing that
+they should go where they pleased together, and sit alone together by
+the hour.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I dare say I watched him a good deal at first,&#8221; she said to her
+daughter. &#8220;But I have made up my mind about him. He&#8217;s a very good sort
+of young fellow, and I&#8217;m glad that you have a companion. You see I can&#8217;t
+walk much, and now that you are getting better you need exercise. After
+all, one can always trust the best of one&#8217;s own people. He&#8217;s not falling
+in love with you, is he, dear? I sometimes fancy that he looks at you as
+though he were.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nonsense, mother!&#8221; and Clare laughed intentionally. &#8220;But he&#8217;s very good
+company.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It would be very unfortunate if he did,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring, looking
+away, and speaking almost to herself. &#8220;I am not sure that we should not
+have gone away&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Really! If one is to be turned out of the most beautiful place in the
+world because a young Englishman chooses to stop in the same hotel!
+Besides, why in the world should he
+<span class="pagebreak" title="177">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a>
+ fall in love with me? He&#8217;s used to
+a very different kind of people, I fancy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;the gay set&mdash;&#8216;a&#8217; gay set, I suppose, for there are probably more
+than one of them. They are quite different from us, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is no reason. On the contrary&mdash;men like variety and
+change&mdash;change, yes,&#8221; repeated Mrs. Bowring, with an odd emphasis. &#8220;At
+all events, child, don&#8217;t take a fancy to him!&#8221; she added. &#8220;Not that I&#8217;m
+much afraid of that. You are anything but &#8216;susceptible,&#8217; my dear!&#8221; she
+laughed faintly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You need not be in the least afraid,&#8221; answered Clare. &#8220;But, after all,
+mother&mdash;just supposing the case&mdash;I can&#8217;t see why it should be such an
+awful calamity if we took a fancy to each other. We belong to the same
+class of people, if not to the same set. He has enough money, and I&#8217;m
+not absolutely penniless, though we are as poor as church mice&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For Heaven&#8217;s sake, don&#8217;t suggest such a thing!&#8221; cried Mrs. Bowring.</p>
+
+<p>Her face was white, and her lips trembled. There was a frightened look
+in her pale eyes, and she turned her face quickly to her daughter, and
+quickly away again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mother!&#8221; exclaimed the young girl, in surprise. &#8220;What in the world is
+the matter? I
+<span class="pagebreak" title="178">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a>
+ was only laughing&mdash;besides&mdash;&#8221; she stopped, puzzled. &#8220;Tell
+me the truth, mother,&#8221; she continued suddenly. &#8220;You know about his
+people&mdash;his father is some connection of&mdash;of your first husband&mdash;there&#8217;s
+some disgraceful story about them&mdash;tell me the truth. Why shouldn&#8217;t I
+know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope you never will!&#8221; answered Mrs. Bowring, in a low voice that had
+a sort of horror in it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then there is something?&#8221; Clare herself turned a little paler as she
+asked the question.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t ask me&mdash;don&#8217;t ask me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Something disgraceful?&#8221; The young girl leaned forward as she spoke, and
+her eyes were wide and anxious, forcing her mother to speak.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;no,&#8221; faltered Mrs. Bowring. &#8220;Nothing to do with this
+one&mdash;something his father did long ago.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dishonourable?&#8221; asked Clare, her voice sinking lower and lower.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;not as men look at it&mdash;oh, don&#8217;t ask me! Please don&#8217;t ask
+me&mdash;please don&#8217;t, darling!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then his yacht is named after you,&#8221; said the young girl in a flash of
+intelligence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;His yacht?&#8221; asked the elder woman excitedly. &#8220;What? I don&#8217;t
+understand.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Johnstone told me that his father had a
+<span class="pagebreak" title="179">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a>
+ big steam yacht called the
+&#8216;Lucy&#8217;&mdash;mother, that man loved you, he loves you still.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Me? Oh no&mdash;no, he never loved me!&#8221; She laughed wildly, with quivering
+lips. &#8220;Don&#8217;t, child&mdash;don&#8217;t! For God&#8217;s sake don&#8217;t ask questions&mdash;you&#8217;ll
+drive me mad! It&#8217;s the secret of my life&mdash;the only secret I have from
+you&mdash;oh, Clare, if you love me at all&mdash;don&#8217;t ask me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mother, sweet! Of course I love you!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The young girl, very pale and wondering, kneeled beside the elder woman
+and threw her arms round her and drew down her face, kissing the white
+cheeks and the starting tears and the faded flaxen hair. The storm
+subsided, almost without breaking, for Mrs. Bowring was a brave woman
+and, in some ways, a strong woman, and whatever her secret might be, she
+had kept it long and well from her daughter.</p>
+
+<p>Clare knew her, and inwardly decided that the secret must have been
+worth keeping. She loved her mother far too well to hurt her with
+questions, but she was amazed at what she herself felt of resentful
+curiosity to know the truth about anything which could cast a shadow
+upon the man she disliked, as she thought so sincerely. Her mind worked
+like lightning, while her voice spoke softly and her hands sought those
+thin, familiar, gentle fingers which were an integral part of her world
+and life.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="180">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a>
+Two possibilities presented themselves. Johnstone&#8217;s father was a
+brother or near connection of her mother&#8217;s first husband. Either she had
+loved him, been deceived in him, and had married the brother instead;
+or, having married, this man had hated her and fought against her, and
+harmed her, because she was his elder brother&#8217;s wife, and he coveted the
+inheritance. In either case it was no fault of Brook&#8217;s. The most that
+could be said would be that he might have his father&#8217;s character. She
+inclined to the first of her theories. Old Johnstone had made love to
+her mother and had half broken her heart, before she had married his
+brother. Brook was no better&mdash;and she thought of Lady Fan. But she was
+strangely glad that her mother had said &#8220;not dishonourable, as men look
+at it.&#8221; It had been as though a cruel hand had been taken from her
+throat, when she had heard that.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, mother,&#8221; she said presently, &#8220;these people are coming to-morrow or
+the next day&mdash;and they mean to stay, he says. Let us go away, before
+they come. We can come back afterwards&mdash;you don&#8217;t want to meet them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring was calm again, or appeared to be so, whatever was passing
+in her mind.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall certainly not run away,&#8221; she answered in a low, steady voice.
+&#8220;I will not run away and leave Adam Johnstone&#8217;s son to tell his father
+<span class="pagebreak" title="181">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a>
+
+that I was afraid to meet him, or his wife,&#8221; she added, almost in a
+whisper. &#8220;I&#8217;ve been weak, sometimes, my dear&mdash;&#8221; her voice rose to its
+natural key again, &#8220;and I&#8217;ve made a mistake in life. But I won&#8217;t be a
+coward&mdash;I don&#8217;t believe I am, by nature, and if I were I wouldn&#8217;t let
+myself be afraid now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It would not be fear, mother. Why should you suffer, if you are going
+to suffer in meeting him? We had much better go away at once. When they
+have all left, we can come back.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you would not mind going away to-morrow, and never seeing Brook
+Johnstone again?&#8221; asked Mrs. Bowring, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I? No! Why should I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare meant to speak the truth, and she thought that it was the truth.
+But it was not. She grew a little paler a moment after the words had
+passed her lips, but her mother did not see the change of colour.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m glad of that, at all events,&#8221; said the elder woman. &#8220;But I won&#8217;t go
+away. No&mdash;I won&#8217;t,&#8221; she repeated, as though spurring her own courage.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well,&#8221; answered the young girl. &#8220;But we can keep very much to
+ourselves all the time they are here, can&#8217;t we? We needn&#8217;t make their
+acquaintance&mdash;at least&mdash;&#8221; she stopped short, realising that it would be
+impossible to
+<span class="pagebreak" title="182">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a>
+ avoid knowing Brook&#8217;s people if they were stopping in the
+same hotel.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Their acquaintance!&#8221; Mrs. Bowring laughed bitterly at the idea.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;I forgot,&#8221; said Clare. &#8220;At all events, we need not meet
+unnecessarily. That&#8217;s what I mean, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a short pause, during which her mother seemed to be thinking.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall see him alone, for I have something to say to him,&#8221; she said at
+last, as though she had come to a decision. &#8220;Go out, my dear,&#8221; she
+added. &#8220;Leave me alone a little while. I shall be all right when it is
+time for luncheon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her daughter left her, but she did not go out at once. She went to her
+own room and sat down to think over what she had seen and heard. If she
+went out she should probably find Johnstone waiting for her, and she did
+not wish to meet him just then. It was better to be alone. She would
+find out why the idea of not seeing him any more had hurt her after she
+had spoken.</p>
+
+<p>But that was not an easy matter at all. So soon as she tried to think of
+herself and her own feelings, she began to think of her mother. And when
+she endeavoured to solve the mystery and guess the secret, her thoughts
+flew off suddenly to Brook, and she wished that she were
+<span class="pagebreak" title="183">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a>
+ outside in the
+sunshine talking to him. And again, as the probable conversation
+suggested itself to her, she was glad that she was not with him, and she
+tried to think again. Then she forced herself to recall the scene with
+Lady Fan on the terrace, and she did her best to put him in the worst
+possible light, which in her opinion was a very bad light indeed. And
+his father before him&mdash;Adam&mdash;her mother had told her the name for the
+first time, and it struck her as an odd one&mdash;old Adam Johnstone had been
+a heart-breaker, and a faith-breaker, and a betrayer of women before
+Brook was in the world at all. Her theory held good, when she looked at
+it fairly, and her resentment grew apace. It was natural enough, for in
+her imagination she had always hated that first husband of her mother&#8217;s
+who had come and gone before her father; and now she extended her hatred
+to this probable brother, and it had much more force, because the man
+was alive and a reality, and was soon to come and be a visible talking
+person. There was one good point about him and his coming. It helped her
+to revive her hatred of Brook and to colour it with the inheritance of
+some harm done to her own mother. That certainly was an advantage.</p>
+
+<p>But she should be very sorry not to see Brook any more, never to hear
+him talk to her again, never to look into his eyes&mdash;which, all the
+<span class="pagebreak" title="184">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a>
+
+same, she so unreasonably dreaded. It was beyond her powers of analysis
+to reconcile her like and dislike. All the little logic she had said
+that it was impossible to like and dislike the same person at the same
+time. She seemed to have two hearts, and the one cried &#8220;Hate,&#8221; while the
+other cried &#8220;Love.&#8221; That was absurd, and altogether ridiculous, and
+quite contemptible.</p>
+
+<p>There they were, however, the two hearts, fighting it out, or at least
+altercating and threatening to fight and hurt her. Of course &#8220;love&#8221;
+meant &#8220;like&#8221;&mdash;it was a general term, well contrasting with &#8220;hate.&#8221; As
+for really caring, beyond a liking for Brook Johnstone, she was sure
+that it was impossible. But the liking was strong. She exploded her
+difficulty at last with the bomb of a splendidly youthful quibble. She
+said to herself that she undoubtedly hated him and despised him, and
+that he was certainly the very lowest of living men for treating Lady
+Fan so badly&mdash;besides being a black sinner, a point which had less
+weight. And then she told herself that the cry of something in her to
+&#8220;like&#8221; instead of hating was simply the expression of what she might
+have felt, and should have felt, and should have had a right to have
+felt, had it not been for poor Lady Fan; but also of something which she
+assuredly did not feel, never
+<span class="pagebreak" title="185">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a>
+ could feel, and never meant to feel. In
+other words, she should have liked Brook if she had not had good cause
+to dislike him. She was satisfied with this explanation of her feelings,
+and she suddenly felt that she could go out and see him and talk to him
+without being inconsistent. She had forgotten to explain to herself why
+she wished him not to go away. She went out accordingly, and sat down on
+the terrace in the soft air.</p>
+
+<p>She glanced up and down, but Johnstone was not to be seen anywhere, and
+she wished that she had not come out after all. He had probably waited
+some time and had then gone for a walk by himself. She thought that he
+might have waited just a little longer before giving it up, and she half
+unconsciously made up her mind to requite him by staying indoors after
+luncheon. She had not even brought a book or a piece of work, for she
+had felt quite sure that he would be walking up and down as usual, with
+his pipe, looking as though he owned the scenery. She half rose to go
+in, and then changed her mind. She would give him one more chance and
+count fifty, before she went away, at a good quick rate.</p>
+
+<p>She began to count. At thirty-five her pace slackened. She stopped a
+long time at forty-five, and then went slowly to the end. But Johnstone
+did not come. Once again, she reluctantly
+<span class="pagebreak" title="186">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a>
+ decided&mdash;and she began
+slowly; and again she slackened speed and dragged over the last ten
+numbers. But he did not come.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, this is ridiculous!&#8221; she exclaimed aloud to herself, as she rose
+impatiently from her seat.</p>
+
+<p>She felt injured, for her mother had sent her away, and there was no one
+to talk to her, and she did not care to think any more, lest the
+questions she had decided should again seem open and doubtful. She went
+into the hotel and walked down the corridor. He might be in the
+reading-room. She walked quickly, because she was a little ashamed of
+looking for him when she felt that he should be looking for her.
+Suddenly she stopped, for she heard him whistling somewhere. Whistling
+was his solitary accomplishment, and he did it very well. There was no
+mistaking the shakes and runs, and pretty bird-like cadences. She
+listened, but she bit her lip. He was light-hearted, at all events, she
+thought.</p>
+
+<p>The sound came nearer, and Brook suddenly appeared in the corridor, his
+hat on the back of his head, his hands in his pockets. As he caught
+sight of Clare the shrill tune ceased, and one hand removed the hat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve been looking for you everywhere, for the last two hours,&#8221; he cried
+as he came along.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="187">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a>
+ &#8220;Good morning,&#8221; he said as he reached her. &#8220;I was
+just going back to the terrace in despair.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It sounded more as though you were whistling for me,&#8221; answered Clare,
+with a laugh, for she was instantly happy, and pacified, and peaceful.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;not exactly!&#8221; he answered. &#8220;But I did hope that you would hear me
+and know that I was about&mdash;wishing you would come.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I always come out in the morning,&#8221; she replied with sudden demureness.
+&#8220;Indeed&mdash;I wondered where you were. Let us go out, shall we?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We might go for a walk,&#8221; suggested Brook.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is too late.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just a little walk&mdash;down to the town and across the bridge to Atrani,
+and back. Couldn&#8217;t we?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, we could, of course. Very well&mdash;I&#8217;ve got a hat on, haven&#8217;t I? All
+right. Come along!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My people are coming to-day,&#8221; said Brook, as they passed through the
+door. &#8220;I&#8217;ve just had a telegram.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To-day!&#8221; exclaimed Clare in surprise, and somewhat disturbed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, you know I have been expecting them at any moment. I fancy they
+have been knocking
+<span class="pagebreak" title="188">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></a>
+about, you know&mdash;seeing P&aelig;stum and all that. They
+are such queer people. They always want to see everything&mdash;as though it
+mattered!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There are only the two? Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;that&#8217;s all.&#8221; Brook laughed a little as though she had said
+something amusing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What are you laughing at?&#8221; asked Clare, naturally enough.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, nothing. It&#8217;s ridiculous&mdash;but it sounded funny&mdash;unfamiliar, I mean.
+My father has fallen a victim to knighthood, that&#8217;s all. The affliction
+came upon him some time ago, and his name is Adam&mdash;of all the names in
+the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was the first,&#8221; observed Clare reassuringly. &#8220;It doesn&#8217;t sound badly
+either&mdash;Sir Adam. I beg his pardon for calling him &#8216;Mr.&#8217;&#8221; She laughed in
+her turn.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, he wouldn&#8217;t mind,&#8221; said Brook. &#8220;He&#8217;s not at all that sort. Do you
+know? I think you&#8217;ll like him awfully. He&#8217;s a fine old chap in his way,
+though he is a brewer. He&#8217;s much bigger than I am, but he&#8217;s rather odd,
+you know. Sometimes he&#8217;ll talk like anything, and sometimes he won&#8217;t
+open his lips. We aren&#8217;t at all alike in that way. I talk all the time,
+I believe&mdash;rain or shine. Don&#8217;t I bore you dreadfully sometimes?
+<span class="pagebreak" title="189">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;you never bore me,&#8221; answered Clare with perfect truth.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mean, when I talk as I did yesterday afternoon,&#8221; said Johnstone with
+a shade of irritation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, that&mdash;yes! Please don&#8217;t begin again, and spoil our walk!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But the walk was not destined to be a long one. A narrow, paved footway
+leads down from the old monastery to the shore, in zigzag, between low
+whitewashed walls, passing at last under some houses which are built
+across it on arches.</p>
+
+<p>Just as they came in sight a tall old man emerged from this archway,
+walking steadily up the hill. He was tall and bony, with a long grey
+beard, shaggy bent brows, keen dark eyes, and an eagle nose. He wore
+clothes of rough grey woollen tweed, and carried a grey felt hat in one
+long hand.</p>
+
+<p>A moment after he had come out of the arch he caught sight of Brook, and
+his rough face brightened instantly. He waved the grey hat and called
+out.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hulloa, my boy! There you are, eh!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His voice was thin, like many Scotch voices, but it carried far, and had
+a manly ring in it. Brook did not answer, but waved his hat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s my father,&#8221; he said in a low tone to
+<span class="pagebreak" title="190">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a>
+ Clare. &#8220;May I introduce
+him? And there&#8217;s my mother&mdash;being carried up in the chair.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A couple of lusty porters were carrying Lady Johnstone up the steep
+ascent. She was a fat lady with bright blue eyes, like her son&#8217;s, and a
+much brighter colour. She had a parasol in one hand and a fan in the
+other, and she shook a little with every step the porters made. In the
+rear, a moment later, came other porters, carrying boxes and bags of all
+sizes. Then a short woman, evidently Lady Johnstone&#8217;s maid, came quietly
+along by herself, stopping occasionally to look at the sea.</p>
+
+<p>Clare looked curiously at the party as they approached. Her first
+impulse had been to leave Brook and go back alone to warn her mother. It
+was not far. But she realised that it would be much better and wiser to
+face the introduction at once. In less than five minutes Sir Adam had
+reached them. He shook hands with Brook vigorously, and looked at him as
+a man looks who loves his son. Clare saw the glance, and it pleased her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let me introduce you to Miss Bowring,&#8221; said Brook. &#8220;Mrs. Bowring and
+Miss Bowring are staying here, and have been awfully good to me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sir Adam turned his keen eyes to Clare, as she held out her hand.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="191">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon,&#8221; he said, &#8220;but are you a daughter of Captain
+Bowring who was killed some years ago in Africa?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; She looked up to him inquiringly and distrustfully.</p>
+
+<p>His face brightened again and softened&mdash;then hardened singularly, all at
+once. She could not have believed that such features could change so
+quickly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And my son says that your mother is here! My dear young lady&mdash;I&#8217;m very
+glad! I hope you mean to stay.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The words were cordial. The tone was cold. Brook stared at his father,
+very much surprised to find that he knew anything of the Bowrings, for
+he himself had not mentioned them in his letters. But the porters,
+walking more slowly, had just brought his mother up to where the three
+stood, and waited, panting a little, and the chair swinging slightly
+from the shoulder-straps.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dear old boy!&#8221; cried Lady Johnstone. &#8220;It is good to see you. No&mdash;don&#8217;t
+kiss me, my dear&mdash;it&#8217;s far too hot. Let me look at you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sir Adam gravely introduced Clare. Lady Johnstone&#8217;s fat face became
+stony as a red granite mummy case, and she bent her apoplectic neck
+stiffly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; she ejaculated. &#8220;Very glad, I&#8217;m sure.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="192">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a>
+ Were you going for a walk?&#8221;
+she asked, turning to Brook, severely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, there was just time. I didn&#8217;t know when to expect you. But if Miss
+Bowring doesn&#8217;t mind, we&#8217;ll give it up, and I&#8217;ll install you. Your rooms
+are all ready.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was at once clear to Clare that Lady Johnstone had never heard the
+name of Bowring, and that she resented the idea of her son walking alone
+with any young girl.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="193">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+
+<p>Clare went directly to her mother&#8217;s room. She had hardly spoken again
+during the few minutes while she had necessarily remained with the
+Johnstones, climbing the hill back to the hotel. At the door she had
+stood aside to let Lady Johnstone go in, Sir Adam had followed his wife,
+and Brook had lingered, doubtless hoping to exchange a few words more
+with Clare. But she was preoccupied, and had not vouchsafed him a
+glance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They have come,&#8221; she said, as she closed Mrs. Bowring&#8217;s door behind
+her.</p>
+
+<p>Her mother was seated by the open window, her hands lying idly in her
+lap, her face turned away, as Clare entered. She started slightly, and
+looked round.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; she exclaimed. &#8220;Already! Well&mdash;it had to come. Have you met?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare told her all that had happened.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And he said that he was glad?&#8221; asked Mrs. Bowring, with the ghost of a
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He said so&mdash;yes. His voice was cold. But
+<span class="pagebreak" title="194">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></a>
+ when he first heard my name
+and asked about my father his face softened.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;His face softened,&#8221; repeated Mrs. Bowring to herself, just above a
+whisper, as the ghost of the smile flitted about her pale lips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He seemed glad at first, and then he looked displeased. Is that it?&#8221;
+she asked, raising her voice again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That was what I thought,&#8221; answered Clare. &#8220;Why don&#8217;t you have luncheon
+in your room, mother?&#8221; she asked suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He would think I was afraid to meet him,&#8221; said the elder woman.</p>
+
+<p>A long silence followed, and Clare sat down on a stiff straw chair,
+looking out of the window. At last she turned to her mother again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You couldn&#8217;t tell me all about it, could you, mother dear?&#8221; she asked.
+&#8220;It seems to me it would be so much easier for us both. Perhaps I could
+help you. And I myself&mdash;I should know better how to act.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. I can&#8217;t tell you. I only pray that I may never have to. As for you,
+darling&mdash;be natural. It is a very strange position to be in, but you
+cannot know it&mdash;you can&#8217;t be supposed to know it. I wish I could have
+kept my secret better&mdash;but I broke down when you told me about the
+yacht. You can only help me in one way&mdash;don&#8217;t ask me questions, dear. It
+would
+<span class="pagebreak" title="195">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></a>
+ be harder for me, if you knew&mdash;indeed it would. Be natural. You
+need not run after them, you know&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should think not!&#8221; cried Clare indignantly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mean, you need not go and sit by them and talk to them for long at a
+time. But don&#8217;t be suddenly cold and rude to their son. There&#8217;s nothing
+against&mdash;I mean, it has nothing to do with him. You mustn&#8217;t think it
+has, you know. Be natural&mdash;be yourself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s not altogether easy to be natural under the circumstances,&#8221; Clare
+answered, with some truth, and a great deal of repressed curiosity which
+she did her best to hide away altogether for her mother&#8217;s sake.</p>
+
+<p>At luncheon the Johnstones were all three placed on the opposite side of
+the table, and Brook was no longer Clare&#8217;s neighbour. The Bowrings were
+already in their places when the three entered, Sir Adam giving his arm
+to his wife, who seemed to need help in walking, or at all events to be
+glad of it. Brook followed at a little distance, and Clare saw that he
+was looking at her regretfully, as though he wished himself at her side
+again. Had she been less young and unconscious and thoroughly innocent,
+she must have seen by this time that he was seriously in love with her.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Adam held his wife&#8217;s chair for her, with
+<span class="pagebreak" title="196">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></a>
+ somewhat old-fashioned
+courtesy, and pushed it gently as she sat down. Then he raised his head,
+and his eyes met Mrs. Bowring&#8217;s. For a few moments they looked at each
+other. Then his expression changed and softened, as it had when he had
+first met Clare, but Mrs. Bowring&#8217;s face grew hard and pale. He did not
+sit down, but to his wife&#8217;s surprise walked quietly all round the end of
+the table and up the other side to where Mrs. Bowring sat. She knew that
+he was coming, and she turned a little to meet his hand. The English old
+maids watched the proceedings with keen interest from the upper end.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Adam held out his hand, and Mrs. Bowring took it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is a great pleasure to me to meet you again,&#8221; he said slowly, as
+though speaking with an effort. &#8220;Brook says that you have been very good
+to him, and so I want to thank you at once. Yes&mdash;this is your
+daughter&mdash;Brook introduced me. Excuse me&mdash;I&#8217;ll get round to my place
+again. Shall we meet after luncheon?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you like,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring in a constrained tone. &#8220;By all means,&#8221;
+she added nervously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear,&#8221; said Sir Adam, speaking across the table to his wife, &#8220;let me
+introduce you to
+<span class="pagebreak" title="197">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></a>
+ my old friend Mrs. Bowring, the mother of this young
+lady whom you have already met,&#8221; he added, glancing down at Clare&#8217;s
+flaxen head.</p>
+
+<p>Again Lady Johnstone slightly bent her apoplectic neck, but her
+expression was not stony, as it had been when she had first looked at
+Clare. On the contrary, she smiled very pleasantly and naturally, and
+her frank blue eyes looked at Mrs. Bowring with a friendly interest.</p>
+
+<p>Clare thought that she heard a faint sigh of relief escape her mother&#8217;s
+lips just then. Sir Adam&#8217;s heavy steps echoed upon the tile floor, as he
+marched all round the table again to his seat. The table itself was
+narrow, and it was easy to talk across it, without raising the voice.
+Sir Adam sat on one side of his wife, and Brook on the other, last on
+his side, as Clare was on hers.</p>
+
+<p>There was very little conversation at first. Brook did not care to talk
+across to Clare, and Sir Adam seemed to have said all he meant to say
+for the present. Lady Johnstone, who seemed to be a cheerful,
+conversational soul, began to talk to Mrs. Bowring, evidently attracted
+by her at first sight.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a beautiful place when you get here,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Isn&#8217;t it? The
+view from my window is heavenly! But to get here! Dear me! I was carried
+up by two men, you know, and I
+<span class="pagebreak" title="198">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a>
+ thought they would have died. I hope
+they are enjoying their dinner, poor fellows! I&#8217;m sure they never
+carried such a load before!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And she laughed, with a sort of frank, half self-commiserating amusement
+at her own proportions.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I fancy they must be used to it,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring, reassuringly,
+for the sake of saying something.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;ll hate the sight of me in a week!&#8221; said Lady Johnstone. &#8220;I mean
+to go everywhere, while I&#8217;m here&mdash;up all the hills, and down all the
+valleys. I always see everything when I come to a new place. It&#8217;s
+pleasant to sit still afterwards, and feel that you&#8217;ve done it all,
+don&#8217;t you know? I shall ruin you in porters, Adam,&#8221; she added, turning
+her large round face slowly to her husband.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly, certainly,&#8221; answered Sir Adam, nodding gravely, as he
+dissected the bones out of a fried sardine.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re awfully good about it,&#8221; said Lady Johnstone, in thanks for
+unlimited porters to come.</p>
+
+<p>Like many unusually stout people, she ate very little, and had plenty of
+time for talking.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You knew my husband a long time ago, then!&#8221; she began, again looking
+across at Mrs. Bowring.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="199">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a>
+Sir Adam glanced at Mrs. Bowring sharply from beneath his shaggy brows.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh yes,&#8221; she said calmly. &#8220;We met before he was married.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The grey-headed man slowly nodded assent, but said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Before his first marriage?&#8221; inquired Lady Johnstone gravely. &#8220;You know
+that he has been married twice.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; answered Mrs. Bowring. &#8220;Before his first marriage.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again Sir Adam nodded solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How interesting!&#8221; exclaimed Lady Johnstone. &#8220;Such old friends! And to
+meet in this accidental way, in this queer place!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We generally live abroad,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring. &#8220;Generally in Florence.
+Do you know Florence?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh yes!&#8221; cried the fat lady enthusiastically. &#8220;I dote on Florence. I&#8217;m
+perfectly mad about pictures, you know. Perfectly mad!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The vision of a woman cast in Lady Johnstone&#8217;s proportions and perfectly
+mad might have provoked a smile on Mrs. Bowring&#8217;s face at any other
+time.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose you buy pictures, as well as admire them,&#8221; she said, glad of
+the turn the conversation had taken.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sometimes,&#8221; answered the other. &#8220;Sometimes.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="200">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a>
+I wish I could buy more.
+But good pictures are getting to be most frightfully dear. Besides, you
+are hardly ever sure of getting an original, unless there are all the
+documents&mdash;and that means thousands, literally thousands of pounds. But
+now and then I kick over the traces, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare could not help smiling at the simile, and bent down her head.
+Brook was watching her, he understood and was annoyed, for he loved his
+mother in his own way.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At all events you won&#8217;t be able to ruin yourself in pictures here,&#8221;
+said Mrs. Bowring.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;but how about the porters?&#8221; suggested Sir Adam.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear Adam,&#8221; said Lady Johnstone, &#8220;unless they are all Shylocks here,
+they won&#8217;t exact a ducat for every pound of flesh. If they did, you
+would certainly never get back to England.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was impossible not to laugh. Lady Johnstone did not look at all the
+sort of person to say witty things, though she was the very incarnation
+of good humour&mdash;except when she thought that Brook was in danger of
+being married. And every one laughed, Sir Adam first, then Brook, and
+then the Bowrings. The effect was good. Lady Johnstone was really
+afflicted with curiosity, and her first questions to Mrs.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="201">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a>
+ Bowring had
+been asked purely out of a wish to make advances. She was strongly
+attracted by the quiet, pale face, with its excessive refinement and
+delicately traced lines of suffering. She felt that the woman had taken
+life too hard, and it was her instinct to comfort her, and warm her and
+take care of her, from the first. Brook understood and rejoiced, for he
+knew his mother&#8217;s tenacity about her first impressions, and he wished to
+have her on his side.</p>
+
+<p>After that the ice was broken and the conversation did not flag. Sir
+Adam looked at Mrs. Bowring from time to time with an expression of
+uncertainty which sat strangely on his determined features, and whenever
+any new subject was broached he watched her uneasily until she had
+spoken. But Mrs. Bowring rarely returned his glances, and her eyes never
+lingered on his face even when she was speaking to him. Clare, for her
+part, joined in the conversation, and wondered and waited. Her theory
+was strengthened by what she saw. Clearly Sir Adam felt uncomfortable in
+her mother&#8217;s presence; therefore he had injured her in some way, and
+doubted whether she had ever forgiven him. But to the girl&#8217;s quick
+instinct it was clear that he did not stand to Mrs. Bowring only in the
+position of one who had harmed her. In some way of love or friendship,
+he had once been very fond of her.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="202">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a>
+ The youngest woman cannot easily
+mistake the signs of such bygone intercourse.</p>
+
+<p>When they rose, Mrs. Bowring walked slowly, on her side of the table, so
+as not to reach the door before Lady Johnstone, who could not move fast
+under any circumstances. They all went out together upon the terrace.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Brook,&#8221; said the fat lady, &#8220;I must sit down, or I shall die. You know,
+my dear&mdash;get me one that won&#8217;t break!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She laughed a little, as Brook went off to find a solid chair. A few
+minutes later she was enthroned in safety, her husband on one side of
+her and Mrs. Bowring on the other, all facing the sea.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s too perfect for words!&#8221; she exclaimed, in solid and peaceful
+satisfaction. &#8220;Adam, isn&#8217;t it a dream? You thin people don&#8217;t know how
+nice it is to come to anchor in a pleasant place after a long voyage!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She sighed happily and moved her arms so that their weight was quite at
+rest without an effort.</p>
+
+<p>Clare and Johnstone walked slowly up and down, passing and repassing,
+and trying to talk as though neither were aware that there was something
+unusual in the situation, to say the least of it. At last they stopped
+at the end farthest away from the others.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="203">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"></a>
+</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I had no idea that my father had known your mother long ago,&#8221; said
+Brook suddenly. &#8220;Had you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;of late,&#8221; answered Clare. &#8220;You see my mother wasn&#8217;t sure, until
+you told me his first name,&#8221; she hastened to add.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;I see. Of course. Stupid of me not to try and bring it into the
+conversation sooner, wasn&#8217;t it? But it seems to have been ever so long
+ago. Don&#8217;t you think so?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Ever so long ago.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When they were quite young, I suppose. Your mother must have been
+perfectly beautiful when she was young. I dare say my father was madly
+in love with her. It wouldn&#8217;t be at all surprising, you know, would it?
+He was a tremendous fellow for falling in love.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh! Was he?&#8221; Clare spoke rather coldly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re not angry, are you, because I suggested it?&#8221; asked Brook
+quickly. &#8220;I don&#8217;t see that there&#8217;s any harm in it. There&#8217;s no reason why
+a young man as he was shouldn&#8217;t have been desperately in love with a
+beautiful young girl, is there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;None whatever,&#8221; answered Clare. &#8220;I was only thinking&mdash;it&#8217;s rather an
+odd coincidence&mdash;do you mind telling me something?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course not! What is it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Had your father ever a brother&mdash;who died?
+<span class="pagebreak" title="204">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. He had a lot of sisters&mdash;some of them are alive still. Awful old
+things, my aunts are, too. No, he never had any brother. Why do you
+ask?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing&mdash;it&#8217;s a mere coincidence. Did I ever tell you that my mother
+was married twice? My father was her second husband. The first had your
+name.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Johnstone, with an E on the end of it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;with an E.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gad! that&#8217;s funny!&#8221; exclaimed Brook. &#8220;Some connection, I dare say. Then
+we are connected too, you and I, not much though, when one thinks of it.
+Step-cousin by marriage, and ever so many degrees removed, too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can&#8217;t call that a connection,&#8221; said Clare with a little laugh, but
+her face was thoughtful. &#8220;Still, it is odd that she should have known
+your father well, and should have married a man of the same name&mdash;with
+the E&mdash;isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He may have been an own cousin, for all I know,&#8221; said Brook. &#8220;I&#8217;ll ask.
+He&#8217;s sure to remember. He never forgets anything. And it&#8217;s another
+coincidence too, that my father should have been married twice, just
+like your mother, and that I should be the son of the second marriage,
+too. What odd things happen, when one comes to compare notes!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="205">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"></a>
+While they had walked up and down, Lady Johnstone had paid no attention
+to them, but she had grown restless as soon as she had seen that they
+stood still at a distance to talk, and her bright blue eyes turned
+towards them again and again, with sudden motherly anxiety. At last she
+could bear it no longer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Brook!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;Brook, my dear boy!&#8221; Brook and Clare walked back
+towards the little group.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Brook, dear,&#8221; said Lady Johnstone. &#8220;Please come and tell me the names
+of all the mountains and places we see from here. You know, I always
+want to know everything as soon as I arrive.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sir Adam rose from his chair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Should you like to take a turn?&#8221; he asked, speaking to Mrs. Bowring and
+standing before her.</p>
+
+<p>She rose in silence and stepped forward, with a quiet, set face, as
+though she knew that the supreme moment had come.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Take our chairs,&#8221; said Sir Adam to Clare and Brook. &#8220;We are going to
+walk about a little.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring turned in the direction whence the young people had come,
+towards the end of the terrace. Sir Adam walked erect beside her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is there a way out at that end?&#8221; he asked
+<span class="pagebreak" title="206">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"></a>
+ in a low voice, when they
+had gone a little distance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We can&#8217;t stand there and talk. Where can we go? Isn&#8217;t there a quiet
+place somewhere?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you want to talk to me?&#8221; asked Mrs. Bowring, looking straight before
+her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, please,&#8221; answered Sir Adam, almost sharply, but still in a low
+tone. &#8220;I&#8217;ve waited a long time,&#8221; he added.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring said nothing in answer. They reached the end of the walk,
+and she turned without pausing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The point out there is called the Conca,&#8221; she said, pointing to the
+rocks far out below. &#8220;It curls round like a shell, you know. Conca means
+a sea-shell, I think. It seems to be a great place for fishing, for
+there are always little boats about it in fine weather.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I remember,&#8221; replied Sir Adam. &#8220;I was here thirty years ago. It hasn&#8217;t
+changed much. Are there still those little paper-mills in the valley on
+the way to Ravello? They used to be very primitive.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They kept up their forced conversation as they passed Lady Johnstone and
+the young people. Then they were silent again, as they went towards the
+hotel.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ll go through the house,&#8221; said Mrs.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="207">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"></a>
+ Bowring, speaking low again.
+&#8220;There&#8217;s a quiet place on the other side&mdash;Clare and your son will have
+to stay with your wife.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I thought of that, when I told them to take our chairs.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>In silence they traversed the long tiled corridor with set faces, like
+two people who are going to do something dangerous and disagreeable
+together. They came out upon the platform before the deep recess of the
+rocks in which stood the black cross. There was nobody there.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We shall not be disturbed out here,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring, quietly. &#8220;The
+people in the hotel go to their rooms after luncheon. We will sit down
+there by the cross, if you don&#8217;t mind&mdash;I&#8217;m not so strong as I used to
+be, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They ascended the few steps which led up to the bench where Clare had
+sat on that evening which she could not forget, and they sat down side
+by side, not looking at each other&#8217;s faces.</p>
+
+<p>A long silence followed. Once or twice Sir Adam shifted his feet
+uneasily, and opened his mouth as though he were going to say something,
+but suddenly changed his mind. Mrs. Bowring was the first to speak.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please understand,&#8221; she said slowly, glancing at him sideways, &#8220;I don&#8217;t
+want you to say anything, and I don&#8217;t know what you can have
+<span class="pagebreak" title="208">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"></a>
+ to say. As
+for my being here, it&#8217;s very simple. If I had known that Brook Johnstone
+was your son before he had made our acquaintance, and that you were
+coming here, I should have gone away at once. As soon as I knew him I
+suspected who he was. You must know that he is like you as you used to
+be&mdash;except your eyes. Then I said to myself that he would tell you that
+he had met us, and that you would of course think that I had been afraid
+to meet you. I&#8217;m not. So I stayed. I don&#8217;t know whether I did right or
+wrong. To me it seemed right, and I&#8217;m willing to abide the consequences,
+if there are to be any.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What consequences can there be?&#8221; asked the grey-bearded man, turning
+his eyes slowly to her face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That depends upon how you act. It might have been better to behave as
+though we had never met, and to let your son introduce you to me as he
+introduced you to Clare. We might have started upon a more formal
+footing, then. You have chosen to say that we are old friends. It&#8217;s an
+odd expression to use&mdash;but let it stand. I won&#8217;t quarrel with it. It
+does well enough. As for the position, it&#8217;s not pleasant for me, but it
+must be worse for you. There&#8217;s not much to choose. But I don&#8217;t want you
+to think that I expect you to talk about old times unless you
+<span class="pagebreak" title="209">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"></a>
+ like. If
+you have anything which you wish to say, I&#8217;ll hear it all without
+interrupting you. But I do wish you to believe that I won&#8217;t do anything
+nor say anything which could touch your wife. She seems to be happy with
+you. I hope she always has been and always will be. She knew what she
+was doing when she married you. God knows, there was publicity enough.
+Was it my fault? I suppose you&#8217;ve always thought so. Very well,
+then&mdash;say that it was my fault. But don&#8217;t tell your wife who I am unless
+she forces you to it out of curiosity.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think I should wish to?&#8221; asked Sir Adam, bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;of course not. But she may ask you who I was and when we met, and
+all about it. Try and keep her off the subject. We don&#8217;t want to tell
+lies, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall say that you were Lucy Waring. That&#8217;s true enough. You were
+christened Lucy Waring. She need never know what your last name was.
+That isn&#8217;t a lie, is it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not exactly&mdash;under the circumstances.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And your daughter knows nothing, of course? I want to know how we
+stand, you see.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;only that we have met before. I don&#8217;t know what she may suspect.
+And your son?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I suppose he knows. Somebody must have told him.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="210">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He doesn&#8217;t know who I am, though,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring, with conviction.
+&#8220;He seems to be more like his mother than like you. He couldn&#8217;t conceal
+anything long.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wasn&#8217;t particularly good at that either, as it turned out,&#8221; said Sir
+Adam, gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, thank God!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think it&#8217;s something to be thankful for? I don&#8217;t. Things might
+have gone better afterwards&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Afterwards!&#8221; The suffering of the woman&#8217;s life was in the tone and in
+her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, afterwards. I&#8217;m an old man, Lucy, and I&#8217;ve seen a great many
+things since you and I parted, and a great many people. I was bad
+enough, but I&#8217;ve seen worse men since, who have had another chance and
+have turned out well.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Their wives did not love them. I am almost old, too. I loved you, Adam.
+It was a bad hurt you gave me, and the wound never healed. I married&mdash;I
+had to marry. He was an honest gentleman. Then he was killed. That hurt
+too, for I was very fond of him&mdash;but it did not hurt as the other did.
+Nothing could.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her voice shook, and she turned away her face. At least, he should not
+see that her lip trembled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t think you cared,&#8221; said Sir Adam, and his own voice was not
+very steady.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="211">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a>
+She turned upon him almost fiercely, and there was a blue light in her
+faded eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I! You thought I didn&#8217;t care? You&#8217;ve no right to say that&mdash;it&#8217;s wicked
+of you, and it&#8217;s cruel. Did you think I married you for your money,
+Adam? And if I had&mdash;should I have given it up to be divorced because you
+gave jewels to an actress? I loved you, and I wanted your love, or
+nothing. You couldn&#8217;t be faithful&mdash;commonly, decently faithful, for one
+year&mdash;and I got myself free from you, because I would not be your wife,
+nor eat your bread, nor touch your hand, if you couldn&#8217;t love me. Don&#8217;t
+say that you ever loved me, except my face. We hadn&#8217;t been divorced a
+year when you married again. Don&#8217;t say that you loved me! You loved your
+wife&mdash;your second wife&mdash;perhaps. I hope so. I hope you love her now&mdash;and
+I dare say you do, for she looks happy&mdash;but don&#8217;t say that you ever
+loved me&mdash;just long enough to marry me and betray me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re hard, Lucy. You&#8217;re as hard as ever you were twenty years ago,&#8221;
+said Adam Johnstone.</p>
+
+<p>As he leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee, he passed his brown
+hand across his eyes, and then stared vaguely at the white walls of the
+old hotel beyond the platform.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you know that I&#8217;m right,&#8221; answered
+<span class="pagebreak" title="212">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></a>
+ Mrs. Bowring. &#8220;Perhaps I&#8217;m
+hard, too. I&#8217;m sorry. You said that you had been mad, I remember&mdash;I
+don&#8217;t like to think of all you said, but you said that. And I remember
+thinking that I had been much more mad than you, to have married you,
+but that I should soon be really mad&mdash;raving mad&mdash;if I remained your
+wife. I couldn&#8217;t. I should have died. Afterwards I thought it would have
+been better if I had died then. But I lived through it. Then, after the
+death of my old aunt, I was alone. What was I to do? I was poor and
+lonely, and a divorced woman, though the right had been on my side.
+Richard Bowring knew all about it, and I married him. I did not love you
+any more, then, but I told him the truth when I told him that I could
+never love any one again. He was satisfied&mdash;so we were married.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t blame you,&#8221; said Sir Adam.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Blame me! No&mdash;it would hardly be for you to blame me, if I could make
+anything of the shreds of my life which I had saved from yours. For that
+matter&mdash;you were free too. It was soon done, but why should I blame you
+for that? You were free&mdash;by the law&mdash;to go where you pleased, to love
+again, and to marry at once. You did. Oh no! I don&#8217;t blame you for
+that!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Both were silent for some time. But Mrs.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="213">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></a>
+ Bowring&#8217;s eyes still had an
+indignant light in them, and her fingers twitched nervously from time to
+time. Sir Adam stared stolidly at the white wall, without looking at his
+former wife.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve been talking about myself,&#8221; she said at last. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t mean to,
+for I need no justification. When you said that you wanted to say
+something, I brought you here so that we could be alone. What was it? I
+should have let you speak first.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was this.&#8221; He paused, as though choosing his words. &#8220;Well, I don&#8217;t
+know,&#8221; he continued presently. &#8220;You&#8217;ve been saying a good many things
+about me that I would have said myself. I&#8217;ve not denied them, have I?
+Well, it&#8217;s this. I wanted to see you for years, and now we&#8217;ve met. We
+may not meet again, Lucy, though I dare say we may live a long time. I
+wish we could, though. But of course you don&#8217;t care to see me. I was
+your husband once, and I behaved like a brute to you. You wouldn&#8217;t want
+me for a friend now that I am old.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He waited, but she said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course you wouldn&#8217;t,&#8221; he continued. &#8220;I shouldn&#8217;t, in your place. Oh,
+I know! If I were dying or starving, or very unhappy, you would be
+capable of doing anything for me, out of sheer goodness. You&#8217;re only
+just to people who aren
+<span class="pagebreak" title="214">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></a>
+&#8217;t suffering. You were always like that in the
+old days. It&#8217;s so much the worse for us. I have nothing about me to
+excite your pity. I&#8217;m strong, I&#8217;m well, I&#8217;m very rich, I&#8217;m relatively
+happy. I don&#8217;t know how much I cared for my wife when I married her, but
+she has been a good wife, and I&#8217;m very fond of her now, in my own way.
+It wasn&#8217;t a good action, I admit, to marry her at all. She was the
+beauty of her year and the best match of the season, and I was just
+divorced, and every one&#8217;s hand was against me. I thought I would show
+them what I could do, winged as I was, and I got her. No; it wasn&#8217;t a
+thing to be proud of. But somehow we hit it off, and she stuck to me,
+and I grew fond of her because she did, and here we are as you see us,
+and Brook is a fine fellow, and likes me. I like him too. He&#8217;s honest
+and faithful, like his mother. There&#8217;s no justice and no logic in this
+world, Lucy. I was a good-for-nothing in the old days. Circumstances
+have made me decently good, and a pretty happy man besides, as men go. I
+couldn&#8217;t ask for any pity if I tried.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; you&#8217;re not to be pitied. I&#8217;m glad you&#8217;re happy. I don&#8217;t wish you
+any harm.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You might, and I shouldn&#8217;t blame you. But all that isn&#8217;t what I wished
+to say. I&#8217;m getting old, and we may not meet any more
+<span class="pagebreak" title="215">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></a>
+ after this. If
+you wish me to go away, I&#8217;ll go. We&#8217;ll leave the place tomorrow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. Why should you? It&#8217;s a strange situation, as we were to-day at
+table. You with your wife beside, and your divorced wife opposite you,
+and only you and I knowing it. I suppose you think, somehow&mdash;I don&#8217;t
+know&mdash;that I might be jealous of your wife. But twenty-seven years make
+a difference, Adam. It&#8217;s half a lifetime. It&#8217;s so utterly past that I
+sha&#8217;n&#8217;t realise it. If you like to stay, then stay. No harm can come of
+it, and that was so very long ago. Is that what you want to say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221; He hesitated. &#8220;I want you to say that you forgive me,&#8221; he said, in
+a quick, hoarse voice.</p>
+
+<p>His keen dark eyes turned quickly to her face, and he saw how very pale
+she was, and how the shadows had deepened under her eyes, and her
+fingers twitched nervously as they clasped one another in her lap.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose you think I&#8217;m sentimental,&#8221; he said, looking at her. &#8220;Perhaps
+I am; but it would mean a good deal to me if you would just say it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was something pathetic in the appeal, and something young too, in
+spite of his grey beard and furrowed face. Still Mrs. Bowring said
+nothing. It meant almost too much to
+<span class="pagebreak" title="216">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></a>
+ her, even after twenty-seven
+years. This old man had taken her, an innocent young girl, had married
+her, had betrayed her while she dearly loved him, and had blasted her
+life at the beginning. Even now it was hard to forgive. The suffering
+was not old, and the sight of his face had touched the quick again.
+Barely ten minutes had passed since the pain had almost wrung the tears
+from her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can&#8217;t,&#8221; said the old man, suddenly. &#8220;I see it. It&#8217;s too much to
+ask, I suppose, and I&#8217;ve never done anything to deserve it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The pale face grew paler, but the hands were still, and grasped each
+other, firm and cold. The lips moved, but no sound came. Then a moment,
+and they moved again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re mistaken, Adam. I do forgive you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He caught the two hands in his, and his face shivered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;God bless you, dear,&#8221; he tried to say, and he kissed the hands twice.</p>
+
+<p>When Mrs. Bowring looked up he was sitting beside her, just as before;
+but his face was terribly drawn, and strange, and a great tear had
+trickled down the furrowed brown cheek into the grey beard.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="217">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+
+<p>Lady Johnstone was one of those perfectly frank and honest persons who
+take no trouble to conceal their anxieties. From the fact that when she
+had met him on the way up to the hotel Brook had been walking alone with
+Clare Bowring, she had at once argued that a considerable intimacy
+existed between the two. Her meeting with Clare&#8217;s mother, and her sudden
+fancy for the elder woman, had momentarily allayed her fears, but they
+revived when it became clear to her that Brook sought every possible
+opportunity of being alone with the young girl. She was an eminently
+practical woman, as has been said, which perhaps accounted for her
+having made a good husband out of such a man as Adam Johnstone had been
+in his youth. She had never seen Brook devote himself to a young girl
+before now. She saw that Clare was good to look at, and she promptly
+concluded that Brook must be in love. The conclusion was perfectly
+correct, and Lady Johnstone soon grew very nervous. Brook was too young
+to marry, and even if he had been old enough his mother
+<span class="pagebreak" title="218">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></a>
+ thought that he
+might have made a better choice. At all events he should not entangle
+himself in an engagement with the girl; and she began systematically to
+interfere with his attempts to be alone with her. Brook was as frank as
+herself. He charged her with trying to keep him from Clare, and she did
+not deny that he was right. This led to a discussion on the third day
+after the Johnstones&#8217; arrival.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mustn&#8217;t make a fool of yourself, Brook, dear,&#8221; said Lady Johnstone.
+&#8220;You are not old enough to marry. Oh, I know, you are five-and-twenty,
+and ought to have come to years of discretion. But you haven&#8217;t, dear
+boy. Don&#8217;t forget that you are Adam Johnstone&#8217;s son, and that you may be
+expected to do all the things that he did before I married him. And he
+did a good many things, you know. I&#8217;m devoted to your father, and if he
+were in the room I should tell you just what I am telling you now.
+Before I married him he had about a thousand flirtations, and he had
+been married too, and had gone off with an actress&mdash;a shocking affair
+altogether! And his wife had divorced him. She must have been one of
+those horrible women who can&#8217;t forgive, you know. Now, my dear boy, you
+aren&#8217;t a bit better than your father, and that pretty Clare Bowring
+looks as though she would never forgive anybody who did anything
+<span class="pagebreak" title="219">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></a>
+she
+didn&#8217;t like. Have you asked her to marry you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good heavens, no!&#8221; cried Brook. &#8220;She wouldn&#8217;t look at me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wouldn&#8217;t look at you? That&#8217;s simply ridiculous, you know! She&#8217;d marry
+you out of hand&mdash;unless she&#8217;s perfectly idiotic. And she doesn&#8217;t look
+that. Leave her alone, Brook. Talk to the mother. She&#8217;s one of the most
+delightful women I ever met. She has a dear, quiet way with her&mdash;like a
+very thoroughbred white cat that&#8217;s been ill and wants to be petted.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What extraordinary ideas you have, mother!&#8221; laughed Brook. &#8220;But on
+general principles I don&#8217;t see why I shouldn&#8217;t marry Miss Bowring, if
+she&#8217;ll have me. Why not? Her father was a gentleman, you like her
+mother, and as for herself&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I&#8217;ve nothing against her. It&#8217;s all against you, Brook dear. You are
+such a dreadful flirt, you know! You&#8217;ll get tired of the poor girl and
+make her miserable. I&#8217;m sure she isn&#8217;t practical, as I am. The very
+first time you look at some one else she&#8217;ll get on a tragic horse and
+charge the crockery&mdash;and there will be a most awful smash! It&#8217;s not easy
+to manage you Johnstones when you think you are in love. I ought to
+know!
+<span class="pagebreak" title="220">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I say, mother,&#8221; said Brook, &#8220;has anybody been telling you stories
+about me lately?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Lately? Let me see. The last I heard was that Mrs. Crosby&mdash;the one you
+all call Lady Fan&mdash;was going to get a divorce so as to marry you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;you heard that, did you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;everybody was talking about it and asking me whether it was true.
+It seems that she was with that party that brought you here. She left
+them at Naples, and came home at once by land, and they said she was
+giving out that she meant to marry you. I laughed, of course. But people
+wouldn&#8217;t talk about you so much, dear boy, if there were not so much to
+talk about. I know that you would never do anything so idiotic as that,
+and if Mrs. Crosby chooses to flirt with you, that&#8217;s her affair. She&#8217;s
+older than you, and knows more about it. But this is quite another
+thing. This is serious. You sha&#8217;n&#8217;t make love to that nice girl, Brook.
+You sha&#8217;n&#8217;t! I&#8217;ll do something dreadful, if you do. I&#8217;ll tell her all
+about Mrs. Leo Cairngorm or somebody like that. But you sha&#8217;n&#8217;t marry
+her and ruin her life.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re going in for philanthropy, mother,&#8221; said Brook, growing red.
+&#8220;It&#8217;s something new. You never made a fuss before.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, of course not. You never were so foolish
+<span class="pagebreak" title="221">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></a>
+before, my dear boy. I&#8217;m
+not bad myself, I believe. But you are, every one of you, and I love you
+all, and the only way to do anything with you is to let you run wild a
+little first. It&#8217;s the only practical, sensible way. And you&#8217;ve only
+just begun&mdash;how in the world do you dare to think of marrying? Upon my
+word, it&#8217;s too bad. I won&#8217;t wait. I&#8217;ll frighten the girl to death with
+stories about you, until she refuses to speak to you! But I&#8217;ve taken a
+fancy to her mother, and you sha&#8217;n&#8217;t make the child miserable. You
+sha&#8217;n&#8217;t, Brook. Oh, I&#8217;ve made up my mind! You sha&#8217;n&#8217;t. I&#8217;ll tell the
+mother too. I&#8217;ll frighten them all, till they can&#8217;t bear the sight of
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Lady Johnstone was energetic, as well as original, in spite of her
+abnormal size, and Brook knew that she was quite capable of carrying out
+her threat, and more also.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I may be like my father in some ways,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;But I&#8217;m a good
+deal like you too, mother. I&#8217;m rather apt to stick to what I like, you
+know. Besides, I don&#8217;t believe you would do anything of the kind. And
+she isn&#8217;t inclined to like me, as it is. I believe she must have heard
+some story or other. Don&#8217;t make things any worse than they are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then don&#8217;t lose your head and ask her to marry you after a fortnight&#8217;s
+acquaintance,
+<span class="pagebreak" title="222">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"></a>
+ Brook, because she&#8217;ll accept you, and you will make her
+perfectly wretched.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He saw that it was not always possible to argue with his mother, and he
+said nothing more. But he reflected upon her point of view, and he saw
+that it was not altogether unjust, as she knew him. She could not
+possibly understand that what he felt for Clare Bowring bore not the
+slightest resemblance to what he had felt for Lady Fan, if, indeed, he
+had felt anything at all, which he considered doubtful now that it was
+over, though he would have been angry enough at the suggestion a month
+earlier. To tell the truth, he felt quite sure of himself at the present
+time, though all his sensations were more or less new to him. And his
+mother&#8217;s sudden and rather eccentric opposition unexpectedly
+strengthened his determination. He might laugh at what he called her
+originality, but he could not afford to jest at the prospect of her
+giving Clare an account of his life. She was quite capable of it, and
+would probably do it.</p>
+
+<p>These preoccupations, however, were as nothing compared with the main
+point&mdash;the certainty that Clare would refuse him, if he offered himself
+to her, and when he left his mother he was in a very undetermined state
+of mind. If he should ask Clare to marry him now, she
+<span class="pagebreak" title="223">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"></a>
+ would refuse him.
+But if his mother interfered, it would be much worse a week hence.</p>
+
+<p>At last, as ill-luck would have it, he came upon her unexpectedly in the
+corridor, as he came out, and they almost ran against each other.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Won&#8217;t you come out for a bit?&#8221; he asked quickly and in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks&mdash;I have some letters to write,&#8221; answered the young girl.
+&#8220;Besides, it&#8217;s much too hot. There isn&#8217;t a breath of air.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, it&#8217;s not really hot, you know,&#8221; said Brook, persuasively.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then it&#8217;s making a very good pretence!&#8221; laughed Clare.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s ever so much cooler out of doors. If you&#8217;ll only come out for one
+minute, you&#8217;ll see. Really&mdash;I&#8217;m in earnest.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But why should I go out if I don&#8217;t want to?&#8221; asked the young girl.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because I asked you to&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, that isn&#8217;t a reason, you know,&#8221; she laughed again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, then, because you really would, if I hadn&#8217;t asked you, and you
+only refuse out of a spirit of opposition,&#8221; suggested Brook.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;do you think so? Do you think I generally do just the contrary of
+what I&#8217;m asked to do?
+<span class="pagebreak" title="224">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course, everybody knows that, who knows you.&#8221; Brook seemed amused
+at the idea.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you think that&mdash;well, I&#8217;ll come, just for a minute, if it&#8217;s only to
+show you that you are quite wrong.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks, awfully. Sha&#8217;n&#8217;t we go for the little walk that was interrupted
+when my people came the other day?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;it&#8217;s too hot, really. I&#8217;ll walk as far as the end of the terrace
+and back&mdash;once. Do you mind telling me why you are so tremendously
+anxious to have me come out this very minute?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll tell you&mdash;at least, I don&#8217;t know that I can&mdash;wait till we are
+outside. I should like to be out with you all the time, you know&mdash;and I
+thought you might come, so I asked you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You seem rather confused,&#8221; said Clare gravely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, you know,&#8221; Brook answered as they walked along towards the
+dazzling green light that filled the door, &#8220;to tell the truth, between
+one thing and another&mdash;&#8221; He did not complete the sentence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes?&#8221; said Clare, sweetly. &#8220;Between one thing and another&mdash;what were
+you going to say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Brook did not answer as they went out into the hot, blossom-scented air,
+under the spreading vines.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="225">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean to say it&#8217;s cooler here than indoors?&#8221; asked the young
+girl in a tone of resignation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, it&#8217;s much cooler! There&#8217;s a breeze at the end of the walk.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The sea is like oil,&#8221; observed Clare. &#8220;There isn&#8217;t the least breath.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Brook, &#8220;it can&#8217;t be really hot, because it&#8217;s only the first
+week in June after all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This isn&#8217;t Scotland. It&#8217;s positively boiling, and I wish I hadn&#8217;t come
+out. Beware of first impulses&mdash;they are always right!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But she glanced sideways at his face, for she knew that something was in
+the air. She was not sure what to expect of him just then, but she knew
+that there was something to expect. Her instinct told her that he meant
+to speak and to say more than he had yet said. It told her that he was
+going to ask her to marry him, then and there, in the blazing noon,
+under the vines, but her modesty scouted the thought as savouring of
+vanity. At all events she would prevent him from doing it if she could.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Lady Johnstone seems to like this place,&#8221; she said, with a sudden
+effort at conversation. &#8220;She says that she means to make all sorts of
+expeditions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course she will,&#8221; answered Brook, in a
+<span class="pagebreak" title="226">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"></a>
+ half-impatient tone. &#8220;But,
+please&mdash;I don&#8217;t want to talk about my mother or the landscape. I really
+did want to speak to you, because I can&#8217;t stand this sort of thing any
+longer, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What sort of thing?&#8221; asked Clare innocently, raising her eyes to his,
+as they reached the end of the walk.</p>
+
+<p>It was very hot and still. Not a breath stirred the young vine-leaves
+overhead, and the scent of the last orange-blossoms hung in the
+motionless air. The heat rose quivering from the sea to southward, and
+the water lay flat as a mirror under the glory of the first summer&#8217;s
+day.</p>
+
+<p>They stood still. Clare felt nervous, and tried to think of something to
+say which might keep him from speaking, and destroy the effect of her
+last question. But it was too late now. He was pale, for him, and his
+eyes were very bright.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t live without you&mdash;it comes to that. Can&#8217;t you see?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The short plain words shook oddly as they fell from his lips. The two
+stood quite still, each looking into the other&#8217;s face. Brook grew paler
+still, but the colour rose in Clare&#8217;s cheeks. She tried to meet his eyes
+steadily, without feeling that he could control her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I&#8217;m very sorry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You sha&#8217;n&#8217;t say that,&#8221; he answered, cutting
+<span class="pagebreak" title="227">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"></a>
+ her words with his, and
+sharply. &#8220;I&#8217;m tired of hearing it. I&#8217;m glad I love you, whatever you do
+to me; and you must get to like me. You must. I tell you I can&#8217;t live
+without you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But if I can&#8217;t&mdash;&#8221; Clare tried to say.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can&mdash;you must&mdash;you shall!&#8221; broke in Brook, hoarsely, his eyes
+growing brighter and fiercer. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t know what it was to love
+anybody, and now that I know, I can&#8217;t live without it, and I won&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But if&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is no &#8216;if,&#8217;&#8221; he cried, in his low strong voice, fixing her eyes
+with his. &#8220;There&#8217;s no question of my going mad, or dying, or anything
+half so weak, because I won&#8217;t take no. Oh, you may say it a hundred
+times, but it won&#8217;t help you. I tell you I love you. Do you understand
+what that means? I&#8217;m in God&#8217;s own earnest. I&#8217;ll give you my life, but I
+won&#8217;t give you up. I&#8217;ll take you somehow, whether you will or not, and
+I&#8217;ll hide you somewhere, but you sha&#8217;n&#8217;t get away from me as long as you
+live.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must be mad!&#8221; exclaimed the young girl, scarcely above her breath,
+half-frightened, and unable to loose her eyes from the fascination of
+his.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I&#8217;m not mad; only you&#8217;ve never seen any one in earnest before, and
+you&#8217;ve been condemning me without evidence all along. But it
+<span class="pagebreak" title="228">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></a>
+ must stop
+now. You must tell me what it is, for I have a right to know. Tell me
+what it all is. I will know&mdash;I will. Look at me; you can&#8217;t look away
+till you tell me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare felt his power, and felt that his eyes were dazzling her, and that
+if she did not escape from them she must yield and tell him. She tried,
+and her eyelids quivered. Then she raised her hand to cover her own
+eyes, in a desperate attempt to keep her secret. He caught it and held
+it, and still looked. She turned pale suddenly. Then her words came
+mechanically.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was out there when you said &#8216;good-bye&#8217; to Lady Fan. I heard
+everything, from first to last.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He started in surprise, and the colour rose suddenly to his face. He did
+not look away yet, but Clare saw the blush of shame in his face, and
+felt that his power diminished, while hers grew all at once, to
+overmaster him in turn.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s scarcely a fortnight since you betrayed her,&#8221; she said, slowly and
+distinctly, &#8220;and you expect me to like you and to believe that you are
+in earnest.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His shame turned quickly to anger.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So you listened!&#8221; he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I listened,&#8221; she answered, and her words came easily, then, in
+self-defence&mdash;for she had thought of it all very often. &#8220;I didn&#8217;t know
+<span class="pagebreak" title="229">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"></a>
+
+who you were. My mother and I had been sitting beside the cross in the
+shadow of the cave, and she went in to finish a letter, leaving me
+there. Then you two came out talking. Before I knew what was happening
+you had said too much. I felt that if I had been in Lady Fan&#8217;s place I
+would far rather never know that a stranger was listening. So I sat
+still, and I could not help hearing. How was I to know that you meant to
+stay here until I heard you say so to her? And I heard everything. You
+are ashamed now that you know that I know. Do you wonder that I disliked
+you from the first?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see why you should,&#8221; answered Brook stubbornly. &#8220;If you do&mdash;you
+do. That doesn&#8217;t change matters&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You betrayed her!&#8221; cried Clare indignantly. &#8220;You forgot that I heard
+all you said&mdash;how you promised to marry her if she could get a divorce.
+It was horrible, and I never dreamt of such things, but I heard it. And
+then you were tired of her, I suppose, and you changed your mind, and
+calmly told her that it was all a mistake. Do you expect any woman, who
+has seen another treated in that way, to forget? Oh, I saw her face, and
+I heard her sob. You broke her heart for your amusement. And it was only
+a fortnight ago!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="230">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"></a>
+She had the upper hand now, and she turned from him with a last
+scornful glance, and looked over the low wall at the sea, wondering how
+he could have held her with his eyes a moment earlier. Brook stood
+motionless beside her, and there was silence. He might have found much
+in self-defence, but there was not one word of it which he could tell
+her. Perhaps she might find out some day what sort of person Lady Fan
+was, but his own lips were closed. That was his view of what honour
+meant.</p>
+
+<p>Clare felt that her breath came quickly, and that the colour was deep in
+her cheeks as she gazed at the flat, hot sea. For a moment she felt a
+woman&#8217;s enormous satisfaction in being absolutely unanswerable. Then,
+all at once, she had a strong sensation of sickness, and a quick pain
+shot sharply through her just below the heart. She steadied herself by
+the wall with her hands, and shut her lips tightly.</p>
+
+<p>She had refused him as well as accused him. He would go away in a few
+moments, and never try to be alone with her again. Perhaps he would
+leave Amalfi that very day. It was impossible that she should really
+care for him, and yet, if she did not care, she would not ask the next
+question. Then he spoke to her. His voice was changed and very quiet
+now.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry you heard all that,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I
+<span class="pagebreak" title="231">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"></a>
+ don&#8217;t wonder that you&#8217;ve
+got a bad opinion of me, and I suppose I can&#8217;t say anything just now to
+make you change it. You heard, and you think you have a right to judge.
+Perhaps I shouldn&#8217;t even say this&mdash;you heard me then, and you have heard
+me now. There&#8217;s a difference, you&#8217;ll admit. But all that you heard then,
+and all that you have told me now, can&#8217;t change the truth, and you can&#8217;t
+make me love you less, whatever you do. I don&#8217;t believe I&#8217;m that sort of
+man.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should have thought you were,&#8221; said Clare bitterly, and regretting
+the words as soon as they were spoken.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s natural that you should think so. At the same time, it doesn&#8217;t
+follow that because a man doesn&#8217;t love one woman he can&#8217;t possibly love
+another.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s simply brutal!&#8221; exclaimed the young girl, angry with him
+unreasonably because the argument was good.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s true, at all events. I didn&#8217;t love Mrs. Crosby, and I told her so.
+You may think me a brute if you like, but you heard me say it, if you
+heard anything, so I suppose I may quote myself. I do love you, and I
+have told you so&mdash;the fact that I can&#8217;t say it in choice language
+doesn&#8217;t make it a lie. I&#8217;m not a man in a book, and I&#8217;m in earnest.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="232">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please stop,&#8221; said Clare, as she heard the hoarse strength coming back
+in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;I know. I&#8217;ve said it before, and you don&#8217;t care to hear it again.
+You can&#8217;t kill it by making me hold my tongue, you know. It only makes
+it worse. You&#8217;ll see that I&#8217;m in earnest in time&mdash;then you&#8217;ll change
+your mind. But I can&#8217;t change mine. I can&#8217;t live without you, whatever
+you may think of me now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was a strange wooing, very unlike anything she had ever dreamt of, if
+she had allowed herself to dream of such things. She asked herself
+whether this could be the same man who had calmly and cynically told
+Lady Fan that he did not love her and could not think of marrying her.
+He had been cool and quiet enough then. That gave strength to the
+argument he used now. She had seen him with another woman, and now she
+saw him with herself and heard him. She was surprised and almost taken
+from her feet by his rough vehemence. He surely did not speak as a man
+choosing his words, certainly not as one trying to produce an effect.
+But then, on that evening at the Acropolis&mdash;the thought of that scene
+pursued her&mdash;he had doubtless spoken just as roughly and vehemently to
+Lady Fan, and had seemed just as much in earnest. And suddenly Lady Fan
+was hateful to her, and she almost
+<span class="pagebreak" title="233">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"></a>
+ ceased to pity her at all. But for
+Lady Fan&mdash;well, it might have been different. She should not have blamed
+herself for liking him, for loving him perhaps, and his words would have
+had another ring.</p>
+
+<p>He still stood beside her, watching her, and she was afraid to turn to
+him lest he should see something in her face which she meant to hide.
+But she could speak quietly enough, resting her hands on the wall and
+looking out to sea. It would be best to be a little formal, she thought.
+The sound of his own name spoken distinctly and coldly would perhaps
+warn him not to go too far.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Johnstone,&#8221; she said, steadying her voice, &#8220;this can&#8217;t go on. I
+never meant to tell you what I knew, but you have forced me to it. I
+don&#8217;t love you&mdash;I don&#8217;t like a man who can do such things, and I never
+could. And I can&#8217;t let you talk to me in this way any more. If we must
+meet, you must behave just as usual. If you can&#8217;t, I shall persuade my
+mother to go away at once.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall follow you,&#8221; said Brook. &#8220;I told you so the other day. You
+can&#8217;t possibly go to any place where I can&#8217;t go too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean to persecute me, Mr. Johnstone?&#8221; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I love you.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="234">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hate you!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, but you won&#8217;t always. Even if you do, I shall always love you just
+as much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes fell before his.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean to say that you can really love a woman who hates you?&#8221; she
+asked, looking at one of her hands as it rested on the wall.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course. Why not? What has that to do with it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The question was asked so simply and with such honest surprise that
+Clare looked up again. He was smiling a little sadly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But&mdash;I don&#8217;t understand&mdash;&#8221; she hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think it&#8217;s like a bargain?&#8221; he asked quietly. &#8220;Do you think it&#8217;s
+a matter of exchange&mdash;&#8216;I will love you if you&#8217;ll love me&#8217;? Oh no! It&#8217;s
+not that. I can&#8217;t help it. I&#8217;m not my own master. I&#8217;ve got to love you,
+whether I like it or not. But since I do&mdash;well, I&#8217;ve said the rest, and
+I won&#8217;t repeat it. I&#8217;ve told you that I&#8217;m in earnest, and you haven&#8217;t
+believed me. I&#8217;ve told you that I love you, and you won&#8217;t even believe
+that&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;I can believe that, well enough, now. You do to-day, perhaps. At
+least you think you do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;you don&#8217;t believe it, then. What&#8217;s the use of repeating it? If I
+could talk well, it would be different, but I&#8217;m not much of a
+<span class="pagebreak" title="235">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"></a>
+ talker,
+at best, and just now I can&#8217;t put two words together. But I&mdash;I mean lots
+of things that I can&#8217;t say, and perhaps wouldn&#8217;t say, you know. At
+least, not just now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He turned from her and began to walk up and down across the narrow
+terrace, towards her and away from her, his hands in his pockets, and
+his head a little bent. She watched him in silence for some time.
+Perhaps if she had hated him as much as she said that she did, she would
+have left him then and gone into the house. Something, good or evil,
+tempted her to speak.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean, that you wouldn&#8217;t say now?&#8221; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; he answered gruffly, still walking up and down, ten
+steps each way. &#8220;Don&#8217;t ask me&mdash;I told you one thing. I shall follow you
+wherever you go.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And then?&#8221; asked Clare, still prompted by some genius, good or bad.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And then?&#8221; Brook stopped and stared at her rather wildly. &#8220;And then? If
+I can&#8217;t get you in any other way&mdash;well, I&#8217;ll take you, that&#8217;s all! It&#8217;s
+not a very pretty thing to say, is it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It doesn&#8217;t sound a very probable thing to do, either,&#8221; answered Clare.
+&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid you are out of your mind, Mr. Johnstone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ve driven most things out of it since I loved you,&#8221; answered Brook,
+beginning to walk
+<span class="pagebreak" title="236">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"></a>
+ again. &#8220;You&#8217;ve made me say things that I shouldn&#8217;t
+have dreamed of saying to any woman, much less to you. And you&#8217;ve made
+me think of doing things that looked perfectly mad a week ago.&#8221; He
+stopped before her. &#8220;Can&#8217;t you see? Can&#8217;t you understand? Can&#8217;t you feel
+how I love you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t&mdash;please don&#8217;t!&#8221; she said, beginning to be frightened at his
+manner again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t what? Don&#8217;t love you? Don&#8217;t live, then&mdash;don&#8217;t exist&mdash;don&#8217;t
+anything! What would it all matter, if I didn&#8217;t love you? Meanwhile, I
+do, and by the&mdash;no! What&#8217;s the use of talking? You might laugh. You&#8217;d
+make a fool of me, if you hadn&#8217;t killed the fool out of me with too much
+earnest&mdash;and what&#8217;s left can&#8217;t talk, though it can do something better
+worth while than a lot of talking.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare began to think that the heat had hurt his head. And all the time,
+in a secret, shame-faced way, she was listening to his incoherent
+sentences and rough exclamations, and remembering them one by one, and
+every one. And she looked at his pale face, and saw the queer light in
+his blue eyes, and the squaring of his jaw&mdash;and then and long afterwards
+the whole picture, with its memory of words, hot, broken, and confused,
+meant earnest love in her thoughts. No man in his senses, wishing to
+play a part and
+<span class="pagebreak" title="237">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"></a>
+ produce an impression upon a woman, would have acted as
+he did, and she knew it. It was the rough, real thing&mdash;the raw strength
+of an honest man&#8217;s uncontrolled passion that she saw&mdash;and it told her
+more of love in a few minutes than all she had heard or read in her
+whole life. But while it was before her, alive and throbbing and
+incoherent of speech, it frightened her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come,&#8221; she said nervously, &#8220;we mustn&#8217;t stay out here any longer,
+talking in this way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stopped again, close before her, and his eyes looked dangerous for an
+instant. Then he straightened himself, and seemed to swallow something
+with an effort.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All right,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;I don&#8217;t want to keep you out here in the
+heat.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He faced about, and they walked slowly towards the house. When they
+reached the door he stood aside. She saw that he did not mean to go in,
+and she paused an instant on the threshold, looked at him gravely, and
+nodded before she entered. Again he bent his head, and said nothing. She
+left him standing there, and went straight to her room.</p>
+
+<p>Then she sat down before a little table on which she wrote her letters,
+near the window, and she tried to think. But it was not easy, and
+everything was terribly confused. She rested her elbows upon the small
+desk and pressed
+<span class="pagebreak" title="238">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"></a>
+ her fingers to her eyes, as though to drive away the
+sight that would come back. Then she dropped her hands suddenly and
+opened her eyes wide, and stared at the wall-paper before her. And it
+came back very vividly between her and the white plaster, and she heard
+his voice again&mdash;but she was smiling now.</p>
+
+<p>She started violently, for she felt two hands laid unexpectedly upon her
+shoulders, and some one kissed her hair. She had not heard her mother&#8217;s
+footstep, nor the opening and shutting of the door, nor anything but
+Brook Johnstone&#8217;s voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is it, my darling?&#8221; asked the elder woman, bending down over her
+daughter&#8217;s shoulder. &#8220;Has anything happened?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Clare hesitated a moment, and then spoke, for the habit of her
+confidence was strong. &#8220;He has asked me to marry him, mother&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>In her turn Mrs. Bowring started, and then rested one hand on the table.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You? You?&#8221; she repeated, in a low and troubled voice. &#8220;You marry Adam
+Johnstone&#8217;s son?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, mother&mdash;never,&#8221; answered the young girl.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank God!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And Mrs. Bowring sank into a chair, shivering as though she were cold.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="239">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+
+<p>Brook felt in his pocket mechanically for his pipe, as a man who smokes
+generally takes to something of the sort at great moments in his life,
+from sheer habit. He went through the operation of filling and lighting
+with great precision, almost unconscious of what he was doing, and
+presently he found himself smoking and sitting on the wall just where
+Clare had leaned against it during their interview. In three minutes his
+pipe had gone out, but he was not aware of the fact, and sat quite still
+in his place, staring into the shrubbery which grew at the back of the
+terrace.</p>
+
+<p>He was conscious that he had talked and acted wildly, and quite unlike
+the self with which he had been long acquainted; and the consciousness
+was anything but pleasant. He wondered where Clare was, and what she
+might be thinking of him at that moment. But as he thought of her his
+former mood returned, and he felt that he was not ashamed of what he had
+done and said. Then he realised, all at once, for the second time, that
+Clare had been on the platform on that first night, and he tried to
+<span class="pagebreak" title="240">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"></a>
+
+recall everything that Lady Fan and he had said to each other.</p>
+
+<p>No such thing had ever happened to him before, and he had a sensation of
+shame and distress and anger, as he went over the scene, and thought of
+the innocent young girl who had sat in the shadow and heard it all. She
+had accidentally crossed the broad, clear line of demarcation which he
+drew between her kind and all the tribe of Lady Fans and Mrs. Cairngorms
+whom he had known. He felt somehow as though it were his fault, and as
+though he were responsible to Clare for what she had heard and seen. The
+sensation of shame deepened, and he swore bitterly under his breath. It
+was one of those things which could not be undone, and for which there
+was no reparation possible. Yet it was like an insult to Clare. For a
+man who had lately been rough to the girl, almost to brutality, he was
+singularly sensitive perhaps. But that did not strike him. When he had
+told her that he loved her, he had been too much in earnest to pick and
+choose his expressions. But when he had spoken to Lady Fan, he might
+have chosen and selected and polished his phrases so that Clare should
+have understood nothing&mdash;if he had only known that she had been sitting
+up there by the cross in the dark. And again he cursed himself bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="241">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"></a>
+It was not because her knowing the facts had spoilt everything and
+given her a bad impression of him from the first: that might be set
+right in time, even now, and he did not wish her to marry him believing
+him to be an angel of light. It was that she should have seen something
+which she should not have seen, for her innocence&#8217;s sake&mdash;something
+which, in a sense, must have offended and wounded her maidenliness. He
+would have struck any man who could have laughed at his sensitiveness
+about that. The worst of it&mdash;and he went back to the idea again and
+again&mdash;was that nothing could be done to mend matters, since it was all
+so completely in the past.</p>
+
+<p>He sat on the wall and pulled at his briar-root pipe, which had gone out
+and was quite cold by this time, though he hardly knew it. He had plenty
+to think of, and things were not going straight at all. He had pretended
+indifference when his mother had told him how Lady Fan meant to get a
+divorce and how she was telling her intimate friends under the usual
+vain promises of secrecy that she meant to marry Adam Johnstone&#8217;s son as
+soon as she should be free. Brook had told her plainly enough that he
+would not marry her in any case, but he asked himself whether the world
+might not say that he should, and whether in that case it might
+<span class="pagebreak" title="242">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"></a>
+ not
+turn out to be a question of honour. He had secretly thought of that
+before now, and in the sudden depression of spirits which came upon him
+as a reaction he cursed himself a third time for having told Clare
+Bowring that he loved her, while such a matter as Lady Fan&#8217;s divorce was
+still hanging over him as a possibility.</p>
+
+<p>Sitting on the wall, he swung his legs angrily, striking his heels
+against the stones in his perplexed discontent with the ordering of the
+universe. Things looked very black. He wished that he could see Clare
+again, and that, somehow, he could talk it all over with her. Then he
+almost laughed at the idea. She would tell him that she disliked him&mdash;he
+was sick of the sound of the word&mdash;and that it was his duty to marry
+Lady Fan. What could she know of Lady Fan? He could not tell her that
+the little lady in the white serge, being rather desperate, had got
+herself asked to go with the party for the express purpose of throwing
+herself at his head, as the current phrase gracefully expresses it, and
+with the distinct intention of divorcing her husband in order to marry
+Brook Johnstone. He could not tell Clare that he had made love to Lady
+Fan to get rid of her, as another common expression put it, with a
+delicacy worthy of modern society. He could not tell her that
+<span class="pagebreak" title="243">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"></a>
+ Lady Fan,
+who was clever but indiscreet, had unfolded her scheme to her bosom
+friend Mrs. Leo Cairngorm, or that Mrs. Cairngorm, unknown to Lady Fan,
+had been a very devoted friend of Brook&#8217;s, and was still fond of him,
+and secretly hated Lady Fan, and had therefore unfolded the whole plan
+to Brook before the party had started; or that on that afternoon at
+sunset on the Acropolis he had not at all assented to Lady Fan&#8217;s mad
+proposal, as she had represented that he had when they had parted on the
+platform at Amalfi; he could not tell Clare any of these things, for he
+felt that they were not fit for her to hear. And if she knew none of
+them she must judge him out of her ignorance. Brook wished that some
+supernatural being with a gift for solving hard problems would suddenly
+appear and set things straight.</p>
+
+<p>Instead, he saw the man who brought the letters just entering the hotel,
+and he rose by force of habit and went to the office to see if there
+were anything for him.</p>
+
+<p>There was one, and it was from Lady Fan, by no means the first she had
+written since she had gone to England. And there were several for Sir
+Adam and two for Lady Johnstone. Brook took them all, and opened his own
+at once. He did not belong to that class of people who put off reading
+disagreeable correspondence.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="244">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></a>
+While he read he walked slowly along the
+corridor.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Fan was actually consulting a firm of solicitors with a view to
+getting a divorce. She said that she of course understood his conduct on
+that last night at Amalfi&mdash;the whole plan must have seemed unrealisable
+to him then&mdash;she would forgive him. She refused to believe that he would
+ruin her in cold blood, as she must be ruined if she got a divorce from
+Crosby, and if Brook would not marry her; and much more.</p>
+
+<p>Why should she be ruined? Brook asked himself. If Crosby divorced her on
+Brook&#8217;s account, it would be another matter altogether. But she was
+going to divorce Crosby, who was undoubtedly a beast, and her reputation
+would be none the worse for it. People would only wonder why she had not
+done it before, and so would Crosby, unless he took it into his head to
+examine the question from a financial point of view. For Crosby was, or
+had been, rich, and Lady Fan had no money of her own, and Crosby was
+quite willing to let her spend a good deal, provided she left him in
+peace. How in the world could Clare ever know all the truth about such
+people? It would be an insult to her to think that she could understand
+half of it, and she would not think the better of him unless she could
+understand it all. The situation
+<span class="pagebreak" title="245">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"></a>
+did not seem to admit of any solution
+in that way. All he could hope for was that Clare might change her mind.
+When she should be older she would understand that she had made a
+mistake, and that the world was not merely a high-class boarding-school
+for young ladies, in which all the men were employed as white-chokered
+professors of social righteousness. That seemed to be her impression, he
+thought, with a resentment which was not against her in particular, but
+against all young girls in general, and which did not prevent him from
+feeling that he would not have had it otherwise for anything in the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>He stuffed the letter into his pocket, and went in search of his father.
+He was strongly inclined to lay the whole matter before him, and to ask
+the old gentleman&#8217;s advice. He had reason to believe that Sir Adam had
+been in worse scrapes than this when he had been a young man, and
+somehow or other nobody had ever thought the worse of him. He was sure
+to be in his room at that hour, writing letters. Brook knocked and went
+in. It was about eleven o&#8217;clock.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Adam, gaunt and grey, and clad in a cashmere dressing-jacket, was
+extended upon all the chairs which the little cell-like room contained,
+close by the open window. He had a very thick
+<span class="pagebreak" title="246">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"></a>
+ cigarette between his
+lips, and a half-emptied glass of brandy and soda stood on the corner of
+a table at his elbow. He had not failed to drink one brandy and soda
+every morning at eleven o&#8217;clock for at least a quarter of a century.</p>
+
+<p>His keen old eyes turned sharply to Brook as the latter entered, and a
+smile lighted up his furrowed face, but instantly disappeared again; for
+the young man&#8217;s features betrayed something of what he had gone through
+during the last hour.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Anything wrong, boy?&#8221; asked Sir Adam quickly. &#8220;Have a brandy and soda
+and a pipe with me. Oh, letters! It&#8217;s devilish hard that the post should
+find a man out in this place! Leave them there on the table.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Brook relighted his pipe. His father took one leg from one of the
+chairs, which he pushed towards his son with his foot by way of an
+invitation to sit down.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter?&#8221; he asked, renewing his question. &#8220;You&#8217;ve got into
+another scrape, have you? Mrs. Crosby&mdash;of all women in the world. Your
+mother told me that ridiculous story. Wants to divorce Crosby and marry
+you, does she? I say, boy, it&#8217;s time this sort of nonsense stopped, you
+know. One of these days you&#8217;ll be caught. There are cleverer women in
+the world than Mrs. Crosby.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="247">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh! she&#8217;s not clever,&#8221; answered Brook thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, what&#8217;s the foundation of the story? What the dickens did you go
+with those people for, when you found out that she was coming? You knew
+the sort of woman she was, I suppose? What happened? You made love to
+her, of course. That was what she wanted. Then she talked of eternal
+bliss together, and that sort of rot, didn&#8217;t she? And you couldn&#8217;t
+exactly say that you only went in for bliss by the month, could you? And
+she said, &#8216;By Jove, as you don&#8217;t refuse, you shall have it for the rest
+of your life,&#8217; and she said to herself that you were richer than Crosby,
+and a good deal younger, and better-looking, and better socially, and
+that if you were going to make a fool of yourself she might as well get
+the benefit of it as well as any other woman. Then she wrote to a
+solicitor&mdash;and now you are in the devil of a scrape. I fancy that&#8217;s the
+history of the case, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish you wouldn&#8217;t talk about women in that sort of way, Governor!&#8221;
+exclaimed Brook, by way of answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be an ass!&#8221; answered Sir Adam. &#8220;There are women one can talk
+about in that way, and women one can&#8217;t. Mrs. Crosby is one of the first
+kind. I distinguish between
+<span class="pagebreak" title="248">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"></a>
+ &#8216;women&#8217; and &#8216;woman.&#8217; Don&#8217;t you? Woman means
+something to most of us&mdash;something a good deal better than we are, which
+we treat properly and would cut one another&#8217;s throats for. We sinners
+aren&#8217;t called upon to respect women who won&#8217;t respect themselves. We are
+only expected to be civil to them because they are things in petticoats
+with complexions. Don&#8217;t be an ass, Brook. I don&#8217;t want to know what you
+said to Mrs. Crosby, nor what she said to you, and you wouldn&#8217;t be a
+gentleman if you told me. That&#8217;s your affair. But she&#8217;s a woman with a
+consumptive reputation that&#8217;s very near giving up the ghost, and that
+would have departed this life some time ago if Crosby didn&#8217;t happen to
+be a little worse than she is. She wants to get a divorce and marry my
+son&mdash;and that&#8217;s my affair. Do you remember the Arab and his slave?
+&#8216;You&#8217;ve stolen my money,&#8217; said the sheikh. &#8216;That&#8217;s my business,&#8217;
+answered the slave. &#8216;And I&#8217;m going to beat you,&#8217; said the sheikh.
+&#8216;That&#8217;s your business,&#8217; said the slave. It&#8217;s a similar case, you know,
+only it&#8217;s a good deal worse. I don&#8217;t want to know anything that happened
+before you two parted. But I&#8217;ve a right to know what Mrs. Crosby has
+done since, haven&#8217;t I? You don&#8217;t care to marry her, do you, boy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Marry her! I&#8217;d rather cut my throat.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="249">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You needn&#8217;t do that. Just tell me whether all this is mere talk, or
+whether she has really been to the solicitor&#8217;s. If she has, you know,
+she will get her divorce without opposition. Everybody knows about
+Crosby.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s true,&#8221; said Brook. &#8220;I&#8217;ve just had a letter from her again. I wish
+I knew what to do!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can&#8217;t do anything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can refuse to marry her, can&#8217;t I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;you could. But plenty of people would say that you had induced her
+to get the divorce, and then had changed your mind. She&#8217;ll count on
+that, and make the most of it, you may be sure. She won&#8217;t have a penny
+when she&#8217;s divorced, and she&#8217;ll go about telling everybody that you have
+ruined her. That won&#8217;t be pleasant, will it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;hardly. I had thought of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You see&mdash;you can&#8217;t do anything without injuring yourself. I can settle
+the whole affair in half an hour. By return of post you&#8217;ll get a letter
+from her telling you that she has abandoned all idea of proceedings
+against Crosby.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll bet you she doesn&#8217;t,&#8221; said Brook.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Anything you like. It&#8217;s perfectly simple. I&#8217;ll just make a will,
+leaving you nothing at all, if you marry her, and I&#8217;ll send her a copy
+to-day. You&#8217;ll get the answer fast enough.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="250">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By Jove!&#8221; exclaimed Brook, in surprise. Then he thoughtfully relighted
+his pipe and threw the match out of the window. &#8220;I say, Governor,&#8221; he
+added after a pause, &#8220;do you think that&#8217;s quite&mdash;well, quite fair and
+square, you know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What on earth do you mean?&#8221; cried Sir Adam. &#8220;Do you mean to tell me
+that I haven&#8217;t a perfect right to leave my money as I please? And that
+the first adventuress who takes a fancy to it has a right to force you
+into a disgraceful marriage, and that it would be dishonourable of me to
+prevent it if I could? You&#8217;re mad, boy! Don&#8217;t talk such nonsense to me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose I&#8217;m an idiot,&#8221; said Brook. &#8220;Things about money so easily get
+a queer look, you know. It&#8217;s not like other things, is it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look here, Brook,&#8221; answered the old man, taking his feet from the chair
+on which they rested, and sitting up straight in the low easy chair.
+&#8220;People have said a lot of things about me in my life, and I&#8217;ll do the
+world the credit to add that it might have said twice as much with a
+good show of truth. But nobody ever said that I was mean, nor that I
+ever disappointed anybody in money matters who had a right to expect
+something of me. And that&#8217;s pretty conclusive evidence, because I&#8217;m a
+Scotch-man,
+<span class="pagebreak" title="251">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"></a>
+and we are generally supposed to be a close-fisted tribe.
+They&#8217;ve said everything about me that the world can say, except that
+I&#8217;ve told you about my first marriage. She&mdash;she got her divorce, you
+know. She had a perfect right to it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The old man lit another cigarette, and sipped his brandy and soda
+thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t like to talk about money,&#8221; he said in a lower tone. &#8220;But I
+don&#8217;t want you to think me mean, Brook. I allowed her a thousand a year
+after she had got rid of me. She never touched it. She isn&#8217;t that kind.
+She would rather starve ten times over. But the money has been paid to
+her account in London for twenty-seven years. Perhaps she doesn&#8217;t know
+it. All the better for her daughter, who will find it after her mother&#8217;s
+death, and get it all. I only don&#8217;t want you to think I&#8217;m mean, Brook.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then she married again&mdash;your first wife?&#8221; asked the young man, with
+natural curiosity. &#8220;And she&#8217;s alive still?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; answered Sir Adam, thoughtfully. &#8220;She married again six years
+after I did&mdash;rather late&mdash;and she had one daughter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What an odd idea!&#8221; exclaimed Brook. &#8220;To think that those two people are
+somewhere about the world. A sort of stray half-sister of
+<span class="pagebreak" title="252">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"></a>
+ mine, the
+girl would be&mdash;I mean&mdash;what would be the relationship, Governor, since
+we are talking about it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;None whatever,&#8221; answered the old man, in a tone so extraordinarily
+sharp that Brook looked up in surprise. &#8220;Of course not! What relation
+could she be? Another mother and another father&mdash;no relation at all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean to say that I could marry her?&#8221; asked Brook idly.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Adam started a little.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why&mdash;yes&mdash;of course you could, as she wouldn&#8217;t be related to you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He suddenly rose, took up his glass, and gulped down what was left in
+it. Then he went and stood before the open window.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I say, Brook,&#8221; he began, his back turned to his son.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What?&#8221; asked Brook, poking his knife into his pipe to clean it.
+&#8220;Anything wrong?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t stand this any longer. I&#8217;ve got to speak to somebody&mdash;and I
+can&#8217;t speak to your mother. You won&#8217;t talk, boy, will you? You and I
+have always been good friends.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course! What&#8217;s the matter with you, Governor? You can tell me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;nothing&mdash;that is&mdash;Brook, I say, don&#8217;t be startled. This Mrs.
+Bowring is my divorced wife, you know.
+<span class="pagebreak" title="253">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good God!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sir Adam turned on his heels and met his son&#8217;s look of horror and
+astonishment. He had expected an exclamation of surprise, but Brook&#8217;s
+voice had fear in it, and he had started from his chair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why do you say &#8216;Good God&#8217;&mdash;like that?&#8221; asked the old man. &#8220;You&#8217;re not
+in love with the girl, are you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve just asked her to marry me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The young man was ghastly pale, as he stood stock-still, staring at his
+father. Sir Adam was the first to recover something of equanimity, but
+the furrows in his face had suddenly grown deeper.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course she has accepted you?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;she knew about Mrs. Crosby.&#8221; That seemed sufficient explanation of
+Clare&#8217;s refusal. &#8220;How awful!&#8221; exclaimed Brook hoarsely, his mind going
+back to what seemed the main question just then. &#8220;How awful for you,
+Governor!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;it&#8217;s not pleasant,&#8221; said Sir Adam, turning to the window again.
+&#8220;So the girl refused you,&#8221; he said, musing, as he looked out. &#8220;Just like
+her mother, I suppose. Brook&#8221;&mdash;he paused.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So far as I&#8217;m concerned, it&#8217;s not so bad as
+<span class="pagebreak" title="254">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"></a>
+ you think. You needn&#8217;t
+pity me, you know. It&#8217;s just as well that we should have met&mdash;after
+twenty-seven years.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She knew you at once, of course?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She knew I was your father before I came. And, I say, Brook&mdash;she&#8217;s
+forgiven me at last.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His voice was low and unsteady, and he resolutely kept his back turned.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;s one of the best women that ever lived,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Your mother&#8217;s
+the other.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a long silence, and neither changed his position. Brook
+watched the back of his father&#8217;s head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t mind my saying so to you, Brook?&#8221; asked the old man, hitching
+his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mind? Why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;well&mdash;there&#8217;s no reason, I suppose. Gad! I wish&mdash;I suppose I&#8217;m
+crazy, but I wish to God you could marry the girl, Brook! She&#8217;s as good
+as her mother.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Brook said nothing, being very much astonished, as well as disturbed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Only&mdash;I&#8217;ll tell you one thing, Brook,&#8221; said the voice at the window,
+speaking into space. &#8220;If you do marry her&mdash;and if you treat her as I
+treated her mother&mdash;&#8221; he turned sharply on both heels and waited a
+minute&mdash;&#8220;I&#8217;ll be damned if I don&#8217;t believe I&#8217;d shoot you!
+<span class="pagebreak" title="255">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;d spare you the trouble, and do it myself,&#8221; said Brook, roughly.</p>
+
+<p>They were men, at all events, whatever their faults had been and might
+be, and they looked at the main things of life in very much the same
+way, like father like son. Another silence followed Brook&#8217;s last speech.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s settled now, at all events,&#8221; he said in a decided way, after a
+long time. &#8220;What&#8217;s the use of talking about it? I don&#8217;t know whether you
+mean to stay here. I shall go away this afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sir Adam sat down again in his low easy chair, and leaned forward,
+looking at the pattern of the tiles in the floor, his wrists resting on
+his knees, and his hands hanging down.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; he said slowly. &#8220;Let us try and look at it quietly, boy.
+Don&#8217;t do anything in a hurry. You&#8217;re in love with the girl, are you? It
+isn&#8217;t a mere flirtation? How the deuce do you know the difference, at
+your age?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gad!&#8221; exclaimed Brook, half angrily. &#8220;I know it! that&#8217;s all. I can&#8217;t
+live without her. That is&mdash;it&#8217;s all bosh to talk in that way, you know.
+One goes on living, I suppose&mdash;one doesn&#8217;t die. You know what I mean.
+I&#8217;d rather lose an arm than lose her&mdash;that sort of thing. How am I to
+explain it to you? I&#8217;m in earnest about it. I never asked any girl to
+marry me
+<span class="pagebreak" title="256">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"></a>
+ till now. I should think that ought to prove it. You can&#8217;t say
+that I don&#8217;t know what married life means.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Other people&#8217;s married life,&#8221; observed Sir Adam, grimly. &#8220;You know
+something about that, I&#8217;m afraid.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What difference does it make?&#8221; asked Brook. &#8220;I can&#8217;t marry the daughter
+of my father&#8217;s divorced wife.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I never heard of a case, simply because such cases don&#8217;t arise often.
+But there&#8217;s no earthly reason why you shouldn&#8217;t. There is no
+relationship whatever between you. There&#8217;s no mention of it in the table
+of kindred and affinity, I know, simply because it isn&#8217;t kindred or
+affinity in any way. The world may make its observations. But you may do
+much more surprising things than marry the daughter of your father&#8217;s
+divorced wife when you are to have forty thousand pounds a year, Brook.
+I&#8217;ve found it out in my time. You&#8217;ll find it out in yours. And it isn&#8217;t
+as though there were the least thing about it that wasn&#8217;t all fair and
+square and straight and honourable and legal&mdash;and everything else,
+including the clergy. I supposed that the Archbishop of Canterbury
+wouldn&#8217;t have married me the second time, because the Church isn&#8217;t
+supposed to approve of divorces. But I was married in church all right,
+by a very good
+<span class="pagebreak" title="257">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"></a>
+ man. And Church disapproval can&#8217;t possibly extend to the
+second generation, you know. Oh no! So far as its being possible goes,
+there&#8217;s nothing to prevent your marrying her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Except Mrs. Crosby,&#8221; said Brook. &#8220;You&#8217;ll prove that she doesn&#8217;t exist
+either, if you go on. But all that doesn&#8217;t put things straight. It&#8217;s a
+horrible situation, no matter how you look at it. What would my mother
+say if she knew? You haven&#8217;t told her about the Bowrings, have you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; answered Sir Adam, thoughtfully. &#8220;I haven&#8217;t told her anything. Of
+course she knows the story, but&mdash;I&#8217;m not sure. Do you think I&#8217;m bound to
+tell her that&mdash;who Mrs. Bowring is? Do you think it&#8217;s anything like not
+fair to her, just to leave her in ignorance of it? If you think so, I&#8217;ll
+tell her at once. That is, I should have to ask Mrs. Bowring first, of
+course.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course,&#8221; assented Brook. &#8220;You can&#8217;t do that, unless we go away.
+Besides, as things are now, what&#8217;s the use?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;ll have to know, if you are engaged to the daughter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not engaged to Miss Bowring,&#8221; said Brook, disconsolately. &#8220;She
+won&#8217;t look at me. What an infernal mess I&#8217;ve made of my life!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be an ass, Brook!&#8221; exclaimed Sir Adam, for the third time that
+morning.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="258">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s all very well to tell me not to be an ass,&#8221; answered the young
+man gravely. &#8220;I can&#8217;t mend matters now, and I don&#8217;t blame her for
+refusing me. It isn&#8217;t much more than two weeks since that night. I can&#8217;t
+tell her the truth&mdash;I wouldn&#8217;t tell it to you, though I can&#8217;t prevent
+your telling it to me, since you&#8217;ve guessed it. She thinks I betrayed
+Mrs. Crosby, and left her&mdash;like the merest cad, you know. What am I to
+do? I won&#8217;t say anything against Mrs. Crosby for anything&mdash;and if I were
+low enough to do that I couldn&#8217;t say it to Miss Bowring. I told her that
+I&#8217;d marry her in spite of herself&mdash;carry her off&mdash;anything! But of
+course I couldn&#8217;t. I lost my head, and talked like a fool.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She won&#8217;t think the worse of you for that,&#8221; observed the old man. &#8220;But
+you can&#8217;t tell her&mdash;the rest. Of course not! I&#8217;ll see what I can do,
+Brook. I don&#8217;t believe it&#8217;s hopeless at all. I&#8217;ve watched Miss Bowring,
+ever since we first met you two, coming up the hill. I&#8217;ll try
+something&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t speak to her about Mrs. Crosby, at all events!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think I should do anything you wouldn&#8217;t do yourself, boy,&#8221; said
+Sir Adam, with a shade of reproval in his tone. &#8220;All I say is that the
+case isn&#8217;t so hopeless as you seem to
+<span class="pagebreak" title="259">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"></a>
+ think. Of course you are heavily
+handicapped, and you are a dog with a bad name, and all the rest of it.
+The young lady won&#8217;t change her mind to-day, nor to-morrow either,
+perhaps. But she wouldn&#8217;t be a human woman if she never changed it at
+all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t know her!&#8221; Brook shook his head and began to refill his
+refractory pipe. &#8220;And I don&#8217;t believe you know her mother either, though
+you were married to her once. If she is at all what I think she is, she
+won&#8217;t let her daughter marry your son. It&#8217;s not as though anything could
+happen now to change the situation. It&#8217;s an old one&mdash;it&#8217;s old, and set,
+and hard, like a cast. You can&#8217;t run it into a new mould and make
+anything else of it. Not even you, Governor&mdash;and you are as clever as
+anybody I know. It&#8217;s a sheer question of humanity, without any possible
+outside incident. I&#8217;ve got two things against me which are about as
+serious as anything can be&mdash;the mother&#8217;s prejudice against you, and the
+daughter&#8217;s prejudice against me&mdash;both deuced well founded, it seems to
+me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You forget one thing, Brook,&#8221; said Sir Adam, thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Women forgive.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Neither spoke for some time.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="260">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;You ought to know,&#8221; said Brook in a low tone, at last. &#8220;They forgive
+when they love&mdash;or have loved. That&#8217;s the right way to put it, I think.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;put it in that way, if you like. It will just cover the ground.
+Whatever that young lady may say, she likes you very much. I&#8217;ve seen her
+watch you, and I&#8217;m sure of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How can a woman love a man and hate him at the same time?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why do jealous women sometimes kill their husbands? If they didn&#8217;t love
+them they wouldn&#8217;t care; and if they didn&#8217;t hate them, they wouldn&#8217;t
+kill them. You can&#8217;t explain it, perhaps, but you can&#8217;t deny it either.
+She&#8217;ll never forgive Mrs. Crosby&mdash;perhaps&mdash;but she&#8217;ll forgive you, when
+she finds out that she can&#8217;t be happy without you. Stay here quietly,
+and let me see what I can do.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can&#8217;t do anything, Governor. But I&#8217;m grateful to you all the same.
+And&mdash;you know&mdash;if there&#8217;s anything I can do on my side to help you, just
+now, I&#8217;ll do it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you, Brook,&#8221; said the old man, leaning back, and putting up his
+feet again.</p>
+
+<p>Brook rose and left the room, slowly shutting the door behind him. Then
+he got his hat and went off for a solitary walk to think matters over.
+They were grave enough, and all that
+<span class="pagebreak" title="261">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></a>
+ his father had said could not
+persuade him that there was any chance of happiness in his future. There
+was a sort of horror in the situation, too, and he could not remember
+ever to have heard of anything like it. He walked slowly, and with bent
+head.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="262">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+
+<p>Sir Adam sat still in his place and smoked another thick cigarette
+before he moved. Then he roused himself, got up, sat down at his table,
+and took a large sheet of paper from a big leather writing-case.</p>
+
+<p>He had no hesitation about what he meant to put down. In a quarter of an
+hour he had written out a new will, in which he left his whole fortune
+to his only son Brook, on condition that Brook did not marry Mrs.
+Crosby. But if he married her before his father&#8217;s death he was to have
+nothing, and if he married her afterwards he was to forfeit the whole,
+to the uttermost farthing. In either of these cases the property was to
+go to a third person. Sir Adam hesitated a moment, and then wrote the
+name of one of his sisters as the conditional legatee. His wife had
+plenty of money of her own, and besides, the will was a mere formality,
+drawn up and to be executed solely with a view to checking Lady Fan&#8217;s
+enthusiasm. He did not sign it, but folded it smoothly and put it into
+his pocket. He also took his own pen, for he was particular
+<span class="pagebreak" title="263">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"></a>
+ in matters
+appertaining to the mechanics of writing, and very neat in all he did.</p>
+
+<p>He went out and wandered up and down the terrace in the heat, but no one
+was there. Then he knocked at his wife&#8217;s door, and found her absorbed in
+an interesting conversation with her maid in regard to matters of dress,
+as connected with climate. Lady Johnstone at once appealed to him, and
+the maid eyed him with suspicion, fearing his suggestions. He satisfied
+her, however, by immediately suggesting that she should go away, whereat
+she smiled and departed.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Johnstone at once understood that something very serious was in the
+air. A wonderful good fellowship existed between husband and wife; but
+they very rarely talked of anything which could not have been discussed,
+figuratively, on the housetops.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Brook has got himself into a scrape with that Mrs. Crosby, my dear,&#8221;
+said Sir Adam. &#8220;What you heard is all more or less true. She has really
+been to a solicitor, and means to take steps to get a divorce. Of course
+she could get it easily enough. If she did, people would say that Brook
+had let her go that far, telling her that he would marry her, and then
+had changed his mind and left her to her fate. We can&#8217;t let that happen,
+you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="264">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></a>
+Lady Johnstone looked at her husband with anxiety while he was
+speaking, and then was silent for a few seconds.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you Johnstones! You Johnstones!&#8221; she cried at last, shaking her
+head. &#8220;You&#8217;re perfectly incorrigible!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh no, my dear,&#8221; answered Sir Adam; &#8220;don&#8217;t forget me, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You, Adam!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her tone expressed an extraordinary conflict of varying
+sentiment&mdash;amusement, affection, reproach, a retrospective distrust of
+what might have been, but could not be, considering Sir Adam&#8217;s age.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Never mind me, then,&#8221; he answered. &#8220;I&#8217;ve made a will cutting Brook off
+with nothing if he marries Mrs. Crosby, and I&#8217;m going to send her a copy
+of it to-day. That will be enough, I fancy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Adam!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;what? Do you disapprove? You always say that you are a practical
+woman, and you generally show that you are. Why shouldn&#8217;t I take the
+practical method of stopping this woman as soon as possible? She wants
+my money&mdash;she doesn&#8217;t want my son. A fortune with any other name would
+smell as sweet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;but&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But what?
+<span class="pagebreak" title="265">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></a>
+&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know&mdash;it seems&mdash;somehow&mdash;&#8221; Lady Johnstone was perplexed to
+express what she meant just then. &#8220;I mean,&#8221; she added suddenly, &#8220;it&#8217;s
+treating the woman like a mere adventuress, you know&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s precisely what Mrs. Crosby is, my dear,&#8221; answered Sir Adam
+calmly. &#8220;The fact that she comes of decent people doesn&#8217;t alter the case
+in the least. Nor the fact that she has one rich husband, and wishes to
+get another instead. I say that her husband is rich, but I&#8217;m very sure
+he has ruined himself in the last two years, and that she knows it. She
+is not the woman to leave him as long as he has money, for he lets her
+do anything she pleases, and pays her well to leave him alone. But he
+has got into trouble&mdash;and rats leave a sinking ship, you know. You may
+say that I&#8217;m cynical, my dear, but I think you&#8217;ll find that I&#8217;m telling
+you the facts as they are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It seems an awful insult to the woman to send her a copy of your will,&#8221;
+said Lady Johnstone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s an awful insult to you when she tries to get rid of her husband to
+marry your only son, my dear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;but he&#8217;d never marry her!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not sure. If he thought it would be dishonourable not to marry her,
+he&#8217;d be quite
+<span class="pagebreak" title="266">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></a>
+ capable of doing it, and of blowing out his brains
+afterwards.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That wouldn&#8217;t improve her position,&#8221; observed the practical Lady
+Johnstone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;d be the widow of an honest man, instead of the wife of a
+blackguard,&#8221; said Sir Adam. &#8220;However, I&#8217;m doing this on my own
+responsibility. What I want is that you should witness the will.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And let Mrs. Crosby think I made you do this? No&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nonsense. I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t copy the signatures&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then why do you need them at all?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not going to write to her that I&#8217;ve made a will, if I haven&#8217;t,&#8221;
+answered Sir Adam. &#8220;A will isn&#8217;t a will unless it&#8217;s witnessed. I&#8217;m not
+going to lie about it, just to frighten her. So I want you and Mrs.
+Bowring to witness it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mrs. Bowring?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;there are no men here, and Brook can&#8217;t be a witness, because he&#8217;s
+interested. You and Mrs. Bowring will do very well. But there&#8217;s another
+thing&mdash;rather an extraordinary thing&mdash;and I won&#8217;t let you sign with her
+until you know it. It&#8217;s not a very easy thing to tell you, my dear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Lady Johnstone shifted her fat hands and folded them again, and her
+frank blue eyes gazed at her husband for a moment.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="267">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I can guess,&#8221; she said, with a good-natured smile. &#8220;You told me you
+were old friends&mdash;I suppose you were in love with her somewhere!&#8221; She
+laughed and shook her head. &#8220;I don&#8217;t mind,&#8221; she added. &#8220;It&#8217;s one more,
+that&#8217;s all&mdash;one that I didn&#8217;t know of. She&#8217;s a very nice woman, and I&#8217;ve
+taken the greatest fancy to her!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m glad you have,&#8221; said Sir Adam, gravely. &#8220;I say, my dear&mdash;don&#8217;t be
+surprised, you know&mdash;I warned you. We knew each other very well&mdash;it&#8217;s
+not what you think at all, and she was altogether in the right and I was
+quite in the wrong about it. I say, now&mdash;don&#8217;t be startled&mdash;she&#8217;s my
+divorced wife&mdash;that&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She! Mrs. Bowring! Oh, Adam&mdash;how could you treat her so!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Lady Johnstone leaned back in her chair and slowly turned her head till
+she could look out of the window. She was almost rosy with surprise&mdash;a
+change of colour in her sanguine complexion which was equivalent to
+extreme pallor in other persons. Sir Adam looked at her affectionately.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What an awfully good woman you are!&#8221; he exclaimed, in genuine
+admiration.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I! No, I&#8217;m not good at all. I was thinking that if you hadn&#8217;t been such
+a brute to her I could never have married you. I don&#8217;t suppose
+<span class="pagebreak" title="268">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></a>
+that is
+good, is it? But you were a brute, all the same, Adam, dear, to hurt
+such a woman as that!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course I was! I told you so when I told you the story. But I didn&#8217;t
+expect that you&#8217;d ever meet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, it is an extraordinary thing. I suppose that if I had any nerves I
+should faint. It would be an awful thing if I did; you&#8217;d have to get
+those porters to pick me up!&#8221; She smiled meditatively. &#8220;But I haven&#8217;t
+fainted, you see. And, after all, I don&#8217;t see why it should be so very
+dreadful, do you? You see, you&#8217;ve rather broken me in to the idea of
+lots of other people in your life, and I&#8217;ve always pitied her sincerely.
+I don&#8217;t see why I should stop pitying her because I&#8217;ve met her and taken
+such a fancy to her without knowing who she was. Do you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Most women would,&#8221; observed Sir Adam. &#8220;It&#8217;s lucky that you and she
+happen to be the two best women in the world. I told Brook so this
+morning.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Brook? Have you told him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I had to. He wants to marry her daughter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Brook! It&#8217;s impossible!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Lady Johnstone&#8217;s tone betrayed so much more surprise and displeasure
+than when her husband had told her of Mrs. Bowring&#8217;s identity that he
+stared at her in surprise.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="269">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see why it&#8217;s impossible,&#8221; he said, &#8220;except that she has
+refused him once. That&#8217;s nothing. The first time doesn&#8217;t count.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He sha&#8217;n&#8217;t!&#8221; said the fat lady, whose vivid colour had come back.
+&#8220;He&#8217;ll make her miserable&mdash;just as you&mdash;no, I won&#8217;t say that! But they
+are not in the least suited to one another&mdash;he&#8217;s far too young; there
+are fifty reasons.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Brook won&#8217;t act as I did, my dear,&#8221; said Sir Adam. &#8220;He&#8217;s like you in
+that. He&#8217;ll make as good a husband as you have been a good wife&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nonsense!&#8221; interrupted Lady Johnstone. &#8220;You&#8217;re all alike, you
+Johnstones! I was talking to him this morning about her&mdash;I knew there
+was the beginning of something&mdash;and I told him what I thought. You&#8217;re
+all bad, and I love you all; but if you think that Clare Bowring is as
+practical as I am, you&#8217;re very much mistaken, Adam, dear! She&#8217;ll break
+her heart&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If she does, I&#8217;ll shoot him,&#8221; answered the old man with a grim smile.
+&#8220;I told him so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you? Well, I am glad you take that view of it,&#8221; said Lady
+Johnstone, thoughtfully, and not at all realising what she was saying.
+&#8220;I&#8217;m glad I&#8217;m not a nervous woman,&#8221; she added, beginning to fan herself.
+&#8220;I should be in my grave, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;you are not nervous, my dear, and
+<span class="pagebreak" title="270">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></a>
+ I&#8217;m very glad of it. I suppose
+it really is rather a trying situation. But if I didn&#8217;t know you, I
+wouldn&#8217;t have told you all this. You&#8217;ve spoiled me, you know&mdash;you really
+have been so tremendously good to me&mdash;always, dear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a rough, half unwilling tenderness in his voice, and his big
+bony hand rested gently on the fat lady&#8217;s shoulder, as he spoke. She
+bent her head to one side, till her large red cheek touched the brown
+knuckles. It was, in a way, almost grotesque. But there was that
+something in it which could make youth and beauty and passion
+ridiculous&mdash;the outspoken truthful old rake and the ever-forgiving wife.
+Who shall say wherein pathos lies? And yet it seems to be something more
+than a mere hack-writer&#8217;s word, after all. The strangest acts of life
+sometimes go off in such an oddly quiet humdrum way, and then all at
+once there is the little quiver in the throat, when one least expects
+it&mdash;and the sad-eyed, faithful, loving angel has passed by quickly, low
+and soft, his gentle wings just brushing the still waters of our unwept
+tears.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Adam left his wife to go in search of Mrs. Bowring. He sent a
+message to her, and she came out and met him in the corridor. They went
+into the reading-room together, and he shut the door. In a few words he
+told her all
+<span class="pagebreak" title="271">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></a>
+ that he had told his wife about Mrs. Crosby, and asked her
+whether she had any objection to signing the document as a witness,
+merely in order that he might satisfy himself by actually executing it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is high handed,&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring. &#8220;It is like you&mdash;but I suppose
+you have a right to save your son from such trouble. But there is
+something else&mdash;do you know what has happened? He has been making love
+to Clare&mdash;he has asked her to marry him, and she has refused. She told
+me this morning&mdash;and I have told her the truth&mdash;that you and I were once
+married.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She paused, and watched Sir Adam&#8217;s furrowed face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m glad of that,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I&#8217;m glad that it has all come out on the
+same day. He knows everything, and he has told me everything. I don&#8217;t
+know how it&#8217;s all going to end, but I want you to believe one thing. If
+he had guessed the truth, he would never have said a word of love to
+her. He&#8217;s not that kind of boy. You do believe me, don&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I believe you. But the worst of it is that she cares for him
+too&mdash;in a way I can&#8217;t understand. She has some reason, or she thinks she
+has, for disliking him, as she calls it. She wouldn&#8217;t tell me. But she
+cares for him all the
+<span class="pagebreak" title="272">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></a>
+ same. She has told him, though she won&#8217;t tell me.
+There is something horrible in the idea of our children falling in love
+with each other.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bowring spoke quietly, but her pale face and nervous mouth told
+more than her words.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Adam explained to her shortly what had happened on the first evening
+after Brook&#8217;s arrival, and how Clare had heard it all, sitting in the
+shadow just above the platform. Mrs. Bowring listened in silence,
+covering her eyes with her hands. There was a long pause after he had
+finished speaking, but still she said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should like him to marry her,&#8221; said Sir Adam at last, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>She started and looked at him uneasily, remembering how well she had
+once loved him, and how he had broken her heart when she was young. He
+met her eyes quietly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t know him,&#8221; he said. &#8220;He loves her, and he will be to
+her&mdash;what I wasn&#8217;t to you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How can you say that he loves her? Three weeks ago he loved that Mrs.
+Crosby.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He? He never cared for her&mdash;not even at first.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He was all the more heartless and bad to make her think that he did.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She never thought so, for a moment. She
+<span class="pagebreak" title="273">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></a>
+ wanted my money, and she
+thought that she could catch him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps&mdash;I saw her, and I did not like her face. She had the look of an
+adventuress about her. That doesn&#8217;t change the main facts. Your son and
+she were&mdash;flirting, to say the least of it, three weeks ago. And now he
+thinks himself in love with my daughter. It would be madness to trust
+such a man&mdash;even if there were not the rest to hinder their marriage.
+Adam&mdash;I told you that I forgave you. I have forgiven you&mdash;God knows. But
+you broke my life at the beginning like a thread. You don&#8217;t know all
+there has been to forgive&mdash;indeed, you don&#8217;t. And you are asking me to
+risk Clare&#8217;s life in your son&#8217;s hands, as I risked mine in yours. It&#8217;s
+too much to ask.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you say yourself that she loves him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She cares for him&mdash;that was what I said. I don&#8217;t believe in love as I
+did. You can&#8217;t expect me to.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She turned her face away from him, but he saw the bitterness in it, and
+it hurt him. He waited a moment before he answered her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t visit my sins on your daughter, Lucy,&#8221; he said at last. &#8220;Don&#8217;t
+forget that love was a fact before you and I were born, and will be a
+fact long after we are dead. If these two love each other, let them
+marry. I hope that Clare
+<span class="pagebreak" title="274">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"></a>
+ is like you, but don&#8217;t take it for granted
+that Brook is like me. He&#8217;s not. He&#8217;s more like his mother.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And your wife?&#8221; said Mrs. Bowring suddenly. &#8220;What would she say to
+this?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My wife,&#8221; said Sir Adam, &#8220;is a practical woman.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I never was. Still&mdash;if I knew that Clare loved him&mdash;if I could believe
+that he could love her faithfully&mdash;what could I do? I couldn&#8217;t forbid
+her to marry him. I could only pray that she might be happy, or at least
+that she might not break her heart.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You would probably be heard, if anybody is. And a man must believe in
+God to explain your existence,&#8221; added Sir Adam, in a gravely meditative
+tone. &#8220;It&#8217;s the best argument I know.&#8221;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr  /><p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="275">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"></a>
+</p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+
+<p>Brook Johnstone had gone to his room when he had left his father, and
+was hastily packing his belongings, for he had made up his mind to leave
+Amalfi at once without consulting anybody. It is a special advantage of
+places where there is no railway that one can go away at a moment&#8217;s
+notice, without waiting tedious hours for a train. Brook did not
+hesitate, for it seemed to him the only right thing to do, after Clare&#8217;s
+refusal, and after what his father had told him. If she had loved him,
+he would have stayed in spite of every opposition. If he had never been
+told her mother&#8217;s history, he would have stayed and would have tried to
+make her love him. As it was, he set his teeth and said to himself that
+he would suffer a good deal rather than do anything more to win the
+heart of Mrs. Bowring&#8217;s daughter. He would get over it somehow in the
+end. He fancied Clare&#8217;s horror if she should ever know the truth, and
+his fear of hurting her was as strong as his love. He made no phrases to
+himself, and he thought
+<span class="pagebreak" title="276">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"></a>
+ of nothing theatrical which he should like to
+say. He just set his teeth and packed his clothes alone. Possibly he
+swore rather unmercifully at the coat which would not fit into the right
+place, and at the starched shirt-cuffs which would not lie flat until he
+smashed them out of shape with unsteady hands.</p>
+
+<p>When he was ready, he wrote a few words to Clare. He said that he was
+going away immediately, and that it would be very kind of her to let him
+say good-bye. He sent the note by a servant, and waited in the corridor
+at a distance from her door.</p>
+
+<p>A moment later she came out, very pale.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are not really going, are you?&#8221; she asked, with wide and startled
+eyes. &#8220;You can&#8217;t be in earnest?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m all ready,&#8221; he answered, nodding slowly. &#8220;It&#8217;s much better. I only
+wanted to say good-bye, you know. It&#8217;s awfully kind of you to come out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh&mdash;I wouldn&#8217;t have&mdash;&#8221; but she checked herself, and glanced up and down
+the long corridor. &#8220;We can&#8217;t talk here,&#8221; she added.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s so hot outside,&#8221; said Brook, remembering how she had complained of
+the heat an hour earlier.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh no&mdash;I mean&mdash;it&#8217;s no matter. I&#8217;d rather go out for a moment.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="277">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"></a>
+She began to walk towards the door while she was speaking. They reached
+it in silence, and went out into the blazing sun. Clare had Brook&#8217;s note
+still in her hand, and held it up to shield the glare from the side of
+her face as they crossed the platform. Then she realised that she had
+brought him to the very spot whereon he had said good-bye to Lady Fan.
+She stopped, and he stood still beside her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not here,&#8221; she said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;not here,&#8221; he answered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s too much sun&mdash;really,&#8221; said she, as the colour rose faintly in
+her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s only to say good-bye,&#8221; Brook answered sadly. &#8220;I shall always
+remember you just as you are now&mdash;with the sun shining on your hair.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was so bright that it dazzled him as he looked. In spite of the heat
+she did not move, and their eyes met.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Johnstone,&#8221; Clare began, &#8220;please stay. Please don&#8217;t let me feel
+that I have sent you away.&#8221; There was a shade of timidity in the tone,
+and the eyes seemed brave enough to say something more. Brook hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;no&mdash;it isn&#8217;t that exactly. I&#8217;ve heard something&mdash;my father has
+told me something since I saw you&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stopped short and looked down.</p>
+<p>
+<span class="pagebreak" title="278">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"></a>
+</p>
+<p>&#8220;What have you heard?&#8221; she asked. &#8220;Something dreadful about us?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;About us all&mdash;about him, principally. I can&#8217;t tell you. I really
+can&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;About him&mdash;and my mother? That they were married and separated?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The steady innocent eyes had waited for him to look up again. He started
+as he heard her words.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t mean to say that you know it too?&#8221; he cried. &#8220;Who has dared
+to tell you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My mother&mdash;she was quite right. It&#8217;s wrong to hide such things&mdash;she
+ought to have told me at once. Why shouldn&#8217;t I have known it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Doesn&#8217;t it seem horrible to you? Don&#8217;t you dislike me more than ever?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. Why should I? It wasn&#8217;t your fault. What has it to do with you? Or
+with me? Is that the reason why you are going away so suddenly?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Brook stared at her in surprise, and the dawn of returning gladness was
+in his face for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We have a right to live, whatever they did in their day,&#8221; said Clare.
+&#8220;There is no reason why you should go away like this, at a moment&#8217;s
+notice.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With an older woman he would have understood
+<span class="pagebreak" title="279">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"></a>
+the first time, but he did
+not dare to understand Clare, nor to guess that there was anything to be
+understood.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course we have a right to live,&#8221; he answered, in a constrained tone.
+&#8220;But that does not mean that I may stay here and make your life a
+burden. So I&#8217;m going away. It was quite different before I knew all
+this. Please don&#8217;t stay out here&mdash;you&#8217;ll get a sunstroke. I only wanted
+to say good-bye.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Man-like, having his courage at the striking-point, he wished to get it
+all over quickly and be off. The colour sank from Clare&#8217;s face again,
+and she stood quite still for a moment, looking at him. &#8220;Good-bye,&#8221; he
+said, holding out his hand, and trying hard to smile a little.</p>
+
+<p>Clare looked at him still, but her hand did not meet his, though he
+waited, holding it out to her. Her face hardened as though she were
+making an effort, then softened again, and still he waited.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Won&#8217;t you say good-bye to me?&#8221; he asked unsteadily.</p>
+
+<p>She hesitated a moment longer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No!&#8221; she answered suddenly. &#8220;I&mdash;I can&#8217;t!&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>And here the story comes to its conclusion, as many stories out of the
+lives of men and
+<span class="pagebreak" title="280">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></a>
+ women seem to end at what is only their turning-point.
+For real life has no conclusion but real death, and that is a sad ending
+to a tale, and one which may as well be left to the imagination when it
+is possible.</p>
+
+<p>Stories of strange things, which really occur, very rarely have what
+used to be called a &#8220;moral&#8221; either. All sorts of things happen to people
+who afterwards go on living just the same, neither much better nor much
+worse than they were in the beginning. The story is a slice, as it were,
+cut from the most interesting part of a life, generally at the point
+where that life most closely touches another, so that the future of the
+two momentarily depends upon each separately, and upon both together.
+The happiness or unhappiness of both, for a long time to come, is
+founded upon the action of each just at those moments. And sometimes, as
+in the tale here told, the least promising of all the persons concerned
+is the one who helps matters out. The only logical thing about life is
+the certainty that it must end. If there were any logic at all about
+what goes between birth and death, men would have found it out long ago,
+and we should all know how to live as soon as we leave school; whereas
+we spend our lives under Fate&#8217;s ruler, trying to understand, while she
+raps us over the knuckles every other
+<span class="pagebreak" title="281">&nbsp;</span><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281"></a>
+ minute because we cannot learn
+our lesson and sit up straight, and be good without being prigs, and do
+right without sticking it through other people&#8217;s peace of mind as one
+sticks a pin through a butterfly.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON***</p>
+<p>******* This file should be named 22455-h.txt or 22455-h.zip *******</p>
+<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br />
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/4/5/22455">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/4/5/22455</a></p>
+<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.</p>
+
+<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.</p>
+
+
+
+<pre>
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license)</a>.
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS,' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's
+eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII,
+compressed (zipped), HTML and others.
+
+Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over
+the old filename and etext number.  The replaced older file is renamed.
+VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving
+new filenames and etext numbers.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org">http://www.gutenberg.org</a>
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000,
+are filed in directories based on their release date.  If you want to
+download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular
+search system you may utilize the following addresses and just
+download by the etext year.
+
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/</a>
+
+    (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99,
+     98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90)
+
+EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are
+filed in a different way.  The year of a release date is no longer part
+of the directory path.  The path is based on the etext number (which is
+identical to the filename).  The path to the file is made up of single
+digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename.  For
+example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at:
+
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234
+
+or filename 24689 would be found at:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689
+
+An alternative method of locating eBooks:
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a>
+
+*** END: FULL LICENSE ***
+</pre>
+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/22455-h/images/frontis.jpg b/22455-h/images/frontis.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a4117b1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-h/images/frontis.jpg
diff --git a/22455-h/images/titlepage.png b/22455-h/images/titlepage.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dd660c2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-h/images/titlepage.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/f001.png b/22455-page-images/f001.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4e5166d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/f001.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/f002.png b/22455-page-images/f002.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8284560
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/f002.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/f003.png b/22455-page-images/f003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..97ccfcb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/f003.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/f004.png b/22455-page-images/f004.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0e16f36
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/f004.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p001.png b/22455-page-images/p001.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dbc11ca
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p001.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p002.png b/22455-page-images/p002.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..16f12a3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p002.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p003.png b/22455-page-images/p003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d3fa255
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p003.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p004.png b/22455-page-images/p004.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e611b3a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p004.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p005.png b/22455-page-images/p005.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cb2a3fa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p005.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p006.png b/22455-page-images/p006.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ae010e1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p006.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p007.png b/22455-page-images/p007.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ed5d8ee
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p007.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p008.png b/22455-page-images/p008.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5260d22
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p008.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p009.png b/22455-page-images/p009.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..169bf04
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p009.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p010.png b/22455-page-images/p010.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e1011a6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p010.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p011.png b/22455-page-images/p011.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f639a36
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p011.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p012.png b/22455-page-images/p012.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..25b2957
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p012.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p013.png b/22455-page-images/p013.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..53c98fc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p013.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p014.png b/22455-page-images/p014.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ce0d60d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p014.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p015.png b/22455-page-images/p015.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b2da771
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p015.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p016.png b/22455-page-images/p016.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..082208e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p016.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p017.png b/22455-page-images/p017.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3ee808e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p017.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p018.png b/22455-page-images/p018.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..17ed38d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p018.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p019.png b/22455-page-images/p019.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..26a6798
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p019.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p020.png b/22455-page-images/p020.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4db120e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p020.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p021.png b/22455-page-images/p021.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f3e508c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p021.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p022.png b/22455-page-images/p022.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..78955d2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p022.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p023.png b/22455-page-images/p023.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..352878c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p023.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p024.png b/22455-page-images/p024.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6629705
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p024.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p025.png b/22455-page-images/p025.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bad5ed7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p025.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p026.png b/22455-page-images/p026.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bce5333
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p026.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p027.png b/22455-page-images/p027.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a29e917
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p027.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p028.png b/22455-page-images/p028.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..12986ee
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p028.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p029.png b/22455-page-images/p029.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..847c002
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p029.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p030.png b/22455-page-images/p030.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7eedb6b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p030.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p031.png b/22455-page-images/p031.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6651871
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p031.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p032.png b/22455-page-images/p032.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e99c53
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p032.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p033.png b/22455-page-images/p033.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7cc5293
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p033.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p034.png b/22455-page-images/p034.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0f5f5d9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p034.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p035.png b/22455-page-images/p035.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bc2cd7e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p035.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p036.png b/22455-page-images/p036.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f978b96
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p036.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p037.png b/22455-page-images/p037.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d28bd83
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p037.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p038.png b/22455-page-images/p038.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1cc94aa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p038.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p039.png b/22455-page-images/p039.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e3dd36
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p039.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p040.png b/22455-page-images/p040.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..61ca6de
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p040.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p041.png b/22455-page-images/p041.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..110e1b3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p041.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p042.png b/22455-page-images/p042.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8a01238
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p042.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p043.png b/22455-page-images/p043.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f2a5ecb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p043.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p044.png b/22455-page-images/p044.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c06fa1d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p044.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p045.png b/22455-page-images/p045.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5f77f7e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p045.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p046.png b/22455-page-images/p046.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1083318
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p046.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p047.png b/22455-page-images/p047.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..55c6f61
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p047.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p048.png b/22455-page-images/p048.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..69af5d4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p048.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p049.png b/22455-page-images/p049.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c5e1580
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p049.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p050.png b/22455-page-images/p050.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5be1572
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p050.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p051.png b/22455-page-images/p051.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c64f546
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p051.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p052.png b/22455-page-images/p052.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a9ff6d3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p052.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p053.png b/22455-page-images/p053.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c155894
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p053.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p054.png b/22455-page-images/p054.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0f496f3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p054.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p055.png b/22455-page-images/p055.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5dc0877
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p055.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p056.png b/22455-page-images/p056.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..97d9ea5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p056.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p057.png b/22455-page-images/p057.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f286531
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p057.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p058.png b/22455-page-images/p058.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e10ce67
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p058.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p059.png b/22455-page-images/p059.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c6c8f84
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p059.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p060.png b/22455-page-images/p060.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..583d6f2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p060.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p061.png b/22455-page-images/p061.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..32daa02
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p061.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p062.png b/22455-page-images/p062.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..18d5313
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p062.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p063.png b/22455-page-images/p063.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0d59b0b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p063.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p064.png b/22455-page-images/p064.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ca3f476
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p064.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p065.png b/22455-page-images/p065.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..930fac1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p065.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p066.png b/22455-page-images/p066.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0c0516a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p066.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p067.png b/22455-page-images/p067.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..96ceaa2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p067.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p068.png b/22455-page-images/p068.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..86a6351
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p068.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p069.png b/22455-page-images/p069.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7ec1ff6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p069.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p070.png b/22455-page-images/p070.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..63b6ce9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p070.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p071.png b/22455-page-images/p071.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..95bbc9a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p071.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p072.png b/22455-page-images/p072.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2e5e6bf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p072.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p073.png b/22455-page-images/p073.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4d61dbf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p073.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p074.png b/22455-page-images/p074.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..468dbfc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p074.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p075.png b/22455-page-images/p075.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c138da7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p075.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p076.png b/22455-page-images/p076.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b98a55f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p076.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p077.png b/22455-page-images/p077.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c192bc5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p077.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p078.png b/22455-page-images/p078.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f262a79
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p078.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p079.png b/22455-page-images/p079.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fb1a2e5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p079.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p080.png b/22455-page-images/p080.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4b62584
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p080.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p081.png b/22455-page-images/p081.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..296dd09
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p081.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p082.png b/22455-page-images/p082.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0d08c87
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p082.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p083.png b/22455-page-images/p083.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a661a51
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p083.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p084.png b/22455-page-images/p084.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..abb7682
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p084.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p085.png b/22455-page-images/p085.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6f599ac
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p085.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p086.png b/22455-page-images/p086.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cec2421
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p086.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p087.png b/22455-page-images/p087.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e9cc6b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p087.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p088.png b/22455-page-images/p088.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..45f08cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p088.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p089.png b/22455-page-images/p089.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..519116f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p089.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p090.png b/22455-page-images/p090.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc76a9a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p090.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p091.png b/22455-page-images/p091.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3fde991
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p091.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p092.png b/22455-page-images/p092.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4d04f31
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p092.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p093.png b/22455-page-images/p093.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e314608
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p093.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p094.png b/22455-page-images/p094.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8c82a5f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p094.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p095.png b/22455-page-images/p095.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5bc9045
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p095.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p096.png b/22455-page-images/p096.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2491ff5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p096.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p097.png b/22455-page-images/p097.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..518623f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p097.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p098.png b/22455-page-images/p098.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2ba38a2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p098.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p099.png b/22455-page-images/p099.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..44b5867
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p099.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p100.png b/22455-page-images/p100.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ec6f4df
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p100.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p101.png b/22455-page-images/p101.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..704c18d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p101.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p102.png b/22455-page-images/p102.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1a899ea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p102.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p103.png b/22455-page-images/p103.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..197edf7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p103.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p104.png b/22455-page-images/p104.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..54cb215
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p104.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p105.png b/22455-page-images/p105.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d35943f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p105.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p106.png b/22455-page-images/p106.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5c2bc57
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p106.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p107.png b/22455-page-images/p107.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4fdefc7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p107.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p108.png b/22455-page-images/p108.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1967960
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p108.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p109.png b/22455-page-images/p109.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b6f7c01
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p109.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p110.png b/22455-page-images/p110.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..88a7877
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p110.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p111.png b/22455-page-images/p111.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9f94152
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p111.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p112.png b/22455-page-images/p112.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7a3fabd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p112.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p113.png b/22455-page-images/p113.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..52921fe
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p113.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p114.png b/22455-page-images/p114.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..59142df
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p114.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p115.png b/22455-page-images/p115.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0efe3f8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p115.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p116.png b/22455-page-images/p116.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..754dc79
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p116.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p117.png b/22455-page-images/p117.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..75e0172
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p117.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p118.png b/22455-page-images/p118.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bcfcee3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p118.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p119.png b/22455-page-images/p119.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e8e9c5a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p119.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p120.png b/22455-page-images/p120.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fe85637
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p120.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p121.png b/22455-page-images/p121.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5c505a0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p121.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p122.png b/22455-page-images/p122.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d6c76a4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p122.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p123.png b/22455-page-images/p123.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..48e0814
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p123.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p124.png b/22455-page-images/p124.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7c52f7d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p124.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p125.png b/22455-page-images/p125.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..69fee3c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p125.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p126.png b/22455-page-images/p126.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b9b7a40
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p126.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p127.png b/22455-page-images/p127.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..325f16f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p127.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p128.png b/22455-page-images/p128.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d76e6cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p128.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p129.png b/22455-page-images/p129.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7fd69de
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p129.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p130.png b/22455-page-images/p130.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..510a15b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p130.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p131.png b/22455-page-images/p131.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e96ce2a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p131.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p132.png b/22455-page-images/p132.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fea8eaf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p132.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p133.png b/22455-page-images/p133.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d2a3d54
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p133.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p134.png b/22455-page-images/p134.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..235104f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p134.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p135.png b/22455-page-images/p135.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..294813a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p135.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p136.png b/22455-page-images/p136.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..86a5e7d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p136.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p137.png b/22455-page-images/p137.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d19f09b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p137.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p138.png b/22455-page-images/p138.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cfe0c38
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p138.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p139.png b/22455-page-images/p139.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a7a4d50
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p139.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p140.png b/22455-page-images/p140.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fe15c1c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p140.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p141.png b/22455-page-images/p141.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eaa89bf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p141.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p142.png b/22455-page-images/p142.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d374893
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p142.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p143.png b/22455-page-images/p143.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..31819c1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p143.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p144.png b/22455-page-images/p144.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..05f48ae
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p144.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p145.png b/22455-page-images/p145.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8554aff
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p145.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p146.png b/22455-page-images/p146.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3f0eca4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p146.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p147.png b/22455-page-images/p147.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0efa244
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p147.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p148.png b/22455-page-images/p148.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4dc1d6c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p148.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p149.png b/22455-page-images/p149.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bd48084
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p149.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p150.png b/22455-page-images/p150.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..04d28b8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p150.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p151.png b/22455-page-images/p151.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8a1985a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p151.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p152.png b/22455-page-images/p152.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6f28750
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p152.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p153.png b/22455-page-images/p153.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e7dcd4a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p153.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p154.png b/22455-page-images/p154.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..101d052
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p154.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p155.png b/22455-page-images/p155.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2c39880
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p155.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p156.png b/22455-page-images/p156.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..39a72a5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p156.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p157.png b/22455-page-images/p157.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..429a1cb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p157.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p158.png b/22455-page-images/p158.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6bfef61
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p158.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p159.png b/22455-page-images/p159.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..54c3341
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p159.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p160.png b/22455-page-images/p160.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5876352
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p160.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p161.png b/22455-page-images/p161.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7a0eca0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p161.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p162.png b/22455-page-images/p162.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8f5cfd3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p162.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p163.png b/22455-page-images/p163.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0bc15eb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p163.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p164.png b/22455-page-images/p164.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4e6d26d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p164.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p165.png b/22455-page-images/p165.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9295673
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p165.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p166.png b/22455-page-images/p166.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cd43b5f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p166.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p167.png b/22455-page-images/p167.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ec0566c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p167.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p168.png b/22455-page-images/p168.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f69949b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p168.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p169.png b/22455-page-images/p169.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..909157b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p169.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p170.png b/22455-page-images/p170.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..523a1a7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p170.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p171.png b/22455-page-images/p171.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3ebd2c2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p171.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p172.png b/22455-page-images/p172.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c4c9b38
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p172.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p173.png b/22455-page-images/p173.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..15eecd6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p173.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p174.png b/22455-page-images/p174.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a0059d9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p174.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p175.png b/22455-page-images/p175.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c3505be
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p175.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p176.png b/22455-page-images/p176.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..24aae92
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p176.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p177.png b/22455-page-images/p177.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fb9cbfc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p177.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p178.png b/22455-page-images/p178.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..898a138
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p178.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p179.png b/22455-page-images/p179.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a5eeb47
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p179.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p180.png b/22455-page-images/p180.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..79ef6fa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p180.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p181.png b/22455-page-images/p181.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c33665a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p181.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p182.png b/22455-page-images/p182.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bf0a6e6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p182.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p183.png b/22455-page-images/p183.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..849292f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p183.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p184.png b/22455-page-images/p184.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7a2b632
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p184.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p185.png b/22455-page-images/p185.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d4888c0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p185.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p186.png b/22455-page-images/p186.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fb34880
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p186.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p187.png b/22455-page-images/p187.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..08aa208
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p187.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p188.png b/22455-page-images/p188.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..77e0525
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p188.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p189.png b/22455-page-images/p189.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d2520a4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p189.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p190.png b/22455-page-images/p190.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..33deff2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p190.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p191.png b/22455-page-images/p191.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a1e1b31
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p191.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p192.png b/22455-page-images/p192.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c5091a9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p192.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p193.png b/22455-page-images/p193.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1e83439
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p193.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p194.png b/22455-page-images/p194.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..029e9bd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p194.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p195.png b/22455-page-images/p195.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8a82355
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p195.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p196.png b/22455-page-images/p196.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0cb5517
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p196.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p197.png b/22455-page-images/p197.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1231fa4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p197.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p198.png b/22455-page-images/p198.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..883a8fa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p198.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p199.png b/22455-page-images/p199.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..88bbff3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p199.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p200.png b/22455-page-images/p200.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ca4cd84
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p200.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p201.png b/22455-page-images/p201.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2605268
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p201.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p202.png b/22455-page-images/p202.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..84fd216
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p202.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p203.png b/22455-page-images/p203.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5783395
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p203.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p204.png b/22455-page-images/p204.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e6e53d2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p204.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p205.png b/22455-page-images/p205.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..706bd2f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p205.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p206.png b/22455-page-images/p206.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9d04884
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p206.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p207.png b/22455-page-images/p207.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1777d63
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p207.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p208.png b/22455-page-images/p208.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..867756f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p208.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p209.png b/22455-page-images/p209.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..33c03d0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p209.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p210.png b/22455-page-images/p210.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fa30dfa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p210.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p211.png b/22455-page-images/p211.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3eaeb72
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p211.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p212.png b/22455-page-images/p212.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c8ae13b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p212.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p213.png b/22455-page-images/p213.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0235d79
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p213.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p214.png b/22455-page-images/p214.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c0c5ee7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p214.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p215.png b/22455-page-images/p215.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..88164ae
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p215.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p216.png b/22455-page-images/p216.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ea77df6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p216.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p217.png b/22455-page-images/p217.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1c8a09c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p217.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p218.png b/22455-page-images/p218.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e37eb1a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p218.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p219.png b/22455-page-images/p219.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..edb85b9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p219.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p220.png b/22455-page-images/p220.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d3c71c6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p220.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p221.png b/22455-page-images/p221.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..38903ff
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p221.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p222.png b/22455-page-images/p222.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..68faf37
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p222.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p223.png b/22455-page-images/p223.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..68161b1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p223.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p224.png b/22455-page-images/p224.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..562c35e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p224.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p225.png b/22455-page-images/p225.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c43b3dc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p225.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p226.png b/22455-page-images/p226.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eac9673
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p226.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p227.png b/22455-page-images/p227.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..07c6b62
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p227.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p228.png b/22455-page-images/p228.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..de3d063
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p228.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p229.png b/22455-page-images/p229.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d5b47a7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p229.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p230.png b/22455-page-images/p230.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fad35fd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p230.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p231.png b/22455-page-images/p231.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a7dc769
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p231.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p232.png b/22455-page-images/p232.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bf7de9e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p232.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p233.png b/22455-page-images/p233.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6c20463
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p233.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p234.png b/22455-page-images/p234.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..622e4c5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p234.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p235.png b/22455-page-images/p235.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ce3be19
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p235.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p236.png b/22455-page-images/p236.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6bf0e3c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p236.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p237.png b/22455-page-images/p237.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4762cd4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p237.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p238.png b/22455-page-images/p238.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ee1b970
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p238.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p239.png b/22455-page-images/p239.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a91fc60
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p239.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p240.png b/22455-page-images/p240.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6a804c5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p240.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p241.png b/22455-page-images/p241.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c93d254
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p241.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p242.png b/22455-page-images/p242.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6bb4507
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p242.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p243.png b/22455-page-images/p243.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0b2c3fc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p243.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p244.png b/22455-page-images/p244.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5afcd7e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p244.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p245.png b/22455-page-images/p245.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..36d8de0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p245.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p246.png b/22455-page-images/p246.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e4c6ec2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p246.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p247.png b/22455-page-images/p247.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..534864c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p247.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p248.png b/22455-page-images/p248.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bec3968
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p248.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p249.png b/22455-page-images/p249.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2fffbad
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p249.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p250.png b/22455-page-images/p250.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..808e420
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p250.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p251.png b/22455-page-images/p251.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c734d96
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p251.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p252.png b/22455-page-images/p252.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5c369d5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p252.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p253.png b/22455-page-images/p253.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8620ae2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p253.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p254.png b/22455-page-images/p254.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f440de7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p254.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p255.png b/22455-page-images/p255.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5519d39
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p255.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p256.png b/22455-page-images/p256.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2a3aa5b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p256.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p257.png b/22455-page-images/p257.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d27b330
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p257.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p258.png b/22455-page-images/p258.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5805c56
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p258.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p259.png b/22455-page-images/p259.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..72b4ec5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p259.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p260.png b/22455-page-images/p260.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e7dc4a6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p260.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p261.png b/22455-page-images/p261.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cfc8d35
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p261.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p262.png b/22455-page-images/p262.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..be661c8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p262.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p263.png b/22455-page-images/p263.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9462ee9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p263.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p264.png b/22455-page-images/p264.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7062955
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p264.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p265.png b/22455-page-images/p265.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3fee479
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p265.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p266.png b/22455-page-images/p266.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f839eee
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p266.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p267.png b/22455-page-images/p267.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0afb807
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p267.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p268.png b/22455-page-images/p268.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b76f434
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p268.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p269.png b/22455-page-images/p269.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5d2082b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p269.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p270.png b/22455-page-images/p270.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..90f6884
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p270.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p271.png b/22455-page-images/p271.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..acd4ff5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p271.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p272.png b/22455-page-images/p272.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e67b607
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p272.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p273.png b/22455-page-images/p273.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8442efb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p273.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p274.png b/22455-page-images/p274.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7d8e610
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p274.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p275.png b/22455-page-images/p275.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1bfb2c8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p275.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p276.png b/22455-page-images/p276.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7da1a16
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p276.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p277.png b/22455-page-images/p277.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..10d8993
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p277.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p278.png b/22455-page-images/p278.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2c9f6d9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p278.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p279.png b/22455-page-images/p279.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0d46696
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p279.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p280.png b/22455-page-images/p280.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..da8036e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p280.png
diff --git a/22455-page-images/p281.png b/22455-page-images/p281.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..93ab0e8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455-page-images/p281.png
diff --git a/22455.txt b/22455.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c10df4d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,7246 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Adam Johnstone's Son, by F. Marion Crawford
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Adam Johnstone's Son
+
+
+Author: F. Marion Crawford
+
+
+
+Release Date: August 29, 2007  [eBook #22455]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Bruce Albrecht, Louise Pryor, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustration.
+      See 22455-h.htm or 22455-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/4/5/22455/22455-h/22455-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/4/5/22455/22455-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+The Complete Works of F. Marion Crawford
+
+ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON
+
+by
+
+F. MARION CRAWFORD
+
+With Frontispiece
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "I SOMETIMES THINK THAT ONE'S PAST LIFE IS WRITTEN IN A
+FOREIGN LANGUAGE," SAID MRS. BOWRING, SHUTTING THE BOOK SHE HELD.]
+
+
+
+P. F. Collier & Son
+New York
+
+Copyright 1895, 1896, 1897
+by F. Marion Crawford
+All Rights Reserved
+
+
+
+
+
+ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+"I sometimes think that one's past life is written in a foreign
+language," said Mrs. Bowring, shutting the book she held, but keeping
+the place with one smooth, thin forefinger, while her still, blue eyes
+turned from her daughter's face towards the hazy hills that hemmed the
+sea thirty miles to the southward. "When one wants to read it, one finds
+ever so many words which one cannot understand, and one has to look them
+out in a sort of unfamiliar dictionary, and try to make sense of the
+sentences as best one can. Only the big things are clear."
+
+Clare glanced at her mother, smiling innocently and half mechanically,
+without much definite expression, and quite without curiosity. Youth can
+be in sympathy with age, while not understanding it, while not
+suspecting, perhaps, that there is anything to understand beyond the
+streaked hair and the pale glance and the little torture-lines which
+paint the portrait of fifty years for the eyes of twenty.
+
+Every woman knows the calendar of her own face. The lines are years,
+one for such and such a year, one for such and such another; the streaks
+are months, perhaps, or weeks, or sometimes hours, where the tear-storms
+have bleached the brown, the black, or the gold. "This little
+wrinkle--it was so very little then!" she says. "It came when I doubted
+for a day. There is a shadow there, just at each temple, where the cloud
+passed, when my sun went out. The bright hair grew lower on my forehead.
+It is worn away, as though by a crown, that was not of gold. There are
+hollows there, near the ears, on each side, since that week when love
+was done to death before my eyes and died--intestate--leaving his
+substance to be divided amongst indifferent heirs. They wrangle for what
+he has left, but he himself is gone, beyond hearing or caring, and,
+thank God, beyond suffering. But the marks are left."
+
+Youth looks on and sees alike the ill-healed wounds of the martyrdom and
+the rough scars of sin's scourges, and does not understand. Clare
+Bowring smiled, without definite expression, just because her mother had
+spoken and seemed to ask for sympathy; and then she looked away for a
+few moments. She had a bit of work in her hands, a little bag which she
+was making out of a piece of old Italian damask, to hold a needle-case
+and thread and scissors. She had stopped sewing, and instinctively
+waited before beginning again, as though to acknowledge by a little
+affectionate deference that her mother had said something serious and
+had a right to expect attention. But she did not answer, for she could
+not understand.
+
+Her own young life was vividly clear to her; so very vividly clear, that
+it sometimes made her think of a tiresome chromolithograph. All the
+facts and thoughts of it were so near that she knew them by heart, as
+people come to know the patterns of the wall-paper in the room they
+inhabit. She had nothing to hide, nothing to regret, nothing which she
+thought she should care very much to recall, though she remembered
+everything. A girl is very young when she can recollect distinctly every
+frock she has had, the first long one, and the second, and the third;
+and the first ball gown, and the second, and no third, because that is
+still in the future, and a particular pair of gloves which did not fit,
+and a certain pair of shoes she wore so long because they were so
+comfortable, and the precise origin of every one of the few trinkets and
+bits of jewellery she possesses. That was Clare Bowring's case. She
+could remember everything and everybody in her life. But her father was
+not in her memories, and there was a little motionless grey cloud in
+the place where he should have been. He had been a soldier, and had been
+killed in an obscure skirmish with black men, in one of England's
+obscure but expensive little wars. Death is always very much the same
+thing, and it seems unfair that the guns of Balaclava should still roar
+"glory" while the black man's quick spear-thrust only spells "dead,"
+without comment. But glory in death is even more a matter of luck than
+fame in life. At all events, Captain Bowring, as brave a gentleman as
+ever faced fire, had perished like so many other brave gentlemen of his
+kind, in a quiet way, without any fuss, beyond killing half a dozen or
+so of his assailants, and had left his widow the glory of receiving a
+small pension in return for his blood, and that was all. Some day, when
+the dead are reckoned, and the manner of their death noted, poor Bowring
+may count for more than some of his friends who died at home from a
+constitutional inability to enjoy all the good things fortune set before
+them, complicated by a disposition incapable of being satisfied with
+only a part of the feast. But at the time of this tale they counted for
+more than he; for they had been constrained to leave behind them what
+they could not consume, while he, poor man, had left very little besides
+the aforesaid interest in the investment of his blood, in the form of a
+pension to his widow, and the small grey cloud in the memory of his
+girl-child, in the place where he should have been. For he had been
+killed when she had been a baby.
+
+The mother and daughter were lonely, if not alone in the world; for when
+one has no money to speak of, and no relations at all, the world is a
+lonely place, regarded from the ordinary point of view--which is, of
+course, the true one. They had no home in England, and they generally
+lived abroad, more or less, in one or another of the places of society's
+departed spirits, such as Florence. They had not, however, entered into
+Limbo without hope, since they were able to return to the social earth
+when they pleased, and to be alive again, and the people they met abroad
+sometimes asked them to stop with them at home, recognising the fact
+that they were still socially living and casting shadows. They were sure
+of half a hundred friendly faces in London and of half a dozen
+hospitable houses in the country; and that is not little for people who
+have nothing wherewith to buy smiles and pay for invitations. Clare had
+more than once met women of her mother's age and older, who had looked
+at her rather thoughtfully and longer than had seemed quite natural,
+saying very quietly that her father had been "a great friend of theirs."
+But those were not the women whom her mother liked best, and Clare
+sometimes wondered whether the little grey cloud in her memory, which
+represented her father, might not be there to hide away something more
+human than an ideal. Her mother spoke of him, sometimes gravely,
+sometimes with a far-away smile, but never tenderly. The smile did not
+mean much, Clare thought. People often spoke of dead people with a sort
+of faint look of uncertain beatitude--the same which many think
+appropriate to the singing of hymns. The absence of anything like
+tenderness meant more. The gravity was only natural and decent.
+
+"Your father was a brave man," Mrs. Bowring sometimes said. "Your father
+was very handsome," she would say. "He was very quick-tempered," she
+perhaps added.
+
+But that was all. Clare had a friend whose husband had died young and
+suddenly, and her friend's heart was broken. She did not speak as Mrs.
+Bowring did. When the latter said that her past life seemed to be
+written in a foreign language, Clare did not understand, but she knew
+that the something of which the translation was lost, as it were,
+belonged to her father. She always felt an instinctive desire to defend
+him, and to make her mother feel more sympathy for his memory. Yet, at
+the same time, she loved her mother in such a way as made her feel that
+if there had been any trouble, her father must have been in the wrong.
+Then she was quite sure that she did not understand, and she held her
+tongue, and smiled vaguely, and waited a moment before she went on with
+her work.
+
+Besides, she was not at all inclined to argue anything at present. She
+had been ill, and her mother was worn out with taking care of her, and
+they had come to Amalfi to get quite well and strong again in the air of
+the southern spring. They had settled themselves for a couple of months
+in the queer hotel, which was once a monastery, perched high up under
+the still higher overhanging rocks, far above the beach and the busy
+little town; and now, in the May afternoon, they sat side by side under
+the trellis of vines on the terraced walk, their faces turned southward,
+in the shade of the steep mountain behind them; the sea was blue at
+their feet, and quite still, but farther out the westerly breeze that
+swept past the Conca combed it to crisp roughness; then it was less blue
+to southward, and gradually it grew less real, till it lost colour and
+melted into a sky-haze that almost hid the southern mountains and the
+lizard-like head of the far Licosa.
+
+A bit of coarse faded carpet lay upon the ground under the two ladies'
+feet, and the shady air had a soft green tinge in it from the young
+vine-leaves overhead. At first sight one would have said that both were
+delicate, if not ill. Both were fair, though in different degrees, and
+both were pale and quiet, and looked a little weary.
+
+The young girl sat in the deep straw chair, hatless, with bare white
+hands that held her work. Her thick flaxen hair, straightly parted and
+smoothed away from its low growth on the forehead, half hid small fresh
+ears, unpierced. Long lashes, too white for beauty, cast very faint
+light shadows as she looked down; but when she raised the lids, the
+dark-blue eyes were bright, with wide pupils and a straight look, quick
+to fasten, slow to let go, never yet quite softened, and yet never
+mannishly hard. But, in its own way, perhaps, there is no look so hard
+as the look of maiden innocence can be. There can even be something
+terrible in its unconscious stare. There is the spirit of God's own
+fearful directness in it. Half quibbling with words perhaps, but surely
+with half truth, one might say that youth "is," while all else "has
+been"; and that youth alone possesses the present, too innocent to know
+it all, yet too selfish even to doubt of what is its own--too sure of
+itself to doubt anything, to fear anything, or even truly to pray for
+anything. There is no equality and no community in virtue; it is only
+original sin that makes us all equal and human. Old Lucifer, fallen,
+crushed, and damned, knows the worth of forgiveness--not young Michael,
+flintily hard and monumentally upright in his steel coat, a terror to
+the devil himself. And youth can have something of that archangelic
+rigidity. Youth is not yet quite human.
+
+But there was much in Clare Bowring's face which told that she was to be
+quite human some day. The lower features were not more than strong
+enough--the curved lips would be fuller before long, the small nostrils,
+the gentle chin, were a little sharper than was natural, now, from
+illness, but round in outline and not over prominent; and the slender
+throat was very delicate and feminine. Only in the dark-blue eyes there
+was still that unabashed, quick glance and long-abiding straightness,
+and innocent hardness, and the unconscious selfishness of the
+uncontaminated.
+
+Standing on her feet, she would have seemed rather tall than short,
+though really but of average height. Seated, she looked tall, and her
+glance was a little downward to most people's eyes. Just now she was too
+thin, and seemed taller than she was. But the fresh light was already in
+the young white skin, and there was a soft colour in the lobes of the
+little ears, as the white leaves of daisies sometimes blush all round
+their tips.
+
+The nervous white hands held the little bag lightly, and twined it and
+sewed it deftly, for Clare was clever with her fingers. Possibly they
+looked even a little whiter than they were, by contrast with the dark
+stuff of her dress, and illness had made them shrink at the lower part,
+robbing them of their natural strength, though not of their grace. There
+is a sort of refinement, not of taste, nor of talent, but of feeling and
+thought, and it shows itself in the hands of those who have it, more
+than in any feature of the face, in a sort of very true proportion
+between the hand and its fingers, between each finger and its joints,
+each joint and each nail; a something which says that such a hand could
+not do anything ignoble, could not take meanly, nor strike cowardly, nor
+press falsely; a quality of skin neither rough and coarse, nor over
+smooth like satin, but cool and pleasant to the touch as fine silk that
+is closely woven. The fingers of such hands are very straight and very
+elastic, but not supple like young snakes, as some fingers are, and the
+cushion of the hand is not over full nor heavy, nor yet shrunken and
+undeveloped as in the wasted hands of old Asiatic races.
+
+In outward appearance there was that sort of inherited likeness between
+mother and daughter which is apt to strike strangers more than persons
+of the same family. Mrs. Bowring had been beautiful in her youth--far
+more beautiful than Clare--but her face had been weaker, in spite of the
+regularity of the features and their faultless proportion. Life had given
+them an acquired strength, but not of the lovely kind, and the complexion
+was faded, and the hair had darkened, and the eyes had paled. Some faces
+are beautified by suffering. Mrs. Bowring's face was not of that class.
+It was as though a thin, hard mask had been formed and closely moulded
+upon it, as the action of the sea overlays some sorts of soft rock with a
+surface thin as paper but as hard as granite. In spite of the hardness,
+the features were not really strong. There was refinement in them,
+however, of the same kind which the daughter had, and as much, though
+less pleasing. A fern--a spray of maiden's-hair--loses much of its beauty
+but none of its refinement when petrified in limestone or made fossil in
+coal.
+
+As they sat there, side by side, mother and daughter, where they had sat
+every day for a week or more, they had very little to say. They had
+exhausted the recapitulation of Clare's illness, during the first days
+of her convalescence. It was not the first time that they had been in
+Amalfi, and they had enumerated its beauties to each other, and renewed
+their acquaintance with it from a distance, looking down from the
+terrace upon the low-lying town, and the beach and the painted boats,
+and the little crowd that swarmed out now and then like ants, very busy
+and very much in a hurry, running hither and thither, disappearing
+presently as by magic, and leaving the shore to the sun and the sea. The
+two had spoken of a little excursion to Ravello, and they meant to go
+thither as soon as they should be strong enough; but that was not yet.
+And meanwhile they lived through the quiet days, morning, meal times,
+evening, bed time, and round again, through the little hotel's programme
+of possibility; eating what was offered them, but feasting royally on
+air and sunshine and spring sweetness; moistening their lips in strange
+southern wines, but drinking deep draughts of the rich southern
+air-life; watching the people of all sorts and of many conditions, who
+came and stayed a day and went away again, but social only in each
+other's lives, and even that by sympathy rather than in speech. A corner
+of life's show was before them, and they kept their places on the
+vine-sheltered terrace and looked on. But it seemed as though nothing
+could ever possibly happen there to affect the direction of their own
+quietly moving existence.
+
+Seeing that her daughter did not say anything in answer to the remark
+about the past being written in a foreign language, Mrs. Bowring looked
+at the distant sky-haze thoughtfully for a few moments, then opened her
+book again where her thin forefinger had kept the place, and began to
+read. There was no disappointment in her face at not being understood,
+for she had spoken almost to herself and had expected no reply. No
+change of expression softened or accentuated the quiet hardness which
+overspread her naturally gentle face. But the thought was evidently
+still present in her mind, for her attention did not fix itself upon her
+book, and presently she looked at her daughter, as the latter bent her
+head over the little bag she was making.
+
+The young girl felt her mother's eyes upon her, looked up herself, and
+smiled faintly, almost mechanically, as before. It was a sort of habit
+they both had--a way of acknowledging one another's presence in the
+world. But this time it seemed to Clare that there was a question in the
+look, and after she had smiled she spoke.
+
+"No," she said, "I don't understand how anybody can forget the past. It
+seems to me that I shall always remember why I did things, said things,
+and thought things. I should, if I lived a hundred years, I'm quite
+sure."
+
+"Perhaps you have a better memory than I," answered Mrs. Bowring. "But
+I don't think it is exactly a question of memory either. I can remember
+what I said, and did, and thought, well--twenty years ago. But it seems
+to me very strange that I should have thought, and spoken, and acted,
+just as I did. After all isn't it natural? They tell us that our bodies
+are quite changed in less time than that."
+
+"Yes--but the soul does not change," said Clare with conviction.
+
+"The soul--"
+
+Mrs. Bowring repeated the word, but said nothing more, and her still,
+blue eyes wandered from her daughter's face and again fixed themselves
+on an imaginary point of the far southern distance.
+
+"At least," said Clare, "I was always taught so."
+
+She smiled again, rather coldly, as though admitting that such teaching
+might not be infallible after all.
+
+"It is best to believe it," said her mother quietly, but in a colourless
+voice. "Besides," she added, with a change of tone, "I do believe it,
+you know. One is always the same, in the main things. It is the point of
+view that changes. The best picture in the world does not look the same
+in every light, does it?"
+
+"No, I suppose not. You may like it in one light and not in another,
+and in one place and not in another."
+
+"Or at one time of life, and not at another," added Mrs. Bowring,
+thoughtfully.
+
+"I can't imagine that." Clare paused a moment. "Of course you are
+thinking of people," she continued presently, with a little more
+animation. "One always means people, when one talks in that way. And
+that is what I cannot quite understand. It seems to me that if I liked
+people once I should always like them."
+
+Her mother looked at her.
+
+"Yes--perhaps you would," she said, and she relapsed into silence.
+
+Clare's colour did not change. No particular person was in her thoughts,
+and she had, as it were, given her own general and inexperienced opinion
+of her own character, quite honestly and without affectation.
+
+"I don't know which are the happier," said Mrs. Bowring at last, "the
+people who change, or the people who can't."
+
+"You mean faithful or unfaithful people, I suppose," observed the young
+girl with grave innocence.
+
+A very slight flush rose in Mrs. Bowring's thin cheeks, and the quiet
+eyes grew suddenly hard, but Clare was busy with her work again and did
+not see.
+
+"Those are big words," said the older woman in a low voice.
+
+"Well--yes--of course!" answered Clare. "So they ought to be! It is
+always the main question, isn't it? Whether you can trust a person or
+not, I mean."
+
+"That is one question. The other is, whether the person deserves to be
+trusted."
+
+"Oh--it's the same thing!"
+
+"Not exactly."
+
+"You know what I mean, mother. Besides, I don't believe that any one who
+can't trust is really to be trusted. Do you?"
+
+"My dear Clare!" exclaimed Mrs. Bowring. "You can't put life into a
+nutshell, like that!"
+
+"No. I suppose not, though if a thing is true at all it must be always
+true."
+
+"Saving exceptions."
+
+"Are there any exceptions to truth?" asked Clare incredulously. "Truth
+isn't grammar--nor the British Constitution."
+
+"No. But then, we don't know everything. What we call truth is what we
+know. It is only what we know. All that we don't know, but which is, is
+true, too--especially, all that we don't know about people with whom we
+have to live."
+
+"Oh--if people have secrets!" The young girl laughed idly. "But you and
+I, for instance, mother--we have no secrets from each other, have we?
+Well? Why should any two people who love each other have secrets? And if
+they have none, why, then, they know all that there is to be known about
+one another, and each trusts the other, and has a right to be trusted,
+because everything is known--and everything is the whole truth. It seems
+to me that is simple enough, isn't it?"
+
+Mrs. Bowring laughed in her turn. It was rather a hard little laugh, but
+Clare was used to the sound of it, and joined in it, feeling that she
+had vanquished her mother in argument, and settled one of the most
+important questions of life for ever.
+
+"What a pretty steamer!" exclaimed Mrs. Bowring suddenly.
+
+"It's a yacht," said Clare after a moment. "The flag is English, too. I
+can see it distinctly."
+
+She laid down her work, and her mother closed her book upon her
+forefinger again, and they watched the graceful white vessel as she
+glided slowly in from the Conca, which she had rounded while they had
+been talking.
+
+"It's very big, for a yacht," observed Mrs. Bowring. "They are coming
+here."
+
+"They have probably come round from Naples to spend a day," said Clare.
+"We are sure to have them up here. What a nuisance!"
+
+"Yes. Everybody comes up here who comes to Amalfi at all. I hope they
+won't stay long."
+
+"There is no fear of that," answered Clare. "I heard those people saying
+the other day that this is not a place where a vessel can lie any length
+of time. You know how the sea sometimes breaks on the beach."
+
+Mrs. Bowring and her daughter desired of all things to be quiet. The
+visitors who came, stayed a few days at the hotel, and went away again,
+were as a rule tourists or semi-invalids in search of a climate, and
+anything but noisy. But people coming in a smart English yacht would
+probably be society people, and as such Mrs. Bowring wished that they
+would keep away. They would behave as though the place belonged to them,
+so long as they remained; they would get all the attention of the
+proprietor and of the servants for the time being; and they would make
+everybody feel shabby and poor.
+
+The Bowrings were poor, indeed, but they were not shabby. It was perhaps
+because they were well aware that nobody could mistake them for average
+tourists that they resented the coming of a party which belonged to what
+is called society. Mrs. Bowring had a strong aversion to making new
+acquaintances, and even disliked being thrown into the proximity of
+people who might know friends of hers, who might have heard of her, and
+who might talk about her and her daughter. Clare said that her mother's
+shyness in this respect was almost morbid; but she had unconsciously
+caught a little of it herself, and, like her mother, she was often quite
+uselessly on her guard against strangers, of the kind whom she might
+possibly be called upon to know, though she was perfectly affable and at
+her ease with those whom she looked upon as undoubtedly her social
+inferiors.
+
+They were not mistaken in their prediction that the party from the yacht
+would come up to the Cappuccini. Half an hour after the yacht had
+dropped anchor the terrace was invaded. They came up in twos and threes,
+nearly a dozen of them, men and women, smart-looking people with
+healthy, sun-burnt faces, voices loud from the sea as voices become on a
+long voyage--or else very low indeed. By contrast with the frequenters
+of Amalfi they all seemed to wear overpoweringly good clothes and
+perfectly new hats and caps, and their russet shoes were resplendent.
+They moved as though everything belonged to them, from the wild crests
+of the hills above to the calm blue water below, and the hotel servants
+did their best to foster the agreeable illusion. They all wanted chairs,
+and tables, and things to drink, and fruit. One very fair little lady
+with hard, restless eyes, and clad in white serge, insisted upon having
+grapes, and no one could convince her that grapes were not ripe in May.
+
+"It's quite absurd!" she objected. "Of course they're ripe! We had the
+most beautiful grapes at breakfast at Leo Cairngorm's the other day, so
+of course they must have them here. Brook! Do tell the man not to be
+absurd!"
+
+"Man!" said the member of the party she had last addressed. "Do not be
+absurd!"
+
+"Si, Signore," replied the black-whiskered Amalfitan servant with
+alacrity.
+
+"You see!" cried the little lady triumphantly. "I told you so! You must
+insist with these people. You can always get what you want. Brook,
+where's my fan?"
+
+She settled upon a straw chair--like a white butterfly. The others
+walked on towards the end of the terrace, but the young man whom she
+called Brook stood beside her, slowly lighting a cigarette, not five
+paces from Mrs. Bowring and Clare.
+
+"I'm sure I don't know where your fan is," he said, with a short laugh,
+as he threw the end of the match over the wall.
+
+"Well then, look for it!" she answered, rather sharply. "I'm awfully
+hot, and I want it."
+
+He glanced at her before he spoke again.
+
+"I don't know where it is," he said quietly, but there was a shade of
+annoyance in his face.
+
+"I gave it to you just as we were getting into the boat," answered the
+lady in white. "Do you mean to say that you left it on board?"
+
+"I think you must be mistaken," said the young man. "You must have given
+it to somebody else."
+
+"It isn't likely that I should mistake you for any one else--especially
+to-day."
+
+"Well--I haven't got it. I'll get you one in the hotel, if you'll have
+patience for a moment."
+
+He turned and strode along the terrace towards the house. Clare Bowring
+had been watching the two, and she looked after the man as he moved
+rapidly away. He walked well, for he was a singularly well-made young
+fellow, who looked as though he were master of every inch of himself.
+She had liked his brown face and bright blue eyes, too, and somehow she
+resented the way in which the little lady ordered him about. She looked
+round and saw that her mother was watching him too. Then, as he
+disappeared, they both looked at the lady. She too had followed him with
+her eyes, and as she turned her face sideways to the Bowrings Clare
+thought that she was biting her lip, as though something annoyed her or
+hurt her. She kept her eyes on the door. Presently the young man
+reappeared, bearing a palm-leaf fan in his hand and blowing a cloud of
+cigarette smoke into the air. Instantly the lady smiled, and the smile
+brightened as he came near.
+
+"Thank you--dear," she said as he gave her the fan.
+
+The last word was spoken in a lower tone, and could certainly not have
+been heard by the other members of the party, but it reached Clare's
+ears, where she sat.
+
+"Not at all," answered the young man quietly.
+
+But as he spoke he glanced quickly about him, and his eyes met Clare's.
+She fancied that she saw a look of startled annoyance in them, and he
+coloured a little under his tan. He had a very manly face, square and
+strong. He bent down a little and said something in a low voice. The
+lady in white half turned her head, impatiently, but did not look quite
+round. Clare saw, however, that her expression had changed again, and
+that the smile was gone.
+
+"If I don't care, why should you?" were the next words Clare heard,
+spoken impatiently and petulantly.
+
+The man who answered to the name of Brook said nothing, but sat down on
+the parapet of the terrace, looking out over his shoulder to seaward. A
+few seconds later he threw away his half-smoked cigarette.
+
+"I like this place," said the lady in white, quite audibly. "I think I
+shall send on board for my things and stay here."
+
+The young man started as though he had been struck, and faced her in
+silence. He could not help seeing Clare Bowring beyond her.
+
+"I'm going indoors, mother," said the young girl, rising rather
+abruptly. "I'm sure it must be time for tea. Won't you come too?"
+
+The young man did not answer his companion's remark, but turned his face
+away again and looked seaward, listening to the retreating footsteps of
+the two ladies.
+
+On the threshold of the hotel Clare felt a strong desire to look back
+again and see whether he had moved, but she was ashamed of it and went
+in, holding her head high and looking straight before her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+The people from the yacht belonged to that class of men and women whose
+uncertainty, or indifference, about the future leads them to take
+possession of all they can lay hands on in the present, with a view to
+squeezing the world like a lemon for such enjoyment as it may yield. So
+long as they tarried at the old hotel, it was their private property.
+The Bowrings were forgotten; the two English old maids had no existence;
+the Russian invalid got no more hot water for his tea; the plain but
+obstinately inquiring German family could get no more information; even
+the quiet young French couple--a honeymoon couple--sank into
+insignificance. The only protest came from an American, whose wife was
+ill and never appeared, and who staggered the landlord by asking what he
+would sell the whole place for on condition of vacating the premises
+before dinner.
+
+"They will be gone before dinner," the proprietor answered.
+
+But they did not go. When it was already late somebody saw the moon
+rise, almost full, and suggested that the moonlight would be very fine,
+and that it would be amusing to dine at the hotel table and spend the
+evening on the terrace and go on board late.
+
+"I shall," said the little lady in white serge, "whatever the rest of
+you do. Brook! Send somebody on board to get a lot of cloaks and shawls
+and things. I am sure it is going to be cold. Don't go away! I want you
+to take me for a walk before dinner, so as to be nice and hungry, you
+know."
+
+For some reason or other, several of the party laughed, and from their
+tone one might have guessed that they were in the habit of laughing, or
+were expected to laugh, at the lady's speeches. And every one agreed
+that it would be much nicer to spend the evening on the terrace, and
+that it was a pity that they could not dine out of doors because it
+would be far too cool. Then the lady in white and the man called Brook
+began to walk furiously up and down in the fading light, while the lady
+talked very fast in a low voice, except when she was passing within
+earshot of some of the others, and the man looked straight before him,
+answering occasionally in monosyllables.
+
+Then there was more confusion in the hotel, and the Russian invalid
+expressed his opinion to the two English old maids, with whom he
+fraternised, that dinner would be an hour late, thanks to their
+compatriots. But they assumed an expression appropriate when speaking of
+the peerage, and whispered that the yacht must belong to the Duke of
+Orkney, who, they had read, was cruising in the Mediterranean, and that
+the Duke was probably the big man in grey clothes who had a gold
+cigarette case. But in all this they were quite mistaken. And their
+repeated examinations of the hotel register were altogether fruitless,
+because none of the party had written their names in it. The old maids,
+however, were quite happy and resigned to waiting for their dinner. They
+presently retired to attempt for themselves what stingy nature had
+refused to do for them in the way of adornment, for the dinner was
+undoubtedly to be an occasion of state, and their eyes were to see the
+glory of a lord.
+
+The party sat together at one end of the table, which extended the whole
+length of the high and narrow vaulted hall, while the guests staying in
+the hotel filled the opposite half. Most of the guests were more subdued
+than usual, and the party from the yacht seemed noisy by contrast. The
+old maids strained their ears to catch a name here and there. Clare and
+her mother talked little. The Russian invalid put up a single eyeglass,
+looked long and curiously at each of the new comers in turn, and then
+did not vouchsafe them another glance. The German family criticised the
+food severely, and then got into a fierce discussion about Bismarck and
+the Pope, in the course of which they forgot the existence of their
+fellow-diners, but not of their dinner.
+
+Clare could not help glancing once or twice at the couple that had
+attracted her attention, and she found herself wondering what their
+relation to each other could be, and whether they were engaged to be
+married. Somebody called the lady in white "Mrs. Crosby." Then somebody
+else called her "Lady Fan"--which was very confusing. "Brook" never
+called her anything. Clare saw him fill his glass and look at Lady Fan
+very hard before he drank, and then Lady Fan did the same thing.
+Nevertheless they seemed to be perpetually quarrelling over little
+things. When Brook was tired of being bullied, he calmly ignored his
+companion, turned from her, and talked in a low tone to a dark woman who
+had been a beauty and was the most thoroughly well-dressed of the
+extremely well-dressed party. Lady Fan bit her lip for a moment, and
+then said something at which all the others laughed--except Brook and
+the advanced beauty, who continued to talk in undertones.
+
+To Clare's mind there was about them all, except Brook, a little dash
+of something which was not "quite, quite," as the world would have
+expressed it. In her opinion Lady Fan was distinctly disagreeable,
+whoever she might be--as distinctly so as Brook was the contrary. And
+somehow the girl could not help resenting the woman's way of treating
+him. It offended her oddly and jarred upon her good taste, as something
+to which she was not at all accustomed in her surroundings. Lady Fan was
+very exquisite in her outward ways, and her speech was of the proper
+smartness. Yet everything she did and said was intensely unpleasant to
+Clare.
+
+The Bowrings and the regular guests finished their dinner before the
+yachting party, and rose almost in a body, with a clattering of their
+light chairs on the tiled floor. Only the English old maids kept their
+places a little longer than the rest, and took some more filberts and
+half a glass of white wine, each. They could not keep their eyes from
+the party at the other end of the table, and their faces grew a little
+redder as they sat there. Clare and her mother had to go round the long
+table to get out, being the last on their side, and they were also the
+last to reach the door. Again the young girl felt that strong desire to
+turn her head and look back at Brook and Lady Fan. She noticed it this
+time, as something she had never felt until that afternoon, but she
+would not yield to it. She walked on, looking straight at the back of
+her mother's head. Then she heard quick footsteps on the tiles behind
+her, and Brook's voice.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he was saying, "you have dropped your shawl."
+
+She turned quickly, and met his eyes as he stopped close to her, holding
+out the white chudder which had slipped to the floor unnoticed when she
+had risen from her seat. She took it mechanically and thanked him.
+Instinctively looking past him down the long hall, she saw that the
+little lady in white had turned in her seat and was watching her. Brook
+made a slight bow and was gone again in an instant. Then Clare followed
+her mother and went out.
+
+"Let us go out behind the house," she said when they were in the broad
+corridor. "There will be moonlight there, and those people will
+monopolise the terrace when they have finished dinner."
+
+At the western end of the old monastery there is a broad open space,
+between the buildings and the overhanging rocks, at the base of which
+there is a deep recess, almost amounting to a cave, in which stands a
+great black cross planted in a pedestal of whitewashed masonry. A few
+steps lead up to it. As the moon rose higher the cross was in the
+shadow, while the platform and the buildings were in the full light.
+
+The two women ascended the steps and sat down upon a stone seat.
+
+"What a night!" exclaimed the young girl softly.
+
+Her mother silently bent her head, but neither spoke again for some
+time. The moonlight before them was almost dazzling, and the air was
+warm. Beyond the stone parapet, far below, the tideless sea was silent
+and motionless under the moon. A crooked fig-tree, still leafless,
+though the little figs were already shaped on it, cast its intricate
+shadow upon the platform. Very far away, a boy was singing a slow minor
+chant in a high voice. The peace was almost disquieting--there was
+something intensely expectant in it, as though the night were in love,
+and its heart beating.
+
+Clare sat still, her hand upon her mother's thin wrist, her lips just
+parted a little, her eyes wide and filled with moon-dreams. She had
+almost lost herself in unworded fancies when her mother moved and spoke.
+
+"I had quite forgotten a letter I was writing," she said. "I must finish
+it. Stay here, and I will come back again presently."
+
+She rose, and Clare watched her slim dark figure and the long black
+shadow that moved with it across the platform towards the open door of
+the hotel. But when it had disappeared the white fancies came flitting
+back through the silent light, and in the shade the young eyes fixed
+themselves quietly to meet the vision and see it all, and to keep it for
+ever if she could.
+
+She did not know what it was that she saw, but it was beautiful, and
+what she felt was on a sudden as the realisation of something she had
+dimly desired in vain. Yet in itself it was nothing realised; it was
+perhaps only the certainty of longing for something all heart and no
+name, and it was happiness to long for it. For the first intuition of
+love is only an exquisite foretaste, a delight in itself, as far from
+the bitter hunger of love starving as a girl's faintness is from a cruel
+death. The light was dazzling, and yet it was full of gentle things that
+smiled, somehow, without faces. She was not very imaginative, perhaps,
+else the faces might have come too, and voices, and all, save the one
+reality which had as yet neither voice nor face, nor any name. It was
+all the something that love was to mean, somewhere, some day--the airy
+lace of a maiden life-dream, in which no figure was yet wrought amongst
+the fancy-threads that the May moon was weaving in the soft spring
+night. There was no sadness in it, at all, for there was no memory, and
+without memory there can be no sadness, any more than there can be fear
+where there is no anticipation, far or near. Most happiness is really of
+the future, and most grief, if we would be honest, is of the past.
+
+The young girl sat still and dreamed that the old world was as young as
+she, and that in its soft bosom there were exquisite sweetnesses
+untried, and soft yearnings for a beautiful unknown, and little pulses
+that could quicken with foretasted joy which only needed face and name
+to take angelic shape of present love. The world could not be old while
+she was young.
+
+And she had her youth and knew it, and it was almost all she had. It
+seemed much to her, and she had no unsatisfiable craving for the world's
+stuff in which to attire it. In that, at least, her mother had been
+wise, teaching her to believe and to enjoy, rather than to doubt and
+criticise, and if there had been anything to hide from her it had been
+hidden, even beyond suspicion of its presence. Perhaps the armour of
+knowledge is of little worth until doubt has shaken the heart and
+weakened the joints, and broken the terrible steadfastness of perfect
+innocence in the eyes. Clare knew that she was young, she felt that the
+white dream was sweet, and she believed that the world's heart was
+clean and good. All good was natural and eternal, lofty and splendid as
+an archangel in the light. God had made evil as a background of shadows
+to show how good the light was. Every one could come and stand in the
+light if he chose, for the mere trouble of moving. It seemed so simple.
+She wondered why everybody could not see it as she did.
+
+A flash of white in the white moonlight disturbed her meditations. Two
+people had come out of the door and were walking slowly across the
+platform side by side. They were not speaking, and their footsteps
+crushed the light gravel sharply as they came forward. Clare recognised
+Brook and Lady Fan. Seated in the shadow on one side of the great black
+cross and a little behind it, she could see their faces distinctly, but
+she had no idea that they were dazzled by the light and could not see
+her at all in her dark dress. She fancied that they were looking at her
+as they came on.
+
+The shadow of the rock had crept forward upon the open space, while she
+had been dreaming. The two turned, just before they reached it, and then
+stood still, instead of walking back.
+
+"Brook--" began Lady Fan, as though she were going to say something.
+
+But she checked herself and looked up at him quickly, chilled already by
+his humour. Clare thought that the woman's voice shook a little, as she
+pronounced the name. Brook did not turn his head nor look down.
+
+"Yes?" he said, with a sort of interrogation. "What were you going to
+say?" he asked after a moment's pause.
+
+She seemed to hesitate, for she did not answer at once. Then she glanced
+towards the hotel and looked down.
+
+"You won't come back with us?" she asked, at last, in a pleading voice.
+
+"I can't," he answered. "You know I can't. I've got to wait for them
+here."
+
+"Yes, I know. But they are not here yet. I don't believe they are coming
+for two or three days. You could perfectly well come on to Genoa with
+us, and get back by rail."
+
+"No," said Brook quietly, "I can't."
+
+"Would you, if you could?" asked the lady in white, and her tone began
+to change again.
+
+"What a question!" he laughed drily.
+
+"It is an odd question, isn't it, coming from me?" Her voice grew hard,
+and she stopped. "Well--you know what it means," she added abruptly.
+"You may as well answer it and have it over. It is very easy to say you
+would not, if you could. I shall understand all the rest, and you will
+be saved the trouble of saying things--things which I should think you
+would find it rather hard to say."
+
+"Couldn't you say them, instead?" he asked slowly, and looking at her
+for the first time. He spoke gravely and coldly.
+
+"I!" There was indignation, real or well affected, in the tone.
+
+"Yes, you," answered the man, with a shade less coldness, but as gravely
+as before. "You never loved me."
+
+Lady Fan's small white face was turned to his instantly, and Clare could
+see the fierce, hurt expression in the eyes and about the quivering
+mouth. The young girl suddenly realised that she was accidentally
+overhearing something which was very serious to the two speakers. It
+flashed upon her that they had not seen her where she sat in the shadow,
+and she looked about her hastily in the hope of escaping unobserved. But
+that was impossible. There was no way of getting out of the recess of
+the rock where the cross stood, except by coming out into the light, and
+no way of reaching the hotel except by crossing the open platform.
+
+Then she thought of coughing, to call attention to her presence. She
+would rise and come forward, and hurry across to the door. She felt that
+she ought to have come out of the shadows as soon as the pair had
+appeared, and that she had done wrong in sitting still. But then, she
+told herself with perfect justice that they were strangers, and that
+she could not possibly have foreseen that they had come there to
+quarrel.
+
+They were strangers, and she did not even know their names. So far as
+they were concerned, and their feelings, it would be much more pleasant
+for them if they never suspected that any one had overheard them than if
+she were to appear in the midst of their conversation, having evidently
+been listening up to that point. It will be admitted that, being a
+woman, she had a choice; for she knew that if she had been in Lady Fan's
+place she should have preferred never to know that any one had heard
+her. She fancied what she should feel if any one should cough
+unexpectedly behind her when she had just been accused by the man she
+loved of not loving him at all. And of course the little lady in white
+loved Brook--she had called him "dear" that very afternoon. But that
+Brook did not love Lady Fan was as plain as possible.
+
+There was certainly no mean curiosity in Clare to know the secrets of
+these strangers. But all the same, she would not have been a human girl,
+of any period in humanity's history, if she had not been profoundly
+interested in the fate of the woman before her. That afternoon she would
+have thought it far more probable that the woman should break the man's
+heart than that she should break her own for him. But now it looked
+otherwise. Clare thought there was no mistaking the first tremor of the
+voice, the look of the white face, and the indignation of the tone
+afterwards. With a man, the question of revealing his presence as a
+third person would have been a point of honour. In Clare's case it was a
+question of delicacy and kindness as from one woman to another.
+
+Nevertheless, she hesitated, and she might have come forward after all.
+Ten slow seconds had passed since Brook had spoken. Then Lady Fan's
+little figure shook, her face turned away, and she tried to choke down
+one small bitter sob, pressing her handkerchief desperately to her lips.
+
+"Oh, Brook!" she cried, a moment later, and her tiny teeth tore the edge
+of the handkerchief audibly in the stillness.
+
+"It's not your fault," said the man, with an attempt at gentleness in
+his voice. "I couldn't blame you, if I were brute enough to wish to."
+
+"Blame me! Oh, really--I think you're mad, you know!"
+
+"Besides," continued the young man, philosophically, "I think we ought
+to be glad, don't you?"
+
+"Glad?"
+
+"Yes--that we are not going to break our hearts now that it's over."
+
+Clare thought his tone horribly business-like and indifferent.
+
+"Oh no! We sha'n't break our hearts any more! We are not children." Her
+voice was thin and bitter, with a crying laugh in it.
+
+"Look here, Fan!" said Brook suddenly. "This is all nonsense. We agreed
+to play together, and we've played very nicely, and now you have to go
+home, and I have got to stay here, whether I like it or not. Let us be
+good friends and say good-bye, and if we meet again and have nothing
+better to do, we can play again if we please. But as for taking it in
+this tragical way--why, it isn't worth it."
+
+The young girl crouching in the shadow felt as though she had been
+struck, and her heart went out with indignant sympathy to the little
+lady in white.
+
+"Do you know? I think you are the most absolutely brutal, cynical
+creature I ever met!" There was anger in the voice, now, and something
+more--something which Clare could not understand.
+
+"Well, I'm sorry," answered the man. "I don't mean to be brutal, I'm
+sure, and I don't think I'm cynical either. I look at things as they
+are, not as they ought to be. We are not angels, and the millennium
+hasn't come yet. I suppose it would be bad for us if it did, just now.
+But we used to be very good friends last year. I don't see why we
+shouldn't be again."
+
+"Friends! Oh no!"
+
+Lady Fan turned from him and made a step or two alone, out through the
+moonlight, towards the house. Brook did not move. Perhaps he knew that
+she would come back, as indeed she did, stopping suddenly and turning
+round to face him again.
+
+"Brook," she began more softly, "do you remember that evening up at the
+Acropolis--at sunset? Do you remember what you said?"
+
+"Yes, I think I do."
+
+"You said that if I could get free you would marry me."
+
+"Yes." The man's tone had changed suddenly.
+
+"Well--I believed you, that's all."
+
+Brook stood quite still, and looked at her quietly. Some seconds passed
+before she spoke again.
+
+"You did not mean it?" she asked sorrowfully.
+
+Still he said nothing.
+
+"Because you know," she continued, her eyes fixed on his, "the position
+is not at all impossible. All things considered, I suppose I could have
+a divorce for the asking."
+
+Clare started a little in the dark. She was beginning to guess something
+of the truth she could not understand. The man still said nothing, but
+he began to walk up and down slowly, with folded arms, along the edge of
+the shadow before Lady Fan as she stood still, following him with her
+eyes.
+
+"You did not mean a word of what you said that afternoon? Not one word?"
+She spoke very slowly and distinctly.
+
+He was silent still, pacing up and down before her. Suddenly, without a
+word, she turned from him and walked quickly away, towards the hotel. He
+started and stood still, looking after her--then he also made a step.
+
+"Fan!" he called, in a tone she could hear, but she went on. "Mrs.
+Crosby!" he called again.
+
+She stopped, turned, and waited. It was clear that Lady Fan was a
+nickname, Clare thought.
+
+"Well?" she asked.
+
+Clare clasped her hands together in her excitement, watching and
+listening, and holding her breath.
+
+"Don't go like that!" exclaimed Brook, going forward and holding out one
+hand.
+
+"Do you want me?" asked the lady in white, very gently, almost
+tenderly. Clare did not understand how any woman could have so little
+pride, but she pitied the little lady from her heart.
+
+Brook went on till he came up with Lady Fan, who did not make a step to
+meet him. But just as he reached her she put out her hand to take his.
+Clare thought he was relenting, but she was mistaken. His voice came
+back to her clear and distinct, and it had a very gentle ring in it.
+
+"Fan, dear," he said, "we have been very fond of each other in our
+careless way. But we have not loved each other. We may have thought that
+we did, for a moment, now and then. I shall always be fond of you, just
+in that way. I'll do anything for you. But I won't marry you, if you get
+a divorce. It would be utter folly. If I ever said I would, in so many
+words--well, I'm ashamed of it. You'll forgive me some day. One says
+things--sometimes--that one means for a minute, and then, afterwards,
+one doesn't mean them. But I mean what I am saying now."
+
+He dropped her hand, and stood looking at her, and waiting for her to
+speak. Her face, as Clare saw it, from a distance now, looked whiter
+than ever. After an instant she turned from him with a quick movement,
+but not towards the hotel.
+
+She walked slowly towards the stone parapet of the platform. As she
+went, Clare again saw her raise her handkerchief and press it to her
+lips, but she did not bend her head. She went and leaned on her elbows
+on the parapet, and her hands pulled nervously at the handkerchief as
+she looked down at the calm sea far below. Brook followed her slowly,
+but just as he was near, she, hearing his footsteps, turned and leaned
+back against the low wall.
+
+"Give me a cigarette," she said in a hard voice. "I'm nervous--and I've
+got to face those people in a moment."
+
+Clare started again in sheer surprise. She had expected tears, fainting,
+angry words, a passionate appeal--anything rather than what she heard.
+Brook produced a silver case which gleamed in the moonlight. Lady Fan
+took a cigarette, and her companion took another. He struck a match and
+held it up for her in the still air. The little flame cast its red glare
+into their faces. The young girl had good eyes, and as she watched them
+she saw the man's expression was grave and stern, a little sad, perhaps,
+but she fancied that there was the beginning of a scornful smile on the
+woman's lips. She understood less clearly then than ever what manner of
+human beings these two strangers might be.
+
+For some moments they smoked in silence, the lady in white leaning back
+against the parapet, the man standing upright with one hand in his
+pocket, holding his cigarette in the other, and looking out to sea. Then
+Lady Fan stood up, too, and threw her cigarette over the wall.
+
+"It's time to be going," she said, suddenly. "They'll be coming after us
+if we stay here."
+
+But she did not move. Sideways she looked up into his face. Then she
+held out her hand.
+
+"Good-bye, Brook," she said, quietly enough, as he took it.
+
+"Good-bye," he murmured in a low voice, but distinctly.
+
+Their hands stayed together after they had spoken, and still she looked
+up to him in the moonlight. Suddenly he bent down and kissed her on the
+forehead--in an odd, hasty way.
+
+"I'm sorry, Fan, but it won't do," he said.
+
+"Again!" she answered. "Once more, please!" And she held up her face.
+
+He kissed her again, but less hastily, Clare thought, as she watched
+them. Then, without another word, they walked towards the hotel, side by
+side, close together, so that their hands almost touched. When they were
+not ten paces from the door, they stopped again and looked at each
+other.
+
+At that moment Clare saw her mother's dark figure on the threshold. The
+pair must have heard her steps, for they separated a little and
+instantly went on, passing Mrs. Bowring quickly. Clare sat still in her
+place, waiting for her mother to come to her. She feared lest, if she
+moved, the two might come back for an instant, see her, and understand
+that they had been watched. Mrs. Bowring went forward a few steps.
+
+"Clare!" she called.
+
+"Yes," answered the young girl softly. "Here I am."
+
+"Oh--I could not see you at all," said her mother. "Come down into the
+moonlight."
+
+The young girl descended the steps, and the two began to walk up and
+down together on the platform.
+
+"Those were two of the people from the yacht that I met at the door,"
+said Mrs. Bowring. "The lady in white serge, and that good-looking young
+man."
+
+"Yes," Clare answered. "They were here some time. I don't think they saw
+me."
+
+She had meant to tell her mother something of what had happened, in the
+hope of being told that she had done right in not revealing her
+presence. But on second thoughts she resolved to say nothing about it.
+To have told the story would have seemed like betraying a confidence,
+even though they were strangers to her.
+
+"I could not help wondering about them this afternoon," said Mrs.
+Bowring. "She ordered him about in a most extraordinary way, as though
+he had been her servant. I thought it in very bad taste, to say the
+least of it. Of course I don't know anything about their relations, but
+it struck me that she wished to show him off, as her possession."
+
+"Yes," answered Clare, thoughtfully. "I thought so too."
+
+"Very foolish of her! No man will stand that sort of thing long. That
+isn't the way to treat a man in order to keep him."
+
+"What is the best way?" asked the young girl idly, with a little laugh.
+
+"Don't ask me!" answered Mrs. Bowring quickly, as they turned in their
+walk. "But I should think--" she added, a moment later, "I don't
+know--but I should think--" she hesitated.
+
+"What?" inquired Clare, with some curiosity.
+
+"Well, I was going to say, I should think that a man would wish to feel
+that he is holding, not that he is held. But then people are so
+different! One can never tell. At all events, it is foolish to wish to
+show everybody that you own a man, so to say."
+
+Mrs. Bowring seemed to be considering the question, but she evidently
+found nothing more to say about it, and they walked up and down in
+silence for a long time, each occupied with her own thoughts. Then all
+at once there was a sound of many voices speaking English, and trying to
+give orders in Italian, and the words "Good-bye, Brook!" sounded several
+times above the rest. Little by little, all grew still again.
+
+"They are gone at last," said Mrs. Bowring, with a sigh of relief.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Clare Bowring went to her room that night feeling as though she had been
+at the theatre. She could not get rid of the impression made upon her by
+the scene she had witnessed, and over and over again, as she lay awake,
+with the moonbeams streaming into her room, she went over all she had
+seen and heard on the platform. It had, at least, been very like the
+theatre. The broad, flat stage, the somewhat conventionally picturesque
+buildings, the strip of far-off sea, as flat as a band of paint, the
+unnaturally bright moonlight, the two chief figures going through a love
+quarrel in the foreground, and she herself calmly seated in the shadow,
+as in the darkened amphitheatre, and looking on unseen and unnoticed.
+
+But the two people had not talked at all as people talked on the stage
+in any piece Clare had ever seen. What would have been the "points" in a
+play had all been left out, and instead there had been abrupt pauses and
+awkward silences, and then, at what should have been the supreme moment,
+the lady in white had asked for a cigarette. And the two hasty little
+kisses that had a sort of perfunctory air, and the queer, jerky
+"good-byes," and the last stop near the door of the hotel--it all had an
+air of being very badly done. It could not have been a success on the
+stage, Clare thought.
+
+And yet this was a bit of life, of the real, genuine life of two people
+who had been in love, and perhaps were in love still, though they might
+not know it. She had been present at what must, in her view, have been a
+great crisis in two lives. Such things, she thought, could not happen
+more than once in a lifetime--twice, perhaps. Her mother had been
+married twice, so Clare admitted a second possibility. But not more than
+that.
+
+The situation, too, as she reviewed it, was nothing short of romantic.
+Here was a young man who had evidently been making love to a married
+woman, and who had made her believe that he loved her, and had made her
+love him too. Clare remembered the desperate little sob, and the
+handkerchief twice pressed to the pale lips. The woman was married, and
+yet she actually loved the man enough to think of divorcing her husband
+in order to marry him. Then, just when she was ready, he had turned and
+told her in the most heartless way that it had been all play, and that
+he would not marry her under any circumstances. It seemed monstrous to
+the innocent girl that they should even have spoken of marriage, until
+the divorce was accomplished. Then, of course, it would have been all
+right. Clare had been brought up with modern ideas about divorce in
+general, as being a fair and just thing in certain circumstances. She
+had learned that it could not be right to let an innocent woman suffer
+all her life because she had married a brute by mistake. Doubtless that
+was Lady Fan's case. But she should have got her divorce first, and then
+she might have talked of marriage afterwards. It was very wrong of her.
+
+But Lady Fan's thoughtlessness--or wickedness, as Clare thought she
+ought to call it--sank into insignificance before the cynical
+heartlessness of the man. It was impossible ever to forget the cool way
+in which he had said she ought not to take it so tragically, because it
+was not worth it. Yet he had admitted that he had promised to marry her
+if she got a divorce. He had made love to her, there on the Acropolis,
+at sunset, as she had said. He even granted that he might have believed
+himself in earnest for a few moments. And now he told her that he was
+sorry, but that "it would not do." It had evidently been all his fault,
+for he had found nothing with which to reproach her. If there had been
+anything, Clare thought, he would have brought it up in self-defence.
+She could not suspect that he would almost rather have married Lady Fan,
+and ruined his life, than have done that. Innocence cannot even guess at
+sin's code of honour--though sometimes it would be in evil case without
+it. Brook had probably broken Lady Fan's heart that night, thought the
+young girl, though Lady Fan had said with such a bitter, crying laugh
+that they were not children and that their hearts could not break.
+
+And it all seemed very unreal, as she looked back upon it. The situation
+was certainly romantic, but the words had been poor beyond her
+imagination, and the actors had halted in their parts, as at a first
+rehearsal.
+
+Then Clare reflected that of course neither of them had ever been in
+such a situation before, and that, if they were not naturally eloquent,
+it was not surprising that they should have expressed themselves in
+short, jerky sentences. But that was only an excuse she made to herself
+to account for the apparent unreality of it all. She turned her cheek to
+a cool end of the pillow and tried to go to sleep.
+
+She tried to bring back the white dreams she had dreamt when she had sat
+alone in the shadow before the other two had come out to quarrel. She
+did her best to bring back that vague, soft joy of yearning for
+something beautiful and unknown. She tried to drop the silver veil of
+fancy-threads woven by the May moon between her and the world. But it
+would not come. Instead of it, she saw the flat platform, the man and
+woman standing in the unnatural brightness, and the woman's desperate
+little face when he had told her that she had never loved him. The dream
+was not white any more.
+
+So that was life. That was reality. That was the way men treated women.
+She thought she began to understand what faithlessness and
+unfaithfulness meant. She had seen an unfaithful man, and had heard him
+telling the woman he had made love him that he never could love her any
+more. That was real life.
+
+Clare's heart went out to the little lady in white. By this time she was
+alone in her cabin, and her pillow was wet with tears. Brook doubtless
+was calmly asleep, unless he were drinking or doing some of those
+vaguely wicked things which, in the imagination of very simple young
+girls, fill up the hours of fast men, and help sometimes to make those
+very men "interesting." But after what she had seen Clare felt that
+Brook could never interest her under imaginable circumstances. He was
+simply a "brute," as the lady in white had told him, and Clare wished
+that some woman could make him suffer for his sins and expiate the
+misdeeds which had made that little face so desperate and that short
+laugh so bitter.
+
+She wished, though she hardly knew it, that she had done anything rather
+than have sat there in the shadow, all through the scene. She had lost
+something that night which it would be hard indeed to find again. There
+was a big jagged rent in the drop-curtain of illusions before her
+life-stage, and through it she saw things that troubled her and would
+not be forgotten.
+
+She had no memory of her own of which the vivid brightness or the
+intimate sadness could diminish the force of this new impression.
+Possibly, she was of the kind that do not easily fall in love, for she
+had met during the past two years more than one man whom many a girl of
+her age and bringing up might have fancied. Some of them might have
+fallen in love with her, if she had allowed them, or if she had felt the
+least spark of interest in them and had shown it. But she had not. Her
+manner was cold and over-dignified for her years, and she had very
+little vanity together with much pride--too much of the latter, perhaps,
+to be ever what is called popular. For "popular" persons are generally
+those who wish to be such; and pride and the love of popularity are at
+opposite poles of the character-world. Proud characters set love high
+and their own love higher, while a vain woman will risk her heart for a
+compliment, and her reputation for the sake of having a lion in her
+leash, if only for a day. Clare Bowring had not yet been near to loving,
+and she had nothing of her own to contrast with this experience in which
+she had been a mere spectator. It at once took the aspect of a
+generality. This man and this woman were probably not unlike most men
+and women, if the truth were known, she thought. And she had seen the
+real truth, as few people could ever have seen it--the supreme crisis of
+a love-affair going on before her very eyes, in her hearing, at her
+feet, the actors having no suspicion of her presence. It was, perhaps,
+the certainty that she could not misinterpret it all which most
+disgusted her, and wounded something in her which she had never defined,
+but which was really a sort of belief that love must always carry with
+it something beautiful, whether joyous, or tender, or tragic. Of that,
+there had been nothing in what she had seen. Only the woman's face came
+back to her, and hurt her, and she felt her own heart go out to poor
+Lady Fan, while it hardened against Brook with an exaggerated hatred, as
+though he had insulted and injured all living women.
+
+It was probable that she was to see this man during several days to
+come. The idea struck her when she was almost asleep, and it waked her
+again, with a start. It was quite certain that he had stayed behind,
+when the others had gone down to the yacht, for she had heard the voices
+calling out "Good-bye, Brook!" Besides he had said repeatedly to the
+lady in white that he must stay. He was expecting his people. It was
+quite certain that Clare must see him during the next day or two. It was
+not impossible that he might try to make her mother's acquaintance and
+her own. The idea was intensely disagreeable to her. In the first place,
+she hated him beforehand for what he had done, and, secondly, she had
+once heard his secret. It was one thing, so long as he was a total
+stranger. It would be quite another, if she should come to know him. She
+had a vague thought of pretending to be ill, and staying in her room as
+long as he remained in the place. But in that case she should have to
+explain matters to her mother. She should not like to do that. The
+thought of the difficulty disturbed her a little while longer. Then, at
+last, she fell asleep, tired with what she had felt, and seen, and
+heard.
+
+The yacht sailed before daybreak, and in the morning the little hotel
+had returned to its normal state of peace. The early sun blazed upon the
+white walls above, and upon the half-moon, beach below, and shot
+straight into the recess in the rocks where Clare had sat by the old
+black cross in the dark. The level beams ran through her room, too, for
+it faced south-east, looking across the gulf; and when she went to the
+window and stood in the sunshine, her flaxen hair looked almost white,
+and the good southern warmth brought soft colour to the northern girl's
+cheeks. She was like a thin, fair angel, standing there on the high
+balcony, looking to seaward in the calm air. That, at least, was what a
+fisherman from Praiano thought, as he turned his hawk-eyes upwards,
+standing to his oars and paddling slowly along, top-heavy in his tiny
+boat. But no native of Amalfi ever mistook a foreigner for an angel.
+
+Everything was quiet and peaceful again, and there seemed to be neither
+trace nor memory of the preceding day's invasion. The English old maids
+were early at their window, and saw with disappointment that the yacht
+was gone. They were never to know whether the big man with the gold
+cigarette case had been the Duke of Orkney or not. But order was
+restored, and they got their tea and toast without difficulty. The
+Russian invalid was slicing a lemon into his cup on the vine-sheltered
+terrace, and the German family, having slept on the question of the Pope
+and Bismarck, were ruddy with morning energy, and were making an early
+start for a place in the hills where the Professor had heard that there
+was an inscription of the ninth century.
+
+The young girl stood still on her balcony, happily dazed for a few
+moments by the strong sunshine and the clear air. It is probably the
+sensation enjoyed for hours together by a dog basking in the sun, but
+with most human beings it does not last long--the sun is soon too hot
+for the head, or too bright for the eyes, or there is a draught, or the
+flies disturb one. Man is not capable of as much physical enjoyment as
+the other animals, though perhaps his enjoyment is keener during the
+first moments. Then comes thought, restlessness, discontent, change,
+effort, and progress, and the history of man's superiority is the
+journal of his pain.
+
+For a little while, Clare stood blinking in the sunshine, smitten into a
+pleasant semi-consciousness by the strong nature around her. Then she
+thought of Brook and the lady in white, and of all she had been a
+witness of in the evening, and the colour of things changed a little,
+and she turned away and went between the little white and red curtains
+into her room again. Life was certainly not the same since she had heard
+and seen what a man and a woman could say and be. There were certain new
+impressions, where there had been no impression at all, but only a
+maiden readiness to receive the beautiful. What had come was not
+beautiful, by any means, and the thought of it darkened the air a
+little, so that the day was not to be what it might have been. She
+realised how she was affected, and grew impatient with herself. After
+all, it would be the easiest thing in the world to avoid the man, even
+if he stayed some time. Her mother was not much given to making
+acquaintance with strangers.
+
+And it would have been easy enough, if the man himself had taken the
+same view. He, however, had watched the Bowrings on the preceding
+evening, and had made up his mind that they were "human beings," as he
+put it; that is to say, that they belonged to his own class, whereas
+none of the people at the upper end of the table had any claim to be
+counted with the social blessed. He was young, and though he knew how to
+amuse himself alone, and had all manner of manly tastes and
+inclinations, he preferred pleasant society to solitude, and his
+experience told him that the society of the Bowrings would in all
+probability be pleasant. He therefore determined that he would try to
+know them at once, and the determination had already been formed in his
+mind when he had run after Clare to give her the shawl she had dropped.
+
+He got up rather late, and promptly marched out upon the terrace under
+the vines, smoking a briar-root pipe with that solemn air whereby the
+Englishman abroad proclaims to the world that he owns the scenery. There
+is something almost phenomenal about an Englishman's solid
+self-satisfaction when he is alone with his pipe. Every nation has its
+own way of smoking. There is a hasty and vicious manner about the
+Frenchman's little cigarette of pungent black tobacco; the Italian
+dreams over his rat-tail cigar; the American either eats half of his
+Havana while he smokes the other, or else he takes a frivolous delight
+in smoking delicately and keeping the white ash whole to the end; the
+German surrounds himself with a cloud, and, god-like, meditates within
+it; there is a sacrificial air about the Asiatic's narghileh, as the
+thin spire rises steadily and spreads above his head; but the
+Englishman's short briar-root pipe has a powerful individuality of its
+own. Its simplicity is Gothic, its solidity is of the Stone Age, he
+smokes it in the face of the higher civilisation, and it is the badge of
+the conqueror. A man who asserts that he has a right to smoke a pipe
+anywhere, practically asserts that he has a right to everything. And it
+will be admitted that Englishmen get a good deal.
+
+Moreover, as soon as the Englishman has finished smoking he generally
+goes and does something else. Brook knocked the ashes out of his pipe,
+and immediately went in search of the head waiter, to whom he explained
+with some difficulty that he wished to be placed next to the two ladies
+who sat last on the side away from the staircase at the public table.
+The waiter tried to explain that the two ladies, though they had been
+some time in the hotel, insisted upon being always last on that side
+because there was more air. But Brook was firm, and he strengthened his
+argument with coin, and got what he wanted. He also made the waiter
+point out to him the Bowrings' name on the board which held the names of
+the guests. Then he asked the way to Ravello, turned up his trousers
+round his ankles, and marched off at a swinging pace down the steep
+descent towards the beach, which he had to cross before climbing the
+hill to the old town. Nothing in his outward manner or appearance
+betrayed that he had been through a rather serious crisis on the
+preceding evening.
+
+That was what struck Clare Bowring when, to her dismay, he sat down
+beside her at the midday meal. She could not help glancing at him as he
+took his seat. His eyes were bright, his face, browned by the sun, was
+fresh and rested. There was not a line of care or thought on his
+forehead. The young girl felt that she was flushing with anger. He saw
+her colour, and took it for a sign of shyness. He made a sort of
+apologetic movement of the head and shoulders towards her which was not
+exactly a bow--for to an Englishman's mind a bow is almost a
+familiarity--but which expressed a kind of vague desire not to cause any
+inconvenience.
+
+The colour deepened a little in Clare's face, and then disappeared. She
+found something to say to her mother, on her other side, which it would
+hardly have been worth while to say at all under ordinary circumstances.
+Mrs. Bowring had glanced at the man while he was taking his seat, and
+her eyebrows had contracted a little. Later she looked furtively past
+her daughter at his profile, and then stared a long time at her plate.
+As for him, he began to eat with conscious strength, as healthy young
+men do, but he watched his opportunity for doing or saying anything
+which might lead to a first acquaintance.
+
+To tell the truth, however, he was in no hurry. He knew how to make
+himself comfortable, and it was an important element in his comfort to
+be seated next to the only persons in the place with whom he should care
+to associate. That point being gained, he was willing to wait for
+whatever was to come afterwards. He did not expect in any case to gain
+more than the chance of a little pleasant conversation, and he was not
+troubled by any youthful desire to shine in the eyes of the fair girl
+beside whom he found himself, beyond the natural wish to appear well
+before women in general, which modifies the conduct of all natural and
+manly young men when women are present at all.
+
+As the meal proceeded, however, he was surprised to find that no
+opportunity presented itself for exchanging a word with his neighbour.
+He had so often found it impossible to avoid speaking with strangers at
+a public table that he had taken the probability of some little incident
+for granted, and caught himself glancing surreptitiously at Clare's
+plate to see whether there were nothing wanting which he might offer
+her. But he could not think of anything. The fried sardines were
+succeeded by the regulation braised beef with the gluey brown sauce
+which grows in most foreign hotels. That, in its turn, was followed by
+some curiously dry slices of spongecake, each bearing a bit of pink and
+white sugar frosting, and accompanied by fresh orange marmalade, which
+Brook thought very good, but which Clare refused. And then there was
+fruit--beautiful oranges, uncanny apples, and walnuts--and the young man
+foresaw the near end of the meal, and wished that something would
+happen. But still nothing happened at all.
+
+He watched Clare's hands as she prepared an orange in the Italian
+fashion, taking off the peel at one end, then passing the knife twice
+completely round at right angles, and finally stripping the peel away in
+four neat pieces. The hands were beautiful in their way, too thin,
+perhaps, and almost too white from recent illness, but straight and
+elastic, with little blue veins at the sides of the finger-joints and
+exquisite nails that were naturally polished. The girl was clever with
+her fingers, she could not help seeing that her neighbour was watching
+her, and she peeled the orange with unusual skill and care. It was a
+good one, too, and the peel separated easily from the deep yellow fruit.
+
+"How awfully jolly!" exclaimed the young man, unconsciously, in genuine
+admiration.
+
+He was startled by the sound of his own voice, for he had not meant to
+speak, and the blood rushed to his sunburnt face. Clare's eyes flashed
+upon him in a glance of surprise, and the colour rose in her cheeks
+also. She was evidently not pleased, and he felt that he had been guilty
+of a breach of English propriety. When an Englishman does a tactless
+thing he generally hastens to make it worse, becomes suddenly shy, and
+flounders.
+
+"I--I beg your pardon," stammered Brook. "I really didn't mean to
+speak--that is--you did it so awfully well, you know!"
+
+"It's the Italian way," Clare answered, beginning to quarter the orange.
+
+She felt that she could not exactly be silent after he had apologised
+for admiring her skill. But she remembered that she had felt some vanity
+in what she had been doing, and had done it with some unnecessary
+ostentation. She hoped that he would not say anything more, for the
+sound of his voice reminded her of what she had heard him say to the
+lady in white, and she hated him with all her heart.
+
+But the young man was encouraged by her sufficiently gracious answer,
+and was already glad of what he had done.
+
+"Do all Italians do it that way?" he asked boldly.
+
+"Generally," answered the young girl, and she began to eat the orange.
+
+Brook took another from the dish before him.
+
+"Let me see," he said, turning it round and round. "You cut a slice off
+one end." He began to cut the peel.
+
+"Not too deep," said Clare, "or you will cut into the fruit."
+
+"Oh--thanks, awfully. Yes, I see. This way?"
+
+He took the end off, and looked at her for approval. She nodded
+gravely, and then turned away her eyes. He made the two cuts round the
+peel, crosswise, and looked to her again, but she affected not to see
+him.
+
+"Oh--might I ask you--" he began. She looked at his orange again,
+without a smile. "Please don't think me too dreadfully rude," he said.
+"But it was so pretty, and I'm tremendously anxious to learn. Was it
+this way?"
+
+His fingers teased the peel, and it began to come off. He raised his
+eyes with another look of inquiry.
+
+"Yes. That's all right," said Clare calmly.
+
+She was going to look away again, when she reflected that since he was
+so pertinacious it would be better to see the operation finished once
+for all. Then she and her mother would get up and go away, as they had
+finished. But he wished to push his advantage.
+
+"And now what does one do?" he asked, for the sake of saying something.
+
+"One eats it," answered Clare, half impatiently.
+
+He stared at her a moment and then broke into a laugh, and Clare, very
+much to her own surprise and annoyance, laughed too, in spite of
+herself. That broke the ice. When two people have laughed together over
+something one of them has said, there is no denying the acquaintance.
+
+"It was really awfully kind of you!" he exclaimed, his eyes still
+laughing. "It was horridly rude of me to say anything at all, but I
+really couldn't help it. If I could get anybody to introduce me, so that
+I could apologise properly, I would, you know, but in this place--"
+
+He looked towards the German family and the English old maids, in a
+helpless sort of way, and then laughed again.
+
+"I don't think it's necessary," said Clare rather coldly.
+
+"No--I suppose not," he answered, growing graver at once. "And I think
+it is allowed--isn't it?--to speak to one's neighbour at a table d'hote,
+you know. Not but what it was awfully rude of me, all the same," he
+added hastily.
+
+"Oh no. Not at all."
+
+Clare stared at the wall opposite and leaned back in her chair.
+
+"Oh! thanks awfully! I was afraid you might think so, you know."
+
+Mrs. Bowring leaned forward as her daughter leaned back. Seeing that the
+latter had fallen into conversation with the stranger, she was too much
+a woman of the world not to speak to him at once in order to avoid any
+awkwardness when they next met, for he could not possibly have spoken
+first to her across the young girl.
+
+"Is it your first visit to Amalfi?" she inquired, with as much
+originality as is common in such cases.
+
+Brook leaned forward too, and looked over at the elder woman.
+
+"Yes," he answered, "I was with a party, and they dropped me here last
+night. I was to meet my people here, but they haven't turned up yet, so
+I'm seeing the sights. I went up to Ravello this morning--you know, that
+place on the hill. There's an awfully good view from there, isn't
+there?"
+
+Clare thought his fluency developed very quickly when he spoke to her
+mother. As he leaned forward she could not help seeing his face, and she
+looked at him closely, for the first time, and with some curiosity. He
+was handsome, and had a wonderfully frank and good-humoured expression.
+He was not in the least a "beauty" man--she thought he might be a
+soldier or a sailor, and a very good specimen of either. Furthermore, he
+was undoubtedly a gentleman, so far as a man is to be judged by his
+outward manner and appearance. In her heart she had already set him down
+as little short of a villain. The discrepancy between his looks and what
+she thought of him disturbed her. It was unpleasant to feel that a man
+who had acted as he had acted last night could look as fresh, and
+innocent, and unconcerned as he looked to-day. It was disagreeable to
+have him at her elbow. Either he had never cared a straw for poor Lady
+Fan, and in that case he had almost broken her heart out of sheer
+mischief and love of selfish amusement, or else, if he had cared for her
+at all, he was a pitiably fickle and faithless creature--something much
+more despicable in the eyes of most women than the most heartless cynic.
+One or the other he must be, thought Clare. In either case he was bad,
+because Lady Fan was married, and it was wicked to make love to married
+women. There was a directness about Clare's view which would either have
+made the man laugh or would have hurt him rather badly. She wondered
+what sort of expression would come over his handsome face if she were
+suddenly to tell him what she knew. The idea took her by surprise, and
+she smiled to herself as she thought of it.
+
+Yet she could not help glancing at him again and again, as he talked
+across her with her mother, making very commonplace remarks about the
+beauty of the place. Very much in spite of herself, she wished to know
+him better, though she already hated him. His face attracted her
+strangely, and his voice was pleasant, close to her ear. He had not in
+the least the look of the traditional lady-killer, of whom the tradition
+seems to survive as a moral scarecrow for the education of the young,
+though the creature is extinct among Anglo-Saxons. He was, on the
+contrary, a manly man, who looked as though he would prefer tennis to
+tea and polo to poetry--and men to women for company, as a rule. She
+felt that if she had not heard him talking with the lady in white she
+should have liked him very much. As it was, she said to herself that she
+wished she might never see him again--and all the time her eyes returned
+again and again to his sunburnt face and profile, till in a few minutes
+she knew his features by heart.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+A chance acquaintance may, under favourable circumstances, develop
+faster than one brought about by formal introduction, because neither
+party has been previously led to expect anything of the other. There is
+no surer way of making friendship impossible than telling two people
+that they are sure to be such good friends, and are just suited to each
+other. The law of natural selection applies to almost everything we want
+in the world, from food and climate to a wife.
+
+When Clare and her mother had established themselves as usual on the
+terrace under the vines that afternoon, Brook came and sat beside them
+for a while. Mrs. Bowring liked him and talked easily with him, but
+Clare was silent and seemed absent-minded. The young man looked at her
+from time to time with curiosity, for he was not used to being treated
+with such perfect indifference as she showed to him. He was not spoilt,
+as the phrase goes, but he had always been accustomed to a certain
+amount of attention, when he met new people, and, without being in the
+least annoyed, he thought it strange that this particular young lady
+should seem not even to listen to what he said.
+
+Mrs. Bowring, on the other hand, scarcely took her eyes from his face
+after the first ten minutes, and not a word he spoke escaped her. By
+contrast with her daughter's behaviour, her earnest attention was very
+noticeable. By degrees she began to ask him questions about himself.
+
+"Do you expect your people to-morrow?" she inquired.
+
+Clare looked up quickly. It was very unlike her mother to show even that
+small amount of curiosity about a stranger. It was clear that Mrs.
+Bowring had conceived a sudden liking for the young man.
+
+"They were to have been here to-day," he answered indifferently. "They
+may come this evening, I suppose, but they have not even ordered rooms.
+I asked the man there--the owner of the place, I suppose he is."
+
+"Then of course you will wait for them," suggested Mrs. Bowring.
+
+"Yes. It's an awful bore, too. That is--" he corrected himself
+hastily--"I mean, if I were to be here without a soul to speak to, you
+know. Of course, it's different, this way."
+
+"How?" asked Mrs. Bowring, with a brighter smile than Clare had seen on
+her face for a long time.
+
+"Oh, because you are so kind as to let me talk to you," answered the
+young man, without the least embarrassment.
+
+"Then you are a social person?" Mrs. Bowring laughed a little. "You
+don't like to be alone?"
+
+"Oh no! Not when I can be with nice people. Of course not. I don't
+believe anybody does. Unless I'm doing something, you know--shooting, or
+going up a hill, or fishing. Then I don't mind. But of course I would
+much rather be alone than with bores, don't you know? Or--or--well, the
+other kind of people."
+
+"What kind?" asked Mrs. Bowring.
+
+"There are only two kinds," answered Brook, gravely. "There is our
+kind--and then there is the other kind. I don't know what to call them,
+do you? All the people who never seem to understand exactly what we are
+talking about nor why we do things--and all that. I call them 'the other
+kind.' But then I haven't a great command of language. What should you
+call them?"
+
+"Cads, perhaps," suggested Clare, who had not spoken for a long time.
+
+"Oh no, not exactly," answered the young man, looking at her. "Besides,
+'cads' doesn't include women, does it? A gentleman's son sometimes
+turns out a most awful cad, a regular 'bounder.' It's rare, but it does
+happen sometimes. A mere cad may know, and understand all right, but
+he's got the wrong sort of feeling inside of him about most things. For
+instance--you don't mind? A cad may know perfectly well that he ought
+not to 'kiss and tell'--but he will all the same. The 'other kind,' as I
+call them, don't even know. That makes them awfully hard to get on
+with."
+
+"Then, of the two, you prefer the cad?" inquired Clare coolly.
+
+"No. I don't know. They are both pretty bad. But a cad may be very
+amusing, sometimes."
+
+"When he kisses and tells?" asked the young girl viciously.
+
+Brook looked at her, in quick surprise at her tone.
+
+"No," he answered quietly. "I didn't mean that. The clowns in the circus
+represent amusing cads. Some of them are awfully clever, too," he added,
+turning the subject. "Some of those fiddling fellows are extraordinary.
+They really play very decently. They must have a lot of talent, when you
+think of all the different things they do besides their feats of
+strength--they act, and play the fiddle, and sing, and dance--"
+
+"You seem to have a great admiration for clowns," observed Clare in an
+indifferent tone.
+
+"Well--they are amusing, aren't they? Of course, it isn't high art, and
+that sort of thing, but one laughs at them, and sometimes they do very
+pretty things. One can't be always on one's hind legs, doing Hamlet, can
+one? There's a limit to the amount of tragedy one can stand during life.
+After all, it is better to laugh than to cry."
+
+"When one can," said Mrs. Bowring thoughtfully.
+
+"Some people always can, whatever happens," said the young girl.
+
+"Perhaps they are right," answered the young man. "Things are not often
+so serious as they are supposed to be. It's like being in a house that's
+supposed to be haunted--on All Hallow E'en, for instance--it's awfully
+gruesome and creepy at night when the wind moans and the owls screech.
+And then, the next morning, one wonders how one could have been such an
+idiot. Other things are often like that. You think the world's coming to
+an end--and then it doesn't, you know. It goes on just the same. You are
+rather surprised at first, but you soon get used to it. I suppose that
+is what is meant by losing one's illusions."
+
+"Sometimes the world stops for an individual and doesn't go on again,"
+said Mrs. Bowring, with a faint smile.
+
+"Oh, I suppose people do break their hearts sometimes," returned Brook,
+somewhat thoughtfully. "But it must be something tremendously serious,"
+he added with instant cheerfulness. "I don't believe it happens often.
+Most people just have a queer sensation in their throat for a minute,
+and they smoke a cigarette for their nerves, and go away and think of
+something else."
+
+Clare looked at him, and her eyes flashed angrily, for she remembered
+Lady Fan's cigarette and the preceding evening. He remembered it too,
+and was thinking of it, for he smiled as he spoke and looked away at the
+horizon as though he saw something in the air. For the first time in her
+life the young girl had a cruel impulse. She wished that she were a
+great beauty, or that she possessed infinite charm, that she might
+revenge the little lady in white and make the man suffer as he deserved.
+At one moment she was ashamed of the wish, and then again it returned,
+and she smiled as she thought of it.
+
+She was vaguely aware, too, that the man attracted her in a way which
+did not interfere with her resentment against him. She would certainly
+not have admitted that he was interesting to her on account of Lady
+Fan--but there was in her a feminine willingness to play with the fire
+at which another woman had burned her wings. Almost all women feel that,
+until they have once felt too much themselves. The more innocent and
+inexperienced they are, the more sure they are, as a rule, of their own
+perfect safety, and the more ready to run any risk.
+
+Neither of the women answered the young man's rather frivolous assertion
+for some moments. Then Mrs. Bowring looked at him kindly, but with a
+far-away expression, as though she were thinking of some one else.
+
+"You are young," she said gently.
+
+"It's true that I'm not very old," he answered. "I was five-and-twenty
+on my last birthday."
+
+"Five-and-twenty," repeated Mrs. Bowring very slowly, and looking at the
+distance, with the air of a person who is making a mental calculation.
+
+"Are you surprised?" asked the young man, watching her.
+
+She started a little.
+
+"Surprised? Oh dear no! Why should I be?"
+
+And again she looked at him earnestly, until, realising what she was
+doing, she suddenly shut her eyes, shook herself almost imperceptibly,
+and took out some work which she had brought out with her.
+
+"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I thought you might fancy I was a good deal older
+or younger. But I'm always told that I look just my age."
+
+"I think you do," answered Mrs. Bowring, without looking up.
+
+Clare glanced at his face again. It was natural, under the
+circumstances, though she knew his features by heart already. She met
+his eyes, and for a moment she could not look away from them. It was as
+though they fixed her against her will, after she had once met them.
+There was nothing extraordinary about them, except that they were very
+bright and clear. With an effort she turned away, and the faint colour
+rose in her face.
+
+"I am nineteen," she said quietly, as though she were answering a
+question.
+
+"Indeed?" exclaimed Brook, not thinking of anything else to say.
+
+Mrs. Bowring looked at her daughter in considerable surprise. Then Clare
+blushed painfully, realising that she had spoken without any intention
+of speaking, and had volunteered a piece of information which had
+certainly not been asked. It was very well, being but nineteen years
+old; but she was oddly conscious that if she had been forty she should
+have said so in just the same absent-minded way, at that moment.
+
+"Nineteen and six are twenty-five, aren't they?" asked Mrs. Bowring
+suddenly.
+
+"Yes, I believe so," answered the young man, with a laugh, but a good
+deal surprised in his turn, for the question seemed irrelevant and
+absurd in the extreme. "But I'm not good at sums," he added. "I was an
+awful idiot at school. They used to call me Log. That was short for
+logarithm, you know, because I was such a log at arithmetic. A fellow
+gave me the nickname one day. It wasn't very funny, so I punched his
+head. But the name stuck to me. Awfully appropriate, anyhow, as it
+turned out."
+
+"Did you punch his head because it wasn't funny?" asked Clare, glad of
+the turn in the conversation.
+
+"Oh--I don't know--on general principles. He was a diabolically clever
+little chap, though he wasn't very witty. He came out Senior Wrangler at
+Cambridge. I heard he had gone mad last year. Lots of those clever chaps
+do, you know. Or else they turn parsons and take pupils for a living.
+I'd much rather be stupid, myself. There's more to live for, when you
+don't know everything. Don't you think so?"
+
+Both women laughed, and felt that the man was tactful. They were also
+both reflecting, of themselves and of each other, that they were not
+generally silly women, and they wondered how they had both managed to
+say such foolish things, speaking out irrelevantly what was passing in
+their minds.
+
+"I think I shall go for a walk," said Brook, rising rather abruptly.
+"I'll go up the hill for a change. Thanks awfully. Good-bye!"
+
+He lifted his hat and went off towards the hotel. Mrs. Bowring looked
+after him, but Clare leaned back in her seat and opened a book she had
+with her. The colour rose and fell in her cheeks, and she kept her eyes
+resolutely bent down.
+
+"What a nice fellow!" exclaimed Mrs. Bowring when the young man was out
+of hearing. "I wonder who he is."
+
+"What difference can it make, what his name is?" asked Clare, still
+looking down.
+
+"What is the matter with you, child?" Mrs. Bowring asked. "You talk so
+strangely to-day!"
+
+"So do you, mother. Fancy asking him whether nineteen and six are
+twenty-five!"
+
+"For that matter, my dear, I thought it very strange that you should
+tell him your age, like that."
+
+"I suppose I was absent-minded. Yes! I know it was silly, I don't know
+why I said it. Do you want to know his name? I'll go and see. It must be
+on the board by this time, as he is stopping here."
+
+She rose and was going, when her mother called her back.
+
+"Clare! Wait till he is gone, at all events! Fancy, if he saw you!"
+
+"Oh! He won't see me! If he comes that way I'll go into the office and
+buy stamps."
+
+Clare went in and looked over the square board with its many little
+slips for the names of the guests. Some were on visiting cards and some
+were written in the large, scrawling, illiterate hand of the head
+waiter. Some belonged to people who were already gone. It looked well,
+in the little hotel, to have a great many names on the list. Some
+seconds passed before Clare found that of the new-comer.
+
+"Mr. Brook Johnstone."
+
+Brook was his first name, then. It was uncommon. She looked at it
+fixedly. There was no address on the small, neatly engraved card. While
+she was looking at it a door opened quietly behind her, in the opposite
+side of the corridor. She paid no attention to it for a moment; then,
+hearing no footsteps, she instinctively turned. Brook Johnstone was
+standing on the threshold watching her. She blushed violently, in her
+annoyance, for he could not doubt but that she was looking for his name.
+He saw and understood, and came forward naturally, with a smile. He had
+a stick in his hand.
+
+"That's me," he said, with a little laugh, tapping his card on the
+board with the head of his stick. "If I'd had an ounce of manners I
+should have managed to tell you who I was by this time. Won't you excuse
+me, and take this for an introduction? Johnstone--with an E at the
+end--Scotch, you know."
+
+"Thanks," answered Clare, recovering from her embarrassment. "I'll tell
+my mother." She hesitated a moment. "And that's us," she added, laughing
+rather nervously and pointing out one of the cards. "How grammatical we
+are, aren't we?" she laughed, while he stooped and read the name which
+chanced to be at the bottom of the board.
+
+"Well--what should one say? 'That's we.' It sounds just as badly. And
+you can't say 'we are that,' can you? Besides, there's no one to hear
+us, so it makes no difference. I don't suppose that you--you and Mrs.
+Bowring--would care to go for a walk, would you?"
+
+"No," answered Clare, with sudden coldness. "I don't think so, thank
+you. We are not great walkers."
+
+They went as far as the door together. Johnstone bowed and walked off,
+and Clare went back to her mother.
+
+"He caught me," she said, in a tone of annoyance. "You were quite right.
+Then he showed me his name himself, on the board. It's Johnstone--Mr.
+Brook Johnstone, with an E--he says that he is Scotch. Why--mother!
+Johnstone! How odd! That was the name of--"
+
+She stopped short and looked at her mother, who had grown unnaturally
+pale during the last few seconds.
+
+"Yes, dear. That was the name of my first husband."
+
+Mrs. Bowring spoke in a low voice, looking down at her work. But her
+hands trembled violently, and she was clearly making a great effort to
+control herself. Clare watched her anxiously, not at all understanding.
+
+"Mother dear, what is it?" she asked. "The name is only a
+coincidence--it's not such an uncommon name, after all--and besides--"
+
+"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Bowring, in a dull tone. "It's a mere
+coincidence--probably no relation. I'm nervous, to-day."
+
+Her manner seemed unaccountable to her daughter, except on the
+supposition that she was ill. She very rarely spoke of her first
+husband, by whom she had no children. When she did, she mentioned his
+name gravely, as one speaks of dead persons who have been dear, but that
+was all. She had never shown anything like emotion in connection with
+the subject, and the young girl avoided it instinctively, as most
+children, of whose parents the one has been twice married, avoid the
+mention of the first husband or wife, who was not their father or
+mother.
+
+"I wish I understood you!" exclaimed Clare.
+
+"There's nothing to understand, dear," said Mrs. Bowring, still very
+pale. "I'm nervous--that's all."
+
+Before long she left Clare by herself and went indoors, and locked
+herself into her room. The rooms in the old hotel were once the cells of
+the monks, small vaulted chambers in which there is barely space for the
+most necessary furniture. During nearly an hour Mrs. Bowring paced up
+and down, a beat of fourteen feet between the low window and the locked
+door. At last she stopped before the little glass, and looked at
+herself, and smoothed her streaked hair.
+
+"Nineteen and six--are twenty-five," she said slowly in a low voice, and
+her eyes stared into their own reflection rather wildly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Brook Johnstone's people did not come on the next day, nor on the day
+after that, but he expressed no surprise at the delay, and did not again
+say that it was a bore to have to wait for them. Meanwhile he spent a
+great deal of his time with the Bowrings, and the acquaintance ripened
+quickly towards intimacy, without passing near friendship, as such
+acquaintance sometimes will, when it springs up suddenly in the shallow
+ground of an out-of-the-way hotel on the Continent.
+
+"For Heaven's sake don't let that man fall in love with you, Clare!"
+said Mrs. Bowring one morning, with what seemed unnecessary vehemence.
+
+Clare's lip curled scornfully as she thought of poor Lady Fan.
+
+"There isn't the slightest danger of that!" she answered. "Any more than
+there is of my falling in love with him," she added.
+
+"Are you sure of that?" asked her mother. "You seem to like him.
+Besides, he is very nice, and very good-looking."
+
+"Oh yes--of course he is. But one doesn't necessarily fall in love with
+every nice and good-looking man one meets."
+
+Thereupon Clare cut the conversation short by going off to her own room.
+She had been expecting for some time that her mother would make some
+remark about the growing intimacy with young Johnstone. To tell the
+truth, Mrs. Bowring had not the slightest ground for anxiety in any
+previous attachment of her daughter. She was beginning to wonder whether
+Clare would ever show any preference for any man.
+
+But she did not at all wish to marry her at present, for she felt that
+life without the girl would be unbearably lonely. On the other hand,
+Clare had a right to marry. They were poor. A part of their little
+income was the pension that Mrs. Bowring had been fortunate enough to
+get as the widow of an officer killed in action, but that would cease at
+her death, as poor Captain Bowring's allowance from his family had
+ceased at his death. The family had objected to the marriage from the
+first, and refused to do anything for his child after he was gone. It
+would go hard with Clare if she were left alone in the world with what
+her mother could leave her. On the other hand, that little, or the
+prospect of it, was quite safe, and would make a great difference to
+her, as a married woman. The two lived on it, with economy. Clare could
+certainly dress very well on it if she married a rich man, but she could
+as certainly not afford to marry a poor one.
+
+As for this young Johnstone, he had not volunteered much information
+about himself, and, though Mrs. Bowring sometimes asked him questions,
+she was extremely careful not to ask any which could be taken in the
+nature of an inquiry as to his prospects in life, merely because that
+might possibly suggest to him that she was thinking of her daughter. And
+when an Englishman is reticent in such matters, it is utterly impossible
+to guess whether he be a millionaire or a penniless younger son.
+Johnstone never spoke of money, in any connection. He never said that he
+could afford one thing or could not afford another. He talked a good
+deal of shooting and sport, but never hinted that his father had any
+land. He never mentioned a family place in the country, nor anything of
+the sort. He did not even tell the Bowrings to whom the yacht belonged
+in which he had come, though he frequently alluded to things which had
+been said and done by the party during a two months' cruise, chiefly in
+eastern waters.
+
+The Bowrings were quite as reticent about themselves, and each respected
+the other's silence. Nevertheless they grew intimate, scarcely knowing
+how the intimacy developed. That is to say, they very quickly became
+accustomed, all three, to one another's society. If Johnstone was out of
+the hotel first, of an afternoon, he moped about with his pipe in an
+objectless way, as though he had lost something, until the Bowrings came
+out. If he was writing letters and they appeared first, they talked in
+detached phrases and looked often towards the door, until he came and
+sat down beside them.
+
+On the third evening, at dinner, he seemed very much amused at
+something, and then, as though he could not keep the joke to himself, he
+told his companions that he had received a telegram from his father, in
+answer to one of his own, informing him that he had made a mistake of a
+whole fortnight in the date, and must amuse himself as he pleased in the
+interval.
+
+"Just like me!" he observed. "I got the letter in Smyrna or somewhere--I
+forget--and I managed to lose it before I had read it through. But I
+thought I had the date all right. I'm glad, at all events. I was tired
+of those good people, and it's ever so much pleasanter here."
+
+Clare's gentle mouth hardened suddenly as she thought of Lady Fan.
+Johnstone had been thoroughly tired of her. That was what he meant when
+he spoke of "those good people."
+
+"You get tired of people easily, don't you?" she inquired coldly.
+
+"Oh no--not always," answered Johnstone.
+
+By this time he was growing used to her sudden changes of manner and to
+the occasional scornful speeches she made. He could not understand them
+in the least, as may be imagined, and having considerable experience he
+set them down to the score of a certain girlish shyness, which showed
+itself in no other way. He had known women whose shyness manifested
+itself in saying disagreeable things for which they were sometimes sorry
+afterwards.
+
+"No," he added reflectively. "I don't think I'm a very fickle person."
+
+Clare turned upon him the terrible innocence of her clear blue eyes. She
+thought she knew the truth about him too, and that he could not look her
+in the face. But she was mistaken. He met her glance fearlessly and
+quietly, with a frank smile and a little wonder at its fixed scrutiny.
+She would not look away, rude though she might seem, nor be stared out
+of countenance by a man whom she believed to be false and untrue. But
+his eyes were very bright, and in a few seconds they began to dazzle
+her, and she felt her eyelids trembling violently. It was a new
+sensation, and a very unpleasant one. It seemed to her that the man had
+suddenly got some power over her. She made a strong effort and turned
+away her face, and again she blushed with annoyance.
+
+"I beg your pardon," Johnstone said quickly, in a very low voice. "I
+didn't mean to be so rude."
+
+Clare said nothing as she sat beside him, but she looked at the opposite
+wall, and her hand made an impatient little gesture as the fingers lay
+on the edge of the table. Possibly, if her mother had not been on her
+other side, she might have answered him. As it was, she felt that she
+could not speak just then. She was very much disturbed, as though
+something new and totally unknown had got hold of her. It was not only
+that she hated the man for his heartlessness, while she felt that he had
+some sort of influence over her, which was more than mere attraction.
+There was something beyond, deep down in her heart, which was nameless,
+and painful, but which she somehow felt that she wanted. And aside from
+it all, she was angry with him for having stared her out of countenance,
+forgetting that when she had turned upon him she had meant to do the
+same by him, feeling quite sure that he could not look her in the face.
+
+They spoke little during the remainder of the meal, for Clare was quite
+willing to show that she was angry, though she had little right to be.
+After all, she had looked at him, and he had looked at her. After dinner
+she disappeared, and was not seen during the remainder of the evening.
+
+When she was alone, however, she went over the whole matter
+thoughtfully, and she made up her mind that she had been hasty. For she
+was naturally just. She said to herself that she had no claim to the
+man's secrets, which she had learned in a way of which she was not at
+all proud; and that if he could keep his own counsel, he, on his side,
+had a right to do so. The fact that she knew him to be heartless and
+faithless by no means implied that he was also indiscreet, though when
+an individual has done anything which we think bad we easily suppose
+that he may do every other bad thing imaginable. Johnstone's discretion,
+at least, was admirable, now that she thought of it. His bright eyes and
+frank look would have disarmed any suspicion short of the certainty she
+possessed. There had not been the least contraction of the lids, the
+smallest change in the expression of his mouth, not the faintest
+increase of colour in his young face.
+
+So much the worse, thought the young girl suddenly. He was not only bad.
+He was also an accomplished actor. No doubt his eyes had been as steady
+and bright and his whole face as truthful when he had made love to Lady
+Fan at sunset on the Acropolis. Somehow, the allusion to that scene had
+produced a vivid impression on Clare's mind, and she often found herself
+wondering what he had said, and how he had looked just then.
+
+Her resentment against him increased as she thought it all over, and
+again she felt a longing to be cruel to him, and to make him suffer just
+what he had made Lady Fan endure.
+
+Then she was suddenly and unexpectedly overcome by a shamed sense of her
+inability to accomplish any such act of justice. It was as though she
+had already tried, and had failed, and he had laughed in her face and
+turned away. It seemed to her that there could be nothing in her which
+could appeal to such a man. There was Lady Fan, much older, with plenty
+of experience, doubtless; and she had been deceived, and betrayed, and
+abandoned, before the young girl's very eyes. What chance could such a
+mere girl possibly have? It was folly, and moreover it was wicked of her
+to think of such things. She would be willingly lowering herself to his
+level, trying to do the very thing which she despised and hated in him,
+trying to outwit him, to out-deceive him, to out-betray him. One side
+of her nature, at least, revolted against any such scheme. Besides, she
+could never do it.
+
+She was not a great beauty; she was not extraordinarily clever--not
+clever at all, she said to herself in her sudden fit of humility; she
+had no "experience." That last word means a good deal more to most young
+girls than they can find in it after life's illogical surprises have
+taught them the terrible power of chance and mood and impulse.
+
+She glanced at her face in the mirror, and looked away. Then she glanced
+again. The third time she turned to the glass she began to examine her
+features in detail. Lady Fan was a fair woman, too. But, without vanity,
+she had to admit that she was much better-looking than Lady Fan. She was
+also much younger and fresher, which should be an advantage, she
+thought. She wished that her hair were golden instead of flaxen; that
+her eyes were dark instead of blue; that her cheeks were not so thin,
+and her throat a shade less slender. Nevertheless, she would have been
+willing to stand any comparison with the little lady in white. Of
+course, compared with the famous beauties, some of whom she had seen,
+she was scarcely worth a glance. Doubtless, Brook Johnstone knew them
+all.
+
+Then she gazed into her own eyes. She did not know that a woman, alone,
+may look into her own eyes and blush and turn away. She looked long and
+steadily, and quite quietly. After all, they looked dark, for the pupils
+were very large and the blue iris was of that deep colour which borders
+upon violet. There was something a little unusual in them, too, though
+she could not quite make out what it was. Why did not all women look
+straight before them as she did? There must be some mysterious reason.
+It was a pity that her eyelashes were almost white. Yet they, too, added
+something to the peculiarity of that strange gaze.
+
+"They are like periwinkles in a snowstorm!" exclaimed Clare, tired of
+her own face; and she turned from the mirror and went to bed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+The first sign that two people no longer stand to each other in the
+relation of mere acquaintances is generally that the tones of their
+voices change, while they feel a slight and unaccountable constraint
+when they happen to be left alone together.
+
+Two days passed after the little incident which had occurred at dinner
+before Clare and Johnstone were momentarily face to face out of Mrs.
+Bowring's sight. At first Clare had not been aware that her mother was
+taking pains to be always present when the young man was about, but when
+she noticed the fact she at once began to resent it. Such constant
+watchfulness was unlike her mother, un-English, and almost unnatural.
+When they were all seated together on the terrace, if Mrs. Bowring
+wished to go indoors to write a letter or to get something she invented
+some excuse for making her daughter go with her, and stay with her till
+she came out again. A French or Italian mother could not have been more
+particular or careful, but a French or Italian girl would have been
+accustomed to such treatment, and would not have seen anything unusual
+in it. But Mrs. Bowring had never acted in such a way before now, and it
+irritated the young girl extremely. She felt that she was being treated
+like a child, and that Johnstone must see it and think it ridiculous. At
+last Clare made an attempt at resistance, out of sheer contrariety.
+
+"I don't want to write letters!" she answered impatiently. "I wrote two
+yesterday. It is hot indoors, and I would much rather stay here!"
+
+Mrs. Bowring went as far as the parapet, and looked down at the sea for
+a moment. Then she came back and sat down again.
+
+"It's quite true," she said. "It is hot indoors. I don't think I shall
+write, after all."
+
+Brook Johnstone could not help smiling a little, though he turned away
+his face to hide his amusement. It was so perfectly evident that Mrs.
+Bowring was determined not to leave Clare alone with him that he must
+have been blind not to see it. Clare saw the smile, and was angry. She
+was nineteen years old, she had been out in the world, the terrace was a
+public place, Johnstone was a gentleman, and the whole thing was absurd.
+She took up her work and closed her lips tightly.
+
+Johnstone felt the awkwardness, rose suddenly, and said he would go for
+a walk. Clare raised her eyes and nodded as he lifted his hat. He was
+still smiling, and her resentment deepened. A moment later, mother and
+daughter were alone. Clare did not lay down her work, nor look up when
+she spoke.
+
+"Really, mother, it's too absurd!" she exclaimed, and a little colour
+came to her cheeks.
+
+"What is absurd, my dear?" asked Mrs. Bowring, affecting not to
+understand.
+
+"Your abject fear of leaving me for five minutes with Mr. Johnstone. I'm
+not a baby. He was laughing. I was positively ashamed! What do you
+suppose could have happened, if you had gone in and written your letters
+and left us quietly here? And it happens every day, you know! If you
+want a glass of water, I have to go in with you."
+
+"My dear! What an exaggeration!"
+
+"It's not an exaggeration, mother--really. You know that you wouldn't
+leave me with him for five minutes, for anything in the world."
+
+"Do you wish to be left alone with him, my dear?" asked Mrs. Bowring,
+rather abruptly.
+
+Clare was indignant.
+
+"Wish it? No! Certainly not! But if it should happen naturally, by
+accident, I should not get up and run away. I'm not afraid of the man,
+as you seem to be. What can he do to me? And you have no idea how
+strangely you behave, and what ridiculous excuses you invent for me.
+The other day you insisted on my going in to look for a train in the
+time-tables when you know we haven't the slightest intention of going
+away for ever so long. Really--you're turning into a perfect duenna. I
+wish you would behave naturally, as you always used to do."
+
+"I think you exaggerate," said Mrs. Bowring. "I never leave you alone
+with men you hardly know--"
+
+"You can't exactly say that we hardly know Mr. Johnstone, when he has
+been with us, morning, noon, and night, for nearly a week, mother."
+
+"My dear, we know nothing about him--"
+
+"If you are so anxious to know his father's Christian name, ask him. It
+wouldn't seem at all odd. I will, if you like."
+
+"Don't!" cried Mrs. Bowring, with unusual energy. "I mean," she added in
+a lower tone and looking away, "it would be very rude--he would think it
+very strange. In fact, it is merely idle curiosity on my part--really, I
+would much rather not know."
+
+Clare looked at her mother in surprise.
+
+"How oddly you talk!" she exclaimed. Then her tone changed. "Mother
+dear--is anything the matter? You don't seem quite--what shall I say?
+Are you suffering, dearest? Has anything happened?"
+
+She dropped her work, and leaned forward, her hand on her mother's, and
+gazing into her face with a look of anxiety.
+
+"No, dear," answered Mrs. Bowring. "No, no--it's nothing. Perhaps I'm a
+little nervous--that's all."
+
+"I believe the air of this place doesn't suit you. Why shouldn't we go
+away at once?"
+
+Mrs. Bowring shook her head and protested energetically.
+
+"No--oh no! I wouldn't go away for anything. I like the place immensely,
+and we are both getting perfectly well here. Oh no! I wouldn't think of
+going away."
+
+Clare leaned back in her seat again. She was devotedly fond of her
+mother, and she could not but see that something was wrong. In spite of
+what she said, Mrs. Bowring was certainly not growing stronger, though
+she was not exactly ill. The pale face was paler, and there was a worn
+and restless look in the long-suffering, almost colourless eyes.
+
+"I'm sorry I made such a fuss about Mr. Johnstone," said Clare softly,
+after a short pause.
+
+"No, darling," answered her mother instantly. "I dare say I have been a
+little over careful. I don't know--I had a sort of presentiment that you
+might take a fancy to him."
+
+"I know. You said so the first day. But I sha'n't, mother. You need not
+be at all afraid. He is not at all the sort of man to whom I should ever
+take a fancy, as you call it."
+
+"I don't see why not," said Mrs. Bowring thoughtfully.
+
+"Of course--it's hard to explain." Clare smiled. "But if that is what
+you are afraid of, you can leave us alone all day. My 'fancy' would be
+quite, quite different."
+
+"Very well, darling. At all events, I'll try not to turn into a duenna."
+
+Johnstone did not appear again until dinner, and then he was unusually
+silent, only exchanging a remark with Clare now and then, and not once
+leaning forward to say a few words to Mrs. Bowring as he generally did.
+The latter had at first thought of exchanging places with her daughter,
+but had reflected that it would be almost a rudeness to make such a
+change after the second day.
+
+They went out upon the terrace, and had their coffee there. Several of
+the other people did the same, and walked slowly up and down under the
+vines. Mrs. Bowring, wishing to destroy as soon as possible the
+unpleasant impression she had created, left the two together, saying
+that she would get something to put over her shoulders, as the air was
+cool.
+
+Clare and Johnstone stood by the parapet and looked at each other. Then
+Clare leaned with her elbows on the wall and stared in silence at the
+little lights on the beach below, trying to make out the shapes of the
+boats which were hauled up in a long row. Neither spoke for a long time,
+and Clare, at least, felt unpleasantly the constraint of the unusual
+silence.
+
+"It is a beautiful place, isn't it?" observed Johnstone at last, for the
+sake of hearing his own voice.
+
+"Oh yes, quite beautiful," answered the young girl in a
+half-indifferent, half-discontented tone, and the words ended with a
+sort of girlish sniff.
+
+Again there was silence. Johnstone, standing up beside her, looked
+towards the hotel, to see whether Mrs. Bowring were coming back. But she
+was anxious to appear indifferent to their being together, and was in no
+hurry to return. Johnstone sat down upon the wall, while Clare leaned
+over it.
+
+"Miss Bowring!" he said suddenly, to call her attention.
+
+"Yes?" She did not look up; but to her own amazement she felt a queer
+little thrill at the sound of his voice, for it had not its usual tone.
+
+"Don't you think I had better go to Naples?" he asked.
+
+Clare felt herself start a little, and she waited a moment before she
+said anything in reply. She did not wish to betray any astonishment in
+her voice. Johnstone had asked the question under a sudden impulse; but
+a far wiser and more skilful man than himself could not have hit upon
+one better calculated to precipitate intimacy. Clare, on her side, was
+woman enough to know that she had a choice of answers, and to see that
+the answer she should choose must make a difference hereafter. At the
+same time, she had been surprised, and when she thought of it afterwards
+it seemed to her that the question itself had been an impertinent one,
+merely because it forced her to make an answer of some sort. She decided
+in favour of making everything as clear as possible.
+
+"Why?" she asked, without looking round.
+
+At all events she would throw the burden of an elucidation upon him. He
+was not afraid of taking it up.
+
+"It's this," he answered. "I've rather thrust my acquaintance upon you,
+and, if I stay here until my people come, I can't exactly change my seat
+and go and sit at the other end of the table, nor pretend to be busy all
+day, and never come out here and sit with you, after telling you
+repeatedly that I have nothing on earth to do. Can I?"
+
+"Why should you?"
+
+"Because Mrs. Bowring doesn't like me."
+
+Clare rose from her elbows and stood up, resting her hands upon the
+wall, but still looking down at the lights on the beach.
+
+"I assure you, you're quite mistaken," she answered, with quiet
+emphasis. "My mother thinks you're very nice."
+
+"Then why--" Johnstone checked himself, and crumbled little bits of
+mortar from the rough wall with his thumbs.
+
+"Why what?"
+
+"I don't know whether I know you well enough to ask the question, Miss
+Bowring."
+
+"Let's assume that you do--for the sake of argument," said Clare, with a
+short laugh, as she glanced at his face, dimly visible in the falling
+darkness.
+
+"Thanks awfully," he answered, but he did not laugh with her. "It isn't
+exactly an easy thing to say, is it? Only--I couldn't help noticing--I
+hope you'll forgive me, if you think I'm rude, won't you? I couldn't
+help noticing that your mother was most awfully afraid of leaving us
+alone for a minute, you know--as though she thought I were a suspicious
+character, don't you know? Something of that sort. So, of course, I
+thought she didn't like me. Do you see? Tremendously cheeky of me to
+talk in this way, isn't it?"
+
+"Do you know? It is, rather." Clare was more inclined to laugh than
+before, but she only smiled in the dark.
+
+"Well, it would be, of course, if I didn't happen to be so painfully
+respectable."
+
+"Painfully respectable! What an expression!" This time, Clare laughed
+aloud.
+
+"Yes. That's just it. Well, I couldn't exactly tell Mrs. Bowring that,
+could I? Besides, one isn't vain of being respectable. I couldn't say,
+Please, Mrs. Bowring, my father is Mr. Smith, and my mother was a Miss
+Brown, of very good family, and we've got five hundred a year in
+Consols, and we're not in trade, and I've been to a good school, and am
+not at all dangerous. It would have sounded so--so uncalled for, don't
+you know? Wouldn't it?"
+
+"Very. But now that you've explained it to me, I suppose I may tell my
+mother, mayn't I? Let me see. Your father is Mr. Smith, and your mother
+was a Miss Brown--"
+
+"Oh, please--no!" interrupted Johnstone. "I didn't mean it so very
+literally. But it is just about that sort of thing--just like anybody
+else. Only about our not being in trade, I'm not so sure of that. My
+father is a brewer. Brewing is not a profession, so I suppose it must be
+a trade, isn't it?"
+
+"You might call it a manufacture," suggested Clare.
+
+"Yes. It sounds better. But that isn't the question, you know. You'll
+see my people when they come, and then you'll understand what I
+mean--they really are tremendously respectable."
+
+"Of course!" assented the young girl. "Like the party you came with on
+the yacht. That kind of people."
+
+"Oh dear no!" exclaimed Johnstone. "Not at all those kind of people.
+They wouldn't like it at all, if you said so."
+
+"Ah! indeed!" Clare was inclined to laugh again.
+
+"The party I came with belong rather to a gay set. Awfully nice, you
+know," he hastened to add, "and quite the people one knows at home. But
+my father and mother--oh no! they are quite different--the difference
+between whist and baccarat, you know, if you understand that sort of
+thing--old port and brandy and soda--both very good in their way, but
+quite different."
+
+"I should think so."
+
+"Then--" Johnstone hesitated again. "Then, Miss Bowring--you don't think
+that your mother really dislikes me, after all?"
+
+"Oh dear no! Not in the least. I've heard her say all sorts of nice
+things about you."
+
+"Really? Then I think I'll stay here. I didn't want to be a nuisance,
+you know--always in the way."
+
+"You're not in the way," answered Clare.
+
+Mrs. Bowring came back with her shawl, and the rest of the evening
+passed off as usual. Later, when she was alone, the young girl
+remembered all the conversation, and she saw that it had been in her
+power to make Johnstone leave Amalfi. While she was wondering why she
+had not done so, since she hated him for what she knew of him, she fell
+asleep, and the question remained unanswered. In the morning she told
+the substance of it all to her mother, and ended by telling her that
+Johnstone's father was a brewer.
+
+"Of course," answered Mrs. Bowring absently. "I know that." Then she
+realised what she had said, and glanced at Clare with an odd, scared
+look.
+
+Clare uttered an exclamation of surprise.
+
+"Mother! Why, then--you knew all about him! Why didn't you tell me?"
+
+A long silence followed, during which Mrs. Bowring sat with her face
+turned from her daughter. Then she raised her hand and passed it slowly
+over her forehead, as though trying to collect her thoughts.
+
+"One comes across very strange things in life, my dear," she said at
+last. "I am not sure that we had not better go away, after all. I'll
+think about it."
+
+Beyond this Clare could get no information, nor any explanation of the
+fact that Mrs. Bowring should have known something about Brook
+Johnstone's father. The girl made a guess, of course. The elder
+Johnstone must be a relation of her mother's first husband; though,
+considering that Mrs. Bowring had never seen Brook before now, and that
+the latter had never told her anything about his father, it was hard to
+see how she could be so sure of the fact. Possibly, Brook strongly
+resembled his father's family. That, indeed, was the only admissible
+theory. But all that Clare knew and could put together into reasonable
+shape could not explain why her mother so much disliked leaving her
+alone with the man, even for five minutes.
+
+In this, however, Mrs. Bowring changed suddenly, after the first evening
+when she had left them on the terrace. She either took a totally
+different view of the situation, or else she was ashamed of seeming to
+watch them all the time, and the consequence was that during the next
+three or four days they were very often together without her.
+
+Johnstone enjoyed the young girl's society, and did not pretend to deny
+the fact in his own thoughts. Whatever mischief he might have been in
+while on the yacht, his natural instincts were simple and honest. In a
+certain way, Clare was a revelation to him of something to which he had
+never been accustomed, and which he had most carefully avoided. He had
+no sisters, and as a boy he had not been thrown with girls. He was an
+only son, and his mother, a very practical woman, had warned him as he
+grew up that he was a great match, and had better avoid young girls
+altogether until he saw one whom he should like to marry, though how he
+was to see that particular one, if he avoided all alike, was a question
+into which his mother did not choose to enter. Having first gone into
+society upon this principle, however, and having been at once taken up
+and made much of by an extremely fashionable young woman afflicted with
+an elderly and eccentric husband, it was not likely that Brook would
+return to the threshold of the schoolroom for women's society. He went
+on as he had begun in his first "salad" days, and at five-and-twenty he
+had the reputation of having done more damage than any of his young
+contemporaries, while he had never once shown the slightest inclination
+to marry. His mother, always a practical woman, did not press the
+question of marriage, deeming that with his disposition he would stand a
+better chance of married peace when he had expended a good deal of what
+she called his vivacity; and his father, who came of very long-lived
+people, always said that no man should take a wife before he was thirty.
+As Brook did not gamble immoderately, nor start a racing stable, nor
+propose to manage an opera troupe, the practical lady felt that he was
+really a very good young man. His father liked him for his own sake; but
+as Adam Johnstone had been gay in his youth, in spite of his sober
+Scotch blood, even beyond the bounds of ordinary "fastness," the fact of
+his being fond of Brook was not of itself a guarantee that the latter
+was such a very good young man as his mother said that he was. Somehow
+or other Brook had hitherto managed to keep clear of any entanglement
+which could hamper his life, probably by virtue of that hardness which
+he had shown to poor Lady Fan, and which had so strongly prejudiced
+Clare Bowring against him. His father said cynically that the lad was
+canny. Hitherto he had certainly shown that he could be selfish; and
+perhaps there is less difference between the meanings of the Scotch and
+English words than most people suppose.
+
+Daily and almost hourly intercourse with such a young girl as Clare was
+a totally new experience to Brook Johnstone, and there were moments
+when he hardly recognised himself for the man who had landed from the
+yacht ten days earlier, and who had said good-bye to Lady Fan on the
+platform behind the hotel.
+
+Hitherto he had always known in a day or two whether he was inclined to
+make love to a woman or not. An inclination to make love and the
+satisfaction of it had been, so far, his nearest approach to being in
+love at all. Nor, when he had felt the inclination, had he ever
+hesitated. Like a certain great English statesman of similar
+disposition, he had sometimes been repulsed, but he never remembered
+having given offence. For he possessed that tactful intuition which
+guides some men through life in their intercourse with women. He rarely
+spoke the first word too soon, and if he were going to speak at all he
+never spoke too late--which error is, of the two, by far the greater. He
+was young, perhaps, to have had such experience; but in the social world
+of to-day it is especially the fashion for men to be extremely young,
+even to youthfulness, and lack of years is no longer the atrocious crime
+which Pitt would neither attempt to palliate or deny. We have just
+emerged from a period of wrinkles and paint, during which we were told
+that age knew everything and youth nothing. The explosion into nonsense
+of nine tenths of all we were taught at school and college has given
+our children a terrible weapon against us; and women, who are all
+practical in their own way, prefer the blundering whole-heartedness of
+youth to the skilful tactics and over-effective effects of the
+middle-aged love-actor. In this direction, at least, the breeze that
+goes before the dawn of a new century is already blowing. Perhaps it is
+a good sign--but a sign of some sort it certainly is.
+
+Brook Johnstone felt that he was in an unfamiliar position, and he tried
+to analyse his own feelings. He was perfectly honest about it, but he
+had very little talent for analysis. On the other hand, he had a very
+keen sense of what we roughly call honour. Clare was not Lady Fan, and
+would probably never get into that category. Clare belonged amongst the
+women whom he respected, and he respected them all, with all his heart.
+They included all young girls, and his mother, and all young women who
+were happily married. It will be admitted that, for a man who made no
+pretence to higher virtues, Brook was no worse than his contemporaries,
+and was better than a great many.
+
+Be that as it may, in lack of any finer means of discrimination, he
+tried to define his own position with regard to Clare Bowring very
+simply and honestly. Either he was falling in love, or he was not.
+Secondly, Clare was either the kind of girl whom he should like to
+marry, spoken of by his practical mother--or she was not.
+
+So far, all was extremely plain. The trouble was that he could not find
+any answers to the questions. He could not in the least be sure that he
+was falling in love, because he knew that he had never really been in
+love in his life. And as for saying at once that Clare was, or was not,
+the girl whom he should like to marry, how in the world could he tell
+that, unless he fell in love with her? Of course he did not wish to
+marry her unless he loved her. But he conceived it possible that he
+might fall in love with her and then not wish to marry her after all,
+which, in his simple opinion, would have been entirely despicable. If
+there were any chance of that, he ought to go away at once. But he did
+not know whether there were any chance of it or not. He could go away in
+any case, in order to be on the safe side; but then, there was no reason
+in the world why he should not marry her, if he should love her, and if
+she would marry him. The question became very badly mixed, and under the
+circumstances he told himself that he was splitting hairs on the
+mountains he had made of his molehills. He determined to stay where he
+was. At all events, judging from all signs with which he was
+acquainted, Clare was very far indeed from being in love with him, so
+that in this respect his sense of honour was perfectly safe and
+undisturbed.
+
+Having set his mind at rest in this way, he allowed himself to talk with
+her as he pleased. There was no reason why he should hamper himself in
+conversation, so long as he said nothing calculated to make an
+impression--nothing which could come under the general head of "making
+love." The result was that he was much more agreeable than he supposed.
+Clare's innocent eyes watched him, and her mind was divided about him.
+
+She was utterly young and inexperienced, but she was a woman, and she
+believed him to be false, faithless, and designing. She had no idea of
+the broad distinction he drew between all good and innocent women like
+herself, and all the rest whom he considered lawful prey. She concluded
+therefore, very rashly, that he was simply pursuing his usual tactics, a
+main part of which consisted in seeming perfectly unaffected and natural
+while only waiting for a faint sign of encouragement in order then to
+play the part of the passionate lover.
+
+The generalisations of youth are terrible. What has failed once is
+despicably damned for ever. What is true to-day is true enough to-morrow
+to kill all other truths outright. The man whose hand has shaken once
+is a coward; he who has fought one battle is to be the hero of seventy.
+Life is a forest of inverted pyramids, for the young; upon every point
+is balanced a gigantic weight of top-heavy ideals, spreading
+base-upwards.
+
+To Clare, everything Johnstone said or did was the working of a
+faithless intention towards its end. It was clear enough that he sought
+her and stayed with her as long as he could, day by day. Therefore he
+intended to make love to her, sooner or later, and then, when he was
+tired, he would say good-bye to her just as he had said good-bye to Lady
+Fan, and break her heart, and have one story more to laugh over when he
+was alone. It was quite clear that he could not mean anything else,
+after what she had seen.
+
+All the same, he pleased her when he was with her, and attracted her
+oddly. She told herself that unless he had some unusual qualities he
+could not possibly break hearts for pastime, as he undoubtedly did, from
+year's end to year's end. She studied the question, and reached the
+conclusion that his strength was in his eyes. They were the most frank,
+brave, good-humoured, clear, unaffected eyes she had ever seen, but she
+could not look at them long. There was no reason why she should, indeed,
+but she hated to feel that she could not, if she chose. Whenever she
+tried, she at once had the feeling that he had power over her, to make
+her do things she did not wish to do. That was probably the way in which
+he had influenced Lady Fan and the other women, probably a dozen,
+thought Clare. If they were really as honest as they seemed, she thought
+she should have been able to meet them without the least sensation of
+nervousness.
+
+One day she caught herself wishing that he had never done the thing she
+so hated. She was too honest to attribute to him outward defects which
+he did not possess, and she could not help thinking what a fine fellow
+he would be if he were not so bad. She might have liked him very much,
+then. But as it was, it was impossible that she should ever not hate
+him. Then she smiled to herself, as she thought how surprised he would
+be if he could guess what she thought of him.
+
+But there was no probability of that, for she felt that she had no right
+to know what she knew, and so she treated him always, as she thought,
+with the same even, indifferent civility. But not seldom she knew that
+she was wickedly wishing that he might really fall in love with her and
+find out that men could break their hearts as well as women. She should
+like to fight with him, with his own weapons, for the glory of all her
+sex, and make him thoroughly miserable for his sins. It could not be
+wrong to wish that, after what she had seen, but it would be very wrong
+to try and make him fall in love, just with that intention. That would
+be almost as bad as what he had done; not quite so bad, of course,
+because it would serve him right, but yet a deed which she might be
+ashamed to remember.
+
+She herself felt perfectly safe. She was neither sentimental nor
+susceptible, for if she had been one or the other she must by this time
+have had some "experience," as she vaguely called it. But she had not.
+She had never even liked any man so much as she liked this man whom she
+hated. This was not a contradiction of facts, which, as Euclid teaches
+us, is impossible. She liked him for what she saw, and she hated him for
+what she knew.
+
+One day, when Mrs. Bowring was present, the conversation turned upon a
+recent novel in which the hero, after making love to a woman, found that
+he had made a mistake, and promptly made love to her sister, whom he
+married in the end.
+
+"I despise that sort of man!" cried Clare, rather vehemently, and
+flashing her eyes upon Johnstone.
+
+For a moment she had thought that she could surprise him, that he would
+look away, or change colour, or in some way betray his most guilty
+conscience. But he did not seem in the least disturbed, and met her
+glance as calmly as ever.
+
+"Do you?" he asked with an indifferent laugh. "Why? The fellow was
+honest, at all events. He found that he didn't love the one to whom he
+was engaged, and that he did love the other. So he set things straight
+before it was too late, and married the right one. He was a very
+sensible man, and it must have taken courage to be so honest about it."
+
+"Courage!" exclaimed the young girl in high scorn. "He was a brute and a
+coward!"
+
+"Dear me!" laughed Brook. "Don't you admit that a man may ever make a
+mistake?"
+
+"When a man makes a mistake of that sort, he should either cut his
+throat, or else keep his word to the woman and try to make her happy."
+
+"That's a violent view--really! It seems to me that when a man has made
+a mistake the best thing to do is to go and say so. The bigger the
+mistake, the harder it is to acknowledge it, and the more courage it
+needs. Don't you think so, Mrs. Bowring?"
+
+"The mistake of all mistakes is a mistake in marriage," said the elder
+woman, looking away. "There is no remedy for that, but death."
+
+"Yes," answered Clare. "But don't you think that I'm right? It's what
+you say, after all--"
+
+"Not exactly, my dear. No man who doesn't love a woman can make her
+happy for long."
+
+"Well--a man who makes a woman think that he loves her, and then leaves
+her for some one else, is a brute, and a beast, and a coward, and a
+wretch, and a villain--and I hate him, and so do all women!"
+
+"That's categorical!" observed Brook, with a laugh. "But I dare say you
+are quite right in theory, only practice is so awfully different, you
+know. And a woman doesn't thank a man for pretending to love her."
+
+Clare's eyes flashed almost savagely, and her lip curled in scorn.
+
+"There's only one right," she said. "I don't know how many wrongs there
+are--and I don't want to know!"
+
+"No," answered Brook, gravely enough. "And there is no reason why you
+ever should."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+"You seemed to be most tremendously in earnest yesterday, when we were
+talking about that book," observed Brook on the following afternoon.
+
+"Of course I was," answered Clare. "I said just what I thought."
+
+They were walking together along the high road which leads from Amalfi
+towards Salerno. It is certainly one of the most beautiful roads in
+Europe, and in the whole world. The chain of rocky heights dashes with
+wild abruptness from its five thousand feet straight to the dark-blue
+sea, bristling with sharp needles and spikes of stone, rough with a
+chaos of brown boulders, cracked from peak to foot with deep torn
+gorges. In each gorge nestles a garden of orange and lemons and
+pomegranates, and out of the stones there blows a perfume of southern
+blossom through all the month of May. The sea lies dark and clear below,
+ever tideless, often still as a woodland pool; then, sometimes, it rises
+suddenly in deep-toned wrath, smiting the face of the cliff, booming
+through the low-mouthed caves, curling its great green curls and
+combing them out to frothing ringlets along the strips of beach, winding
+itself about the rock of Conca in a heavily gleaming sheet and whirling
+its wraith of foam to heaven, the very ghost of storm.
+
+And in the face of those rough rocks, high above the water, is hewn a
+way that leads round the mountain's base, many miles along it, over the
+sharp-jutting spurs, and in between the boulders and the needles, down
+into the gardens of the gorges and past the dark towers whence watchmen
+once descried the Saracen's ill-boding sail and sent up their warning
+beacon of smoke by day and fire by night.
+
+It is the most beautiful road in the world, in its infinite variety, in
+the grandeur above and the breadth below, and the marvellous rich
+sweetness of the deep gardens--passing as it does out of wilderness into
+splendour, out of splendour into wealth of colour and light and odour,
+and again out to the rugged strength of the loneliness beyond.
+
+Clare and Johnstone had exchanged idle phrases for a while, until they
+had passed Atrani and the turn where the new way leads up to Ravello,
+and were fairly out on the road. They were both glad to be out together
+and walking, for Clare had grown stronger, and was weary of always
+sitting on the terrace, and Johnstone was tired of taking long walks
+alone, merely for the sake of being hungry afterwards, and of late had
+given it up altogether. Mrs. Bowring herself was glad to be alone for
+once, and made little or no objection, and so the two had started in the
+early afternoon.
+
+Johnstone's remark had been premeditated, for his curiosity had been
+aroused on the preceding day by Clare's words and manner. But after she
+had given him her brief answer she said no more, and they walked on in
+silence for a few moments.
+
+"Yes," said Johnstone at last, as though he had been reflecting, "you
+generally say what you think. I didn't doubt it at the time. But you
+seem rather hard on the men. Women are all angels, of course--"
+
+"Not at all!" interrupted Clare. "Some of us are quite the contrary."
+
+"Well, it's a generally accepted thing, you know. That's what I mean.
+But it isn't generally accepted that men are. If you take men into
+consideration at all, you must make some allowances."
+
+"I don't see why. You are much stronger than we are. You all think that
+you have much more pride. You always say that you have a sense of honour
+which we can't understand. I should think that with all those advantages
+you would be much too proud to insist upon our making allowances for
+you."
+
+"That's rather keen, you know," answered Brook, with a laugh. "All the
+same, it's a woman's occupation to be good, and a man has a lot of other
+things to do besides. That's the plain English of it. When a woman isn't
+good she falls. When a man is bad, he doesn't--it's his nature."
+
+"Oh--if you begin by saying that all men are bad! That's an odd way out
+of it."
+
+"Not at all. Good men and bad women are the exceptions, that's all--in
+the way you mean goodness and badness."
+
+"And how do you think I mean goodness and badness? It seems to me that
+you are taking a great deal for granted, aren't you?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know," said Brook, growing vague on a sudden. "Those are
+rather hard things to talk about."
+
+"I like to talk about them. How do you think I understand those two
+words?"
+
+"I don't know," repeated Johnstone, still more vaguely. "I suppose your
+theory is that men and women are exactly equal, and that a man shouldn't
+do what a woman ought not to do--and all that, you know. I don't exactly
+know how to put it."
+
+"I don't see why what is wrong for a woman should be right for a man,"
+said Clare. "The law doesn't make any difference, does it? A man goes to
+prison for stealing or forging, and so does a woman. I don't see why
+society should make any distinction about other things. If there were a
+law against flirting, it would send the men to prison just like the
+women, wouldn't it?"
+
+"What an awful idea!" laughed Brook.
+
+"Yes, but in theory--"
+
+"Oh, in theory it's all right. But in practice we men are not wrapped in
+cotton and tied up with pink ribbons from the day we are born to the day
+we are married. I--I don't exactly know how to explain what I mean, but
+that's the general idea. Among poor people--I believe one mustn't say
+the lower classes any more--well, with them it isn't quite the same. The
+women don't get so much care and looking after, when they are young, you
+know--that sort of thing. The consequence is, that there's much more
+equality between men and women. I believe the women are worse, and the
+men are better--it's my opinion, at all events. I dare say it isn't
+worth much. It's only what I see at home, you know."
+
+"But the working people don't flirt!" exclaimed Clare. "They drink, and
+that sort of thing--"
+
+"Yes, lots of them drink, men and women. And as for flirting--they
+don't call it flirting, but in their way I dare say it's very much the
+same thing. Only, in our part of the country, a man who flirts, if you
+call it so, gets just as bad a name as a woman. You see, they have all
+had about the same bringing up. But with us it's quite different. A girl
+is brought up in a cage, like a turtle dove, with nothing to do except
+to be good, while a boy is sent to a public school when he is eleven or
+twelve, which is exactly the same as sending him to hell, except that he
+has the certainty of getting away."
+
+"But boys don't learn to flirt at Eton," observed the young girl.
+
+"Well--no," answered Johnstone. "But they learn everything else, except
+Latin and Greek, and they go to a private tutor to learn those things
+before they go to the university."
+
+"You mean that they learn to drink and gamble, and all that?" asked
+Clare.
+
+"Oh--more or less--a little of everything that does no good--and then
+you expect us afterwards to be the same as you are, who have been
+brought up by your mothers at home. It isn't fair, you know."
+
+"No," answered Clare, yielding. "It isn't fair. That strikes me as the
+best argument you have used yet. But it doesn't make it right, for all
+that. And why shouldn't men be brought up to be good, just as women
+are?"
+
+Brook laughed.
+
+"That's quite another matter. Only a paternal government could do
+that--or a maternal government. We haven't got either, so we have to do
+the best we can. I only state the fact, and you are obliged to admit it.
+I can't go back to the reason. The fact remains. In certain ways, at a
+certain age, all men as a rule are bad, and all women, on the whole, are
+good. Most of you know it, and you judge us accordingly and make
+allowances. But you yourself don't seem inclined to be merciful. Perhaps
+you'll be less hard-hearted when you are older."
+
+"I'm not hard-hearted!" exclaimed Clare, indignantly. "I'm only just.
+And I shall always be the same, I'm sure."
+
+"If I were a Frenchman," said Brook, "I should be polite, and say that I
+hoped so. As I'm not, and as it would be rude to say that I didn't
+believe it, I'll say nothing. Only to be what you call just, isn't the
+way to be liked, you know."
+
+"I don't want to be liked," Clare answered, rather sharply. "I hate what
+are called popular people!"
+
+"So do I. They are generally awful bores, don't you know? They want to
+keep the thing up and be liked all the time."
+
+"Well--if one likes people at all, one ought to like them all the time,"
+objected Clare, with unnecessary contrariety.
+
+"That was the original point," observed Brook. "That was your objection
+to the man in the book--that he loved first one sister and then the
+other. Poor chap! The first one loved him, and the second one prayed for
+him! He had no luck!"
+
+"A man who will do that sort of thing is past praying for!" retorted the
+young girl. "It seems to me that when a man makes a woman believe that
+he loves her, the best thing he can do is to be faithful to her
+afterwards."
+
+"Yes--but supposing that he is quite sure that he can't make her
+happy--"
+
+"Then he had no right to make love to her at all."
+
+"But he didn't know it at first. He didn't find out until he had known
+her a long time."
+
+"That makes it all the worse," exclaimed Clare with conviction, but
+without logic.
+
+"And while he was trying to find out, she fell in love with him,"
+continued Brook. "That was unlucky, but it wasn't his fault, you know--"
+
+"Oh yes, it was--in that book at least. He asked her to marry him
+before he had half made up his mind. Really, Mr. Johnstone," she
+continued, almost losing her temper, "you defend the man almost as
+though you were defending yourself!"
+
+"That's rather a hard thing to say to a man, isn't it?"
+
+Johnstone was young enough to be annoyed, though he was amused.
+
+"Then why do you defend the man?" asked Clare, standing still at a turn
+of the road and facing him.
+
+"I won't, if we are going to quarrel about a ridiculous book," he
+answered, looking at her. "My opinion's not worth enough for that."
+
+"If you have an opinion at all, it's worth fighting for."
+
+"I don't want to fight, and I won't fight with you," he answered,
+beginning to laugh.
+
+"With me or with any one else--"
+
+"No--not with you," he said with sudden emphasis.
+
+"Why not with me?"
+
+"Because I like you very much," he answered boldly, and they stood
+looking at each other in the middle of the road.
+
+Clare had started in surprise, and the colour rose slowly to her face,
+but she would not take her eyes from his. For the first time it seemed
+to her that he had no power over her.
+
+"I'm sorry," she answered. "For I don't like you."
+
+"Are you in earnest?" He could not help laughing.
+
+"Yes." There was no mistaking her tone.
+
+Johnstone's face changed, and for the first time in their acquaintance
+he was the one to turn his eyes away.
+
+"I'm sorry too," he said quietly. "Shall we turn back?" he asked after a
+moment's pause.
+
+"No, I want to walk," answered Clare.
+
+She turned from him, and began to walk on in silence. For some time
+neither spoke. Johnstone was puzzled, surprised, and a little hurt, but
+he attributed what she had said to his own roughness in telling her that
+he liked her, though he could not see that he had done anything so very
+terrible. He had spoken spontaneously, too, without the least thought of
+producing an impression, or of beginning to make love to her. Perhaps he
+owed her an apology. If she thought so, he did, and it could do no harm
+to try.
+
+"I'm very sorry, if I have offended you just now," he said gently. "I
+didn't mean to."
+
+"You didn't offend me," answered Clare. "It isn't rude to say that one
+likes a person."
+
+"Oh--I beg your pardon--I thought perhaps--"
+
+He hesitated, surprised by her very unexpected answer. He could not
+imagine what she wanted.
+
+"Because I said that I didn't like you?" she asked.
+
+"Well--yes."
+
+"Then it was I who offended you," answered the young girl. "I didn't
+mean to, either. Only, when you said that you liked me, I thought you
+were in earnest, you know, and so I wanted to be quite honest, because I
+thought it was fairer. You see, if I had let you think that I liked you,
+you might have thought we were going to drift into being friends, and
+that's impossible, you know--because I never did like you, and I never
+shall. But that needn't prevent our walking together, and talking, and
+all that. At least, I don't mean that it should. That's the reason why I
+won't turn back just yet--"
+
+"But how in the world can you enjoy walking and talking with a man you
+don't like?" asked Johnstone, who was completely at sea, and began to
+think that he must be dreaming.
+
+"Well--you are awfully good company, you know, and I can't always be
+sitting with my mother on the terrace, though we love each other
+dearly."
+
+"You are the most extraordinary person!" exclaimed Johnstone, in
+genuine bewilderment. "And of course your mother dislikes me too,
+doesn't she?"
+
+"Not at all," answered Clare. "You asked me that before, and I told you
+the truth. Since then, she likes you better and better. She is always
+saying how nice you are."
+
+"Then I had better always talk to her," suggested Brook, feeling for a
+clue.
+
+"Oh, I shouldn't like that at all!" cried the young girl, laughing.
+
+"And yet you don't like me. This is like twenty questions. You must have
+some very particular reason for it," he added thoughtfully. "I suppose I
+must have done some awful thing without knowing it. I wish you would
+tell me. Won't you, please? Then I'll go away."
+
+"No," Clare answered. "I won't tell you. But I have a reason. I'm not
+capricious. I don't take violent dislikes to people for nothing. Let it
+alone. We can talk very pleasantly about other things. Since you are
+good enough to like me, it might be amusing to tell me why. If you have
+any good reason, you know, you won't stop liking me just because I don't
+like you, will you?"
+
+She glanced sideways at him as she spoke, and he was watching her and
+trying to understand her, for the revelation of her dislike had come
+upon him very suddenly. She was on the right as they walked, and he saw
+her against the light sky, above the line of the low parapet. Perhaps
+the light behind her dazzled him; at all events, he had a strange
+impression for a moment. She seemed to have the better of him, and to be
+stronger and more determined than he. She seemed taller than she was,
+too, for she was on the higher part of the road, in the middle of it.
+For an instant he felt precisely what she so often felt with him, that
+she had power over him. But he did not resent the sensation as she did,
+though it was quite as new to him.
+
+Nevertheless, he did not answer her, for she had spoken only half in
+earnest, and he himself was not just then inclined to joke for the mere
+sake of joking. He looked down at the road under his feet, and he knew
+all at once that Clare attracted him much more than he had imagined. The
+sidelong glance she had bestowed upon him had fascination in it. There
+was an odd charm about her girlish contrariety and in her frank avowal
+that she did not like him. Her dislike roused him. He did not choose to
+be disliked by her, especially for some absurd trifle in his behaviour,
+which he had not even noticed when he had made the mistake, whatever it
+might be.
+
+He walked along in silence, and he was aware of her light tread and the
+soft sound of her serge skirt as she moved. He wished her to like him,
+and wished that he knew what to do to change her mind. But that would
+not be easy, since he did not know the cause of her dislike. Presently
+she spoke again, and more gravely.
+
+"I should not have said that. I'm sorry. But of course you knew that I
+wasn't in earnest."
+
+"I don't know why you should not have said it," he answered. "As a
+matter of fact, you are quite right. I don't like you any the less
+because you don't like me. Liking isn't a bargain with cash on delivery.
+I think I like you all the more for being so honest. Do you mind?"
+
+"Not in the least. It's a very good reason." Clare smiled, and then
+suddenly looked grave again, wondering whether it would not be really
+honest to tell him then and there that she had overheard his last
+interview with Lady Fan.
+
+But she reflected that it could only make him feel uncomfortable.
+
+"And another reason why I like you is because you are combative," he
+said thoughtfully. "I'm not, you know. One always admires the qualities
+one hasn't oneself."
+
+"And you are not combative? You don't like to be in the opposition?"
+
+"Not a bit! I'm not fond of fighting. I systematically avoid a row."
+
+"I shouldn't have thought that," said Clare, looking at him again. "Do
+you know? I think most people would take you for a soldier."
+
+"Do I look as though I would seek the bubble reputation at the cannon's
+mouth?" Brook laughed. "Am I full of strange oaths?"
+
+"Oh, that's ridiculous, you know!" exclaimed Clare. "I mean, you look as
+though you would fight."
+
+"I never would if I could help it. And so far I have managed 'to help
+it' very well. I'm naturally mild, I think. You are not, you know. I
+don't mean to be rude, but I think you are pugnacious--'combative' is
+prettier."
+
+"My father was a soldier," said the girl, with some pride.
+
+"And mine is a brewer. There's a lot of inheritable difference between
+handling gunpowder and brewing mild ale. Like father, like son. I shall
+brew mild ale too. If you could have charged at Balaclava, you would. By
+the way, it isn't the beer that you object to? Please tell me. I
+shouldn't mind at all, and I'd much rather know that it was only that."
+
+"How absurd!" cried Clare with scorn. "As though it made any
+difference!"
+
+"Well--what is it, then?" asked Brook with sudden impatience. "You have
+no right to hate me without telling me why."
+
+"No right?" The young girl turned on him half fiercely, and then
+laughed. "You haven't a standing order from Heaven to be liked by the
+whole human race, you know!"
+
+"And if I had, you would be the solitary exception, I suppose,"
+suggested Johnstone with a rather discontented smile.
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"Is there anything I could do to make you change your mind? Because, if
+it were anything in reason, I'd do it."
+
+"It's rather a pity that you should put in the condition of its being in
+reason," answered Clare, as her lip curled. "But there isn't anything.
+You may just as well give it up at once."
+
+"I won't."
+
+"It's a waste of time, I assure you. Besides, it's mere vanity. It's
+only because everybody likes you--so you think that I should too."
+
+"Between us, we are getting at my character at last," observed Brook
+with some asperity. "You've discovered my vanity, now. By-and-by we
+shall find out some more good qualities."
+
+"Perhaps. Each one will be a step in our acquaintance, you know. Steps
+may lead down, as well as up. We are walking down hill on this road
+just now, and it's steep. Look at that unfortunate mule dragging that
+cart up hill towards us! That's like trying to be friends, against odds.
+I wish the man would not beat the beast like that, though! What brutes
+these people are!"
+
+Her dark blue eyes fixed themselves keenly on the sight, and the pupils
+grew wide and angry. The cart was a hundred yards away, coming up the
+road, piled high with sacks of potatoes, and drawn by one wretched mule.
+The huge carter was sprawling on the front sacks, yelling a tuneless
+chant at the top of his voice. He was a black-haired man, with a hideous
+mouth, and his face was red with wine. As he yelled his song he flogged
+his miserable beast with a heavy whip, accenting his howls with cruel
+blows. Clare grew pale with anger as she came nearer and saw it all more
+distinctly. The mule's knees bent nearly double at every violent step,
+its wide eyes were bright red all round, its white tongue hung out, and
+it gasped for breath. The road was stony, too, besides being steep, for
+it had been lately mended and not rolled.
+
+"Brute!" exclaimed Clare, in a low voice, and her face grew paler.
+
+Johnstone said nothing, and his face did not change as they advanced.
+
+"Don't you see?" cried the young girl. "Can't you do anything? Can't
+you stop him?"
+
+"Oh yes. I think I can do that," answered Brook indifferently. "It is
+rather rough on the mule."
+
+"Rough! It's brutal, it's beastly, it's cowardly, it's perfectly
+inhuman!"
+
+At that moment the unfortunate animal stumbled, struggled to recover
+itself as the lash descended pitilessly upon its thin flanks, and then
+fell headlong and tumbled upon its side. The heavy cart pulled back,
+half turning, so that the shafts were dragged sideways across the mule,
+whose weight prevented the load from rolling down hill. The carrier
+stopped singing and swore, beating the beast with all his might, as it
+lay still gasping for breath.
+
+"Ah, assassin! Ah, carrion! I will teach thee! Curses on the dead of thy
+house!" he roared.
+
+Brook and Clare were coming nearer.
+
+"That's not very intelligent of the fellow," observed Johnstone
+indifferently. "He had much better get down."
+
+"Oh, stop it, stop it!" cried the young girl, suffering acutely for the
+helpless creature.
+
+But the man had apparently recognised the impossibility of producing any
+impression unless he descended from his perch. He threw the whip to the
+ground and slid off the sacks. He stood looking at the mule for a
+moment, and then kicked it in the back with all his might. Then, just as
+Johnstone and Clare came up, he went round to the back of the cart,
+walking unsteadily, for he was evidently drunk. The two stopped by the
+parapet and looked on.
+
+"He's going to unload," said Johnstone. "That's sensible, at all
+events."
+
+The sacks, as usual in Italy, were bound to the cart by cords, which
+were fast in front, but which wound upon a heavy spindle at the back.
+The spindle had three holes in it, in which staves were thrust as
+levers, to turn it and hold the ropes taut. Two of the staves were
+tightly pressed against the load, while the third stood nearly upright
+in its hole.
+
+The man took the third stave, a bar of elm four feet long and as thick
+as a man's wrist, and came round to the mule again on the side away from
+Clare and Johnstone. He lifted the weapon high in air, and almost before
+they realised what horror he was perpetrating he had struck three or
+four tremendous blows upon the creature's back, making as many bleeding
+wounds. The mule kicked and shivered violently, and its eyes were almost
+starting from its head.
+
+Johnstone came up first, caught the stave in air as it was about to
+descend again, wrenched it out of the man's hands, and hurled it over
+Clare's head, across the parapet and into the sea. The man fell back a
+step, and his face grew purple with rage. He roared out a volley of
+horrible oaths, in a dialect perfectly incomprehensible even to Clare,
+who knew Italian well.
+
+"You needn't yell like that, my good man," said Johnstone, smiling at
+him.
+
+The man was big and strong, and drunk. He clenched his fists, and made
+for his adversary, head down, in the futile Italian fashion. The
+Englishman stepped aside, landed a left-handed blow behind his ear, and
+followed it up with a tremendous kick, which sent the fellow upon his
+face in the ditch under the rocks. Clare looked on, and her eyes
+brightened singularly, for she had fighting blood in her veins. The man
+seemed stunned, and lay still where he had fallen. Johnstone turned to
+the fallen mule, which lay bleeding and gasping under the shafts, and he
+began to unbuckle the harness.
+
+"Could you put a big stone behind the wheel?" he asked, as Clare tried
+to help him.
+
+He knew that the cart must roll back if it were not blocked, for he had
+noticed how it stood. Clare looked about for a stone, picked one up by
+the roadside, and went to the back of the cart, while Johnstone patted
+the mule's head, and busied himself with the buckles of the harness,
+bending low as he did so. Clare also bent down, trying to force the
+stone under the wheel, and did not notice that the carter was sitting up
+by the roadside, feeling for something in his pocket.
+
+An instant later he was on his feet. When Clare stood up, he was
+stepping softly up behind Johnstone. As he moved, she saw that he had an
+open clasp-knife in his right hand. Johnstone was still bending down
+unconscious of his danger. The young girl was light on her feet and
+quick, and not cowardly. The man was before her, halfway between her and
+Brook. She sprang with all her might, threw her arms round the drunken
+man's neck from behind, and dragged him backward. He struck wildly
+behind him with the knife, and roared out curses.
+
+"Quick!" cried Clare, in her high, clear voice. "He's got a knife!
+Quick!"
+
+But Johnstone had heard their steps, and was already upon him from
+before, while the young girl's arms tightened round his neck from
+behind. The fellow struck about him wildly with his blade, staggering
+backwards as Clare dragged upon him.
+
+"Let go, or you'll fall!" Brook shouted to her.
+
+As he spoke, dodging the knife, he struck the man twice in the face,
+left and right, in an earnest, business-like way. Clare caught herself
+by the wheel of the cart as she sprang aside, almost falling under the
+man's weight. A moment later, Brook was kneeling on his chest, having
+the knife in his hand and holding it near the carter's throat.
+
+"Lie still!" he said rather quietly, in English. "Give me the halter,
+please!" he said to Clare, without looking up. "It's hanging to the
+shaft there in a coil."
+
+Kneeling on the man's chest--to tell the truth, he was badly stunned,
+though not unconscious--Brook took two half-hitches with the halter
+round one wrist, passed the line under his neck as he lay, and hauled on
+it till the arm came under his side, then hitched the other wrist,
+passed the line back, hauled on it, and finally took two turns round the
+throat. Clare watched the operation, very pale and breathing hard.
+
+"He's drunk," observed Johnstone. "Otherwise I wouldn't tie him up, you
+know. Now, if you move," he said in English to his prisoner, "you'll
+strangle yourself."
+
+Thereupon he rose, forced the fellow to roll over, and hitched the fall
+of the line round both wrists again, and made it fast, so that the man
+lay, with his head drawn back by his own hands, which he could not move
+without tightening the rope round his neck.
+
+"He's frightened now," said Brook. "Let's get the poor mule out of
+that."
+
+In a few minutes he got the wretched beast free. It was ready enough to
+rise as soon as it felt that it could do so, and it struggled to its
+feet, badly hurt by the beating and bleeding in many places, but not
+seriously injured. The carter watched them as he lay on the road, half
+strangled, and cursed them in a choking voice.
+
+"And now, what in the world are we going to do with them?" asked Brook,
+rubbing the mule's nose. "It's a pretty bad case," he continued,
+thoughtfully. "The mule can't draw the load, the carter can't be allowed
+to beat the mule, and we can't afford to let the carter have his head.
+What the dickens are we to do?"
+
+He laughed a little. Then he suddenly looked hard at Clare, as though
+remembering something.
+
+"It was awfully plucky of you to jump on him in that way," he said.
+"Just at the right moment, too, by Jove! That devil would have got at me
+if you hadn't stopped him. Awfully plucky, upon my word! And I'm
+tremendously obliged, Miss Bowring, indeed I am!"
+
+"It's nothing to be grateful for, it seems to me," Clare answered. "I
+suppose there's nothing to be done but to sit down and wait until
+somebody comes. It's a lonely road, of course, and we may wait a long
+time."
+
+"I say," exclaimed Johnstone, "you've torn your frock rather badly! Look
+at it!"
+
+She drew her skirt round with her hand. There were long, clean rents in
+the skirt, on her right side.
+
+"It was his knife," she said, thoughtfully surveying the damage. "He
+kept trying to get at me with it. I'm sorry, for I haven't another serge
+skirt with me."
+
+Then she felt herself blushing, and turned away.
+
+"I'll just pin it up," she said, and she disappeared behind the cart
+rather precipitately.
+
+"By Jove! You have pretty good nerves!" observed Johnstone, more to
+himself than to her. "Shut up!" he cried to the carter, who was swearing
+again. "Stop that noise, will you?"
+
+He made a step angrily towards the man, for the sight of the slit frock
+had roused him again, when he thought what the knife might have done.
+The fellow was silent instantly, and lay quite still, for he knew that
+he should strangle himself if he moved.
+
+"I'll have you in prison before night," continued Johnstone, speaking
+English to him. "Oh yes! the _carabinieri_ will come, and you will go to
+_galera_--do you understand that?"
+
+He had picked up the words somewhere. The man began to moan and pray.
+
+"Stop that noise!" cried Brook, with slow emphasis.
+
+He was not far wrong in saying that the carabineers would come. They
+patrol the roads day and night, in pairs, as they patrol every high road
+and every mountain path in Italy, all the year round. And just then, far
+up the road down which Johnstone and Clare had come, two of them
+appeared in sight, recognisable a mile away by their snow-white
+crossbelts and gleaming accoutrements. There are twelve or fourteen
+thousand of them in the country, trained soldiers and picked men, by all
+odds the finest corps in the army. Until lately no man could serve in
+the carabineers who could not show documentary evidence that neither he
+nor his father nor his mother had ever been in prison even for the
+smallest offence. They are feared and respected, and it is they who have
+so greatly reduced brigandage throughout the country.
+
+Clare came back to Johnstone's side, having done what she could to pin
+the rents together.
+
+"It's all right now," she cried. "Here come the carabineers. They will
+take the man and his cart to the next village. Let me talk to them--I
+can speak Italian, you know."
+
+She was pale again, and very quiet. She had noticed that her hands
+trembled violently when she was pinning her frock, though they had been
+steady enough when they had gone round the man's throat.
+
+When the patrol men came up, she stepped forward and explained what had
+happened, clearly and briefly. There was the bleeding mule, Johnstone
+standing before it and rubbing its dusty nose; there was the knife;
+there was the man. With a modest gesture she showed them where her frock
+had been cut to shreds. Johnstone made remarks in English, reflecting
+upon the Italian character, which she did not think fit to translate.
+
+The carabineers were silent fellows with big moustaches--the one very
+dark, the other as fair as a Swede--they were clean, strong, sober men,
+with frank eyes, and they said very little. They asked the strangers'
+names, and Johnstone, at Clare's request, wrote her name on his card,
+and the address in Amalfi. One of them knew the carter for a bad
+character.
+
+"We will take care of him and his cart," said the dark man, who was the
+superior. "The signori may go in quiet."
+
+They untied the rope that bound the man. He rose trembling, and stood on
+his feet, for he knew that he was in their power. But they showed no
+intention of putting him in handcuffs.
+
+"Turn the cart round!" said the dark man.
+
+They helped the carter to do it, and blocked it with stones.
+
+"Put in the mule!" was the next order, and the carabineers held up the
+shafts while the man obeyed.
+
+Then both saluted Johnstone and Clare, and shouldered their short
+carbines, which had stood against the parapet.
+
+"Forward!" said the dark man, quietly.
+
+The carter took the mule by the head and started it gently enough. The
+creature understood, and was glad to go down hill; the wheels creaked,
+the cart moved, and the party went off, one of the carabineers marching
+on either side.
+
+Clare drew a long breath as she stood looking after them for a moment.
+
+"Let us go home," she said at last, and turned up the road.
+
+For some minutes they walked on in silence.
+
+"I think you probably saved my life at the risk of yours, Miss Bowring,"
+said Johnstone, at last, looking up. "Thank you very much."
+
+"Nonsense!" exclaimed the young girl, and she tried to laugh.
+
+"But you were telling me that you were not combative--that you always
+avoided a fight, you know, and that you were so mild, and all that. For
+a very mild man, Mr. Johnstone, who hates fighting, you are a good 'man
+of your hands,' as they say in the _Morte d'Arthur_."
+
+"Oh, I don't call that a fight!" answered Johnstone, contemptuously.
+"Why, my collar isn't even crumpled. As for my hands, if I could find a
+spring I would wash them, after touching that fellow."
+
+"That's the advantage of wearing gloves," observed Clare, looking at her
+own.
+
+They were both very young, and though they knew that they had been in
+great danger they affected perfect indifference about it to each other,
+after the manner of true Britons. But each admired the other, and Brook
+was suddenly conscious that he had never known a woman whom, in some
+ways, he thought so admirable as Clare Bowring, but both felt a singular
+constraint as they walked homeward.
+
+"Do you know?" Clare began, when they were near Amalfi, "I think we had
+better say nothing about it to my mother--that is, if you don't mind."
+
+"By all means," answered Brook. "I'm sure I don't want to talk about
+it."
+
+"No, and my mother is very nervous--you know--about my going off to walk
+without her. Oh, not about you--with anybody. You see, I'd been very ill
+before I came here."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+In obedience to Clare's expressed wish, Johnstone made no mention that
+evening of the rather serious adventure on the Salerno road. They had
+fallen into the habit of shaking hands when they bade each other
+good-night. When it was time, and the two ladies rose to withdraw,
+Johnstone suddenly wished that Clare would make some little sign to
+him--the least thing to show that this particular evening was not
+precisely what all the other evenings had been, that they were drawn a
+little closer together, that perhaps she would change her mind and not
+dislike him any more for that unknown reason at which he could not even
+guess.
+
+They joined hands, and his eyes met hers. But there was no unusual
+pressure--no little acknowledgment of a common danger past. The blue
+eyes looked at him straight and proudly, without softening, and the
+fresh lips calmly said good-night. Johnstone remained alone, and in a
+singularly bad humour for such a good-tempered man. He was angry with
+Clare for being so cold and indifferent, and he was ashamed of himself
+for wishing that she would admire him a little for having knocked down a
+tipsy carter. It was not much of an exploit. What she had done had been
+very much more remarkable. The man would not have killed him, of course,
+but he might have given him a very dangerous wound with that ugly
+clasp-knife. Clare's frock was cut to pieces on one side, and it was a
+wonder that she had escaped without a scratch. He had no right to expect
+any praise for what he had done, when she had done so much more.
+
+To tell the truth, it was not praise that he wanted, but a sign that she
+was not indifferent to him, or at least that she no longer disliked him.
+He was ashamed to own to himself that he was half in love with a young
+girl who had told him that she did not like him and would never even be
+his friend. Women had not usually treated him in that way, so far. But
+the fact remained, that she had got possession of his thoughts, and made
+him think about his actions when she was present. It took a good deal to
+disturb Brook Johnstone's young sleep, but he did not sleep well that
+night.
+
+As for Clare, when she was alone, she regretted that she had not just
+nodded kindly to him, and nothing more, when she had said good-night.
+She knew perfectly well that he expected something of the sort, and
+that it would have been natural, and quite harmless, without any
+possibility of consequence. She consoled herself by repeating that she
+had done quite right, as the vision of Lady Fan rose distinctly before
+her in a flood of memory's moonlight. Then it struck her, as the vision
+faded, that her position was a very odd one. Personally, she liked the
+man. Impersonally, she hated and despised him. At least she believed
+that she did, and that she should, for the sake of all women. To her, as
+she had known him, he was brave, kind, gentle in manner and speech,
+boyishly frank. As she had seen him that once, she had thought him
+heartless, cowardly, and cynical. She could not reconcile the two, and
+therefore, in her thoughts, she unconsciously divided him into two
+individualities--her Mr. Johnstone and Lady Fan's Brook. There was very
+little resemblance between them. Oddly enough, she felt a sort of pang
+for him, that he could ever have been the other man whom she had first
+seen. She was getting into a very complicated frame of mind.
+
+They met in the morning and exchanged greetings with unusual coldness.
+Brook asked whether she were tired; she said that she had done nothing
+to tire her, as though she resented the question; he said nothing in
+answer, and they both looked at the sea and thought it extremely dull.
+Presently Johnstone went off for a walk alone, and Clare buried herself
+in a book for the morning. She did not wish to think, because her
+thoughts were so very contradictory. It was easier to try and follow
+some one else's ideas. She found that almost worse than thinking, but,
+being very tenacious, she stuck to it and tried to read.
+
+At the midday meal they exchanged commonplaces, and neither looked at
+the other. Just as they left the dining-room a heavy thunderstorm broke
+overhead with a deluge of rain. Clare said that the thunder made her
+head ache, and she disappeared on pretence of lying down. Mrs. Bowring
+went to write letters, and Johnstone hung about the reading-room, and
+smoked a pipe in the long corridor, till he was sick of the sound of his
+own footsteps. Amalfi was all very well in fine weather, he reflected,
+but when it rained it was as dismal as penny whist, Sunday in London, or
+a volume of sermons--or all three together, he added viciously, in his
+thoughts. The German family had fallen back upon the guide book,
+Mommsen's _History of Rome_, and the _Gartenlaube_. The Russian invalid
+was presumably in his room, with a teapot, and the two English old maids
+were reading a violently sensational novel aloud to each other by turns
+in the hotel drawing-room. They stopped reading and got very red, when
+Johnstone looked in.
+
+It was a dreary afternoon, and he wished that something would happen.
+The fight on the preceding day had stirred his blood--and other things
+perhaps had contributed to his restless state of mind. He thought of
+Clare's torn frock, and he wished he had killed the carter outright. He
+reflected that, as the man was attacking him with a knife, he himself
+would have been acquitted.
+
+Late in the afternoon the sky cleared and the red light of the lowering
+sun struck the crests of the higher hills to eastward. Brook went out
+and smelled the earth-scented air, and the damp odour of the
+orange-blossoms. But that did not please him either, so he turned back
+and went through the long corridor to the platform at the back of the
+hotel. To his surprise he came face to face with Clare, who was walking
+briskly backwards and forwards, and saw him just as he emerged from the
+door. They both stood still and looked at each other with an odd little
+constraint, almost like anxiety, in their faces. There was a short,
+awkward silence.
+
+"Well?" said Clare, interrogatively, and raising her eyebrows a very
+little, as though wondering why he did not speak.
+
+"Nothing," Johnstone answered, turning his face seaward. "I wasn't
+going to say anything."
+
+"Oh!--you looked as though you were."
+
+"No," he said. "I came out to get a breath of air, that's all."
+
+"So did I. I--I think I've been out long enough. I'll go in." And she
+made a step towards the door.
+
+"Oh, please, don't!" he cried suddenly. "Can't we walk together a little
+bit? That is, if you are not tired."
+
+"Oh no! I'm not tired," answered the young girl with a cold little
+laugh. "I'll stay if you like--just a few minutes."
+
+"Thanks, awfully," said Brook in a shy, jerky way.
+
+They began to walk up and down, much less quickly than Clare had been
+walking when alone. They seemed to have nothing to say to each other.
+Johnstone remarked that he thought it would not rain again just then,
+and after some minutes of reflection Clare said that she remembered
+having seen two thunderstorms within an hour, with a clear sky between,
+not long ago. Johnstone also thought the matter over for some time
+before he answered, and then said that he supposed the clouds must have
+been somewhere in the meantime--an observation which did not strike
+either Clare or even himself as particularly intelligent.
+
+"I don't think you know much about thunderstorms," said Clare, after
+another silence.
+
+"I? No--why should I?"
+
+"I don't know. It's supposed to be just as well to know about things,
+isn't it?"
+
+"I dare say," answered Brook, indifferently. "But science isn't exactly
+in my line, if I have any line."
+
+They recrossed the platform in silence.
+
+"What is your line--if you have any?" Clare asked, looking at the ground
+as she walked, and perfectly indifferent as to his answer.
+
+"It ought to be beer," answered Brook, gravely. "But then, you know how
+it is--one has all sorts of experts, and one ends by taking their word
+for granted about it. I don't believe I have any line--unless it's in
+the way of out-of-door things. I'm fond of shooting, and I can ride
+fairly, you know, like anybody else."
+
+"Yes," said Clare, "you were telling me so the other day, you know."
+
+"Yes," Johnstone murmured thoughtfully, "that's true. Please excuse me.
+I'm always repeating myself."
+
+"I didn't mean that." Her tone changed a little. "You can be very
+amusing when you like, you know."
+
+"Thanks, awfully. I should like to be amusing now, for instance, but I
+can't."
+
+"Now? Why now?"
+
+"Because I'm boring you to madness, little by little, and I'm awfully
+sorry too, for I want you to like me--though you say you never will--and
+of course you can't like a bore, can you? I say, Miss Bowring, don't you
+think we could strike some sort of friendly agreement--to be friends
+without 'liking,' somehow? I'm beginning to hate the word. I believe
+it's the colour of my hair or my coat--or something--that you dislike
+so. I wish you'd tell me. It would be much kinder. I'd go to work and
+change it--"
+
+"Dye your hair?" Clare laughed, glad that the ice was broken again.
+
+"Oh yes--if you like," he answered, laughing too. "Anything to please
+you."
+
+"Anything 'in reason'--as you proposed yesterday."
+
+"No--anything in reason or out of it. I'm getting desperate!" He laughed
+again, but in his laughter there was a little note of something new to
+the young girl, a sort of understreak of earnestness.
+
+"It isn't anything you can change," said Clare, after a moment's
+hesitation. "And it certainly has nothing to do with your appearance, or
+your manners, or your tailor," she added.
+
+"Oh well, then, it's evidently something I've done, or said," Brook
+murmured, looking at her.
+
+But she did not return his glance, as they walked side by side; indeed,
+she turned her face from him a little, and she said nothing, for she was
+far too truthful to deny his assertion.
+
+"Then I'm right," he said, with an interrogation, after a long pause.
+
+"Don't ask me, please! It's of no importance after all. Talk of
+something else."
+
+"I don't agree with you," Brook answered. "It is very important to me."
+
+"Oh, nonsense!" Clare tried to laugh. "What difference can it make to
+you, whether I like you or not?"
+
+"Don't say that. It makes a great difference--more than I thought it
+could, in fact. One--one doesn't like to be misjudged by one's friends,
+you know."
+
+"But I'm not your friend."
+
+"I want you to be."
+
+"I can't."
+
+"You won't," said Brook, in a lower tone, and almost angrily. "You've
+made up your mind against me, on account of something you've guessed
+at, and you won't tell me what it is, so I can't possibly defend myself.
+I haven't the least idea what it can be. I never did anything
+particularly bad, I believe, and I never did anything I should be
+ashamed of owning. I don't like to say that sort of thing, you know,
+about myself, but you drive me to it. It isn't fair. Upon my word, it's
+not fair play. You tell a man he's a bad lot, like that, in the air, and
+then you refuse to say why you think so. Or else the whole thing is a
+sort of joke you've invented--if it is, it's awfully one-sided, it seems
+to me."
+
+"Do you really think me capable of anything so silly?" asked Clare.
+
+"No, I don't. That makes it all the worse, because it proves that you
+have--or think you have--something against me. I don't know much about
+law, but it strikes me as something tremendously like libel. Don't you
+think so yourself?"
+
+"Oh no! Indeed I don't. Libel means saying things against people,
+doesn't it? I haven't done that--"
+
+"Indeed you have! I mean, I beg your pardon for contradicting you like
+that--"
+
+"Rather flatly," observed Clare, as they turned in their walk, and their
+eyes met.
+
+"Well, I'm sorry, but since we are talking about it, I've got to say
+what I think. After all, I'm the person attacked. I have a right to
+defend myself."
+
+"I haven't attacked you," answered the young girl, gravely.
+
+"I won't be rude, if I can help it," said Brook, half roughly. "But I
+asked you if you disliked me for something I had done or said, and you
+couldn't deny it. That means that I have done or said something bad
+enough to make you say that you will never be my friend--and that must
+be something very bad indeed."
+
+"Then you think I'm not squeamish? It would have to be something very,
+very bad."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Thank you. Well, I thought it very bad. Anybody would, I should fancy."
+
+"I never did anything very, very bad, so you must be mistaken," answered
+Johnstone, exasperated.
+
+Clare said nothing, but walked along with her head rather high, looking
+straight before her. It had all happened before her eyes, on the very
+ground under her feet, on that platform. Johnstone knew that he had
+spoken roughly.
+
+"I say," he began, "was I rude? I'm awfully sorry." Clare stopped and
+stood still.
+
+"Mr. Johnstone, we sha'n't agree. I will never tell you, and you will
+never be satisfied unless I do. So it's a dead-lock."
+
+"You are horribly unjust," answered Brook, very much in earnest, and
+fixing his bright eyes on hers. "You seem to take a delight in
+tormenting me with this imaginary secret. After all, if it's something
+you saw me do, or heard me say, I must know of it and remember it, so
+there's no earthly reason why we shouldn't discuss it."
+
+There was again that fascination in his eyes, and she felt herself
+yielding.
+
+"I'll say one thing," she said. "I wish you hadn't done it!"
+
+She felt that she could not look away from him, and that he was getting
+her into his power. The colour rose in her face.
+
+"Please don't look at me!" she said suddenly, gazing helplessly into his
+eyes, but his steady look did not change.
+
+"Please--oh, please look away!" she cried, half-frightened and growing
+pale again.
+
+He turned from her, surprised at her manner.
+
+"I'm afraid you're not in earnest about this, after all," he said,
+thoughtfully. "If you meant what you said, why shouldn't you look at
+me?"
+
+She blushed scarlet again.
+
+"It's very rude to stare like that!" she said, in an offended tone.
+"You know that you've got something--I don't know what to call it--one
+can't look away when you look at one. Of course you know it, and you
+ought not to do it. It isn't nice."
+
+"I didn't know there was anything peculiar about my eyes," said Brook.
+"Indeed I didn't! Nobody ever told me so, I'm sure. By Jove!" he
+exclaimed, "I believe it's that! I've probably done it before--and
+that's why you--" he stopped.
+
+"Please don't think me so silly," answered Clare, recovering her
+composure. "It's nothing of the sort. As for that--that way you have of
+looking--I dare say I'm nervous since my illness. Besides--" she
+hesitated, and then smiled. "Besides, do you know? If you had looked at
+me a moment longer I should have told you the whole thing, and then we
+should both have been sorry."
+
+"I should not, I'm sure," said Brook, with conviction. "But I don't
+understand about my looking at you. I never tried to mesmerise any
+one--"
+
+"There is no such thing as mesmerism. It's all hypnotism, you know."
+
+"I don't know what they call it. You know what I mean. But I'm sure it's
+your imagination."
+
+"Oh yes, I dare say," answered the young girl with affected
+carelessness. "It's merely because I'm nervous."
+
+"Well, so far as I'm concerned, it's quite unconscious. I don't know--I
+suppose I wanted to see in your eyes what you were thinking about.
+Besides, when one likes a person, one doesn't think it so dreadfully
+rude to look at them--at him--I mean, at you--when one is in earnest
+about something--does one?"
+
+"I don't know," said Clare. "But please don't do it to me. It makes me
+feel awfully uncomfortable somehow. You won't, will you?" she asked,
+with a sort of appeal. "You would make me tell you everything--and then
+I should hate myself."
+
+"But I shouldn't hate you."
+
+"Oh yes, you would! You would hate me for knowing."
+
+"By Jove! It's too bad!" cried Brook. "But as for that," he added
+humbly, "nothing would make me hate you."
+
+"Nothing? You don't know!"
+
+"Yes, I do! You couldn't make me change my mind about you. I've grown
+to--to like you a great deal too much for that in this short time--a
+great deal more than is good for me, I believe," he added, with a sort
+of rough impulsiveness. "Not that I'm at all surprised, you know," he
+continued with an attempt at a laugh. "One can't see a person like you,
+most of the day, for ten days or a fortnight, without--well, you know,
+admiring you most tremendously--can one? I dare say you think that might
+be put into better English. But it's true all the same."
+
+A silence followed. The warm blood mantled softly in the girl's fair
+cheeks. She was taken by surprise with an odd little breath of
+happiness, as it were, suddenly blowing upon her, whence she knew not.
+It was so utterly new that she wondered at it, and was not conscious of
+the faint blush that answered it.
+
+"One gets awfully intimate in a few days," observed Brook, as though he
+had discovered something quite new.
+
+She nodded, but said nothing, and they still walked up and down. Then
+his words made her think of that sudden intimacy which had probably
+sprung up between him and Lady Fan on board the yacht, and her heart was
+hardened again.
+
+"It isn't worth while to be intimate, as you call it," she said at last,
+with a little sudden sharpness. "People ought never to be intimate,
+unless they have to live together--in the same place, you know. Then
+they can't exactly help it, I suppose."
+
+"Why should they? One can't exactly intrench oneself behind a wall with
+pistols and say 'Be my friend if you dare.' Life would be very
+uncomfortable, I should think."
+
+"Oh, you know what I mean! Don't be so awfully literal."
+
+"I was trying to understand," said Johnstone, with unusual meekness. "I
+won't, if you don't want me to. But I don't agree with you a bit. I
+think it's very jolly to be intimate--in this sort of way--or perhaps a
+little more so."
+
+"Intimate enemies? Enemies can be just as intimate as friends, you
+know."
+
+"I'd rather have you for my intimate enemy than not know you at all,"
+said Brook.
+
+"That's saying a great deal, Mr. Johnstone."
+
+Again she was pleased in a new way by what he said. And a temptation
+came upon her unawares. It was perfectly clear that he was beginning to
+make love to her. She thought of her reflections after she had seen him
+alone with Lady Fan, and of how she had wished that she could break his
+heart, and pay him back with suffering for the pain he had given another
+woman. The possibility seemed nearer now than then. At least, she could
+easily let him believe that she believed him, and then laugh at him and
+his acting. For of course it was acting. How could such a man be
+earnest? All at once the thought that he should respect her so little
+as to pretend to make love to her incensed her.
+
+"What an extraordinary idea!" she exclaimed rather scornfully. "You
+would rather be hated, than not known!"
+
+"I wasn't talking generalities--I was speaking of you. Please don't
+misunderstand me on purpose. It isn't kind."
+
+"Are you in need of kindness just now? You don't exactly strike one in
+that way, you know. But your people will be coming in a day or two, I
+suppose. I've no doubt they'll be kind to you, as you call it--whatever
+that may mean. One speaks of being kind to animals and servants, you
+know--that sort of thing."
+
+Nothing can outdo the brutality of a perfectly unaffected young girl
+under certain circumstances.
+
+"I don't class myself with either, thank you," said Brook, justly
+offended. "You certainly manage to put things in a new light sometimes.
+I feel rather like that mule we saw yesterday."
+
+"Oh--I thought you didn't class yourself with animals!" she laughed.
+
+"Have you any particular reason for saying horridly disagreeable
+things?" asked Brook coldly.
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"I didn't mean to be disagreeable--at least not so disagreeable as all
+that," said Clare at last. "I don't know why it is, but you have a
+talent for making me seem rude."
+
+"Force of example," suggested Johnstone.
+
+"No, I'll say that for you--you have very good manners."
+
+"Thanks, awfully. Considering the provocation, you know, that's an
+immense compliment."
+
+"I thought I would be 'kind' for a change. By the bye, what are we
+quarrelling about?" She laughed. "You began by saying something very
+nice to me, and then I told you that you were like the mule, didn't I?
+It's very odd! I believe you hypnotise me, after all."
+
+"At all events, if we were not intimate, you couldn't possibly say the
+things you do," observed Brook, already pacified.
+
+"And I suppose you would not take the things I say, so meekly, would
+you?"
+
+"I told you I was a very mild person," said Johnstone. "We were talking
+about it yesterday, do you remember?"
+
+"Oh yes! And then you illustrated your idea of meekness by knocking down
+the first man we met."
+
+"It was your fault," retorted Brook. "You told me to stop his beating
+the mule. So I did. Fortunately you stopped him from sticking a knife
+into me. Do you know? You have awfully good nerves. Most women would
+have screamed and run up a tree--or something. They would have got out
+of the way, at all events."
+
+"I think most women would have done precisely what I did," said Clare.
+"Why should you say that most women are cowards?"
+
+"I didn't," answered Brook. "But I refuse to quarrel about it. I meant
+to say that I admired you--I mean, what you did--well, more than
+anything."
+
+"That's a sweeping sort of compliment. Am I to return it?" She glanced
+at him and smiled.
+
+"You couldn't, with truth."
+
+"Of course I could. I don't remember ever seeing anything of that sort
+before, but I don't believe that anybody could have done it better. I
+admired you more than anything just then, you know." She laughed once
+more as she added the last words.
+
+"Oh, I don't expect you to go on admiring me. I'm quite satisfied, and
+grateful, and all that."
+
+"I'm glad you're so easily satisfied. Couldn't we talk seriously about
+something or other? It seems to me that we've been chaffing for half an
+hour, haven't we?"
+
+"It hasn't been all chaff, Miss Bowring," said Johnstone. "At least, not
+on my side."
+
+"Then I'm sorry," Clare answered. They relapsed into silence, as they
+walked their beat, to and fro. The sun had gone down, and it was already
+twilight on that side of the mountains. The rain had cooled the air, and
+the far land to southward was darkly distinct beyond the purple water.
+It was very chilly, and Clare was without a shawl, and Johnstone was
+hatless, but neither of them noticed that it was cool. Johnstone was the
+first to speak.
+
+"Is this sort of thing to go on for ever, Miss Bowring?" he asked
+gravely.
+
+"What?" But she knew very well what he meant.
+
+"This--this very odd footing we are on, you and I--are we never going to
+get past it?"
+
+"Oh--I hope not," answered Clare, cheerfully. "I think it's very
+pleasant, don't you? And most original. We are intimate enough to say
+all sorts of things, and I'm your enemy, and you say you are my friend.
+I can't imagine any better arrangement. We shall always laugh when we
+think of it--even years hence. You will be going away in a few days, and
+we shall stay here into the summer and we shall never see each other
+again, in all probability. We shall always look back on this time--as
+something quite odd, you know."
+
+"You are quite mistaken if you think that we shall never meet again,"
+said Johnstone.
+
+"I mean that it's very unlikely. You see we don't go home very often,
+and when we do we stop with friends in the country. We don't go much
+into society. And the rest of the time we generally live in Florence."
+
+"There is nothing to prevent me from coming to Florence--or living
+there, if I choose."
+
+"Oh no--I suppose not. Except that you would be bored to death. It's not
+very amusing, unless you happen to be fond of pictures, and you never
+said you were."
+
+"I should go to see you."
+
+"Oh--yes--you could call, and of course if we were at home we should be
+very glad to see you. But that would only occupy about half an hour of
+one day. That isn't much."
+
+"I mean that I should go to Florence simply for the sake of seeing you,
+and seeing you often--all the time, in fact."
+
+"Dear me! That would be a great deal, wouldn't it? I thought you meant
+just to call, don't you know?"
+
+"I'm in earnest, though it sounds very funny, I dare say," said
+Johnstone.
+
+"It sounds rather mad," answered Clare, laughing a little. "I hope you
+won't do anything of the kind, because I wouldn't see you more than
+once or twice. I'd have headaches and colds and concerts--all the things
+one has when one isn't at home to people. But my mother would be
+delighted. She likes you tremendously, you know, and you could go about
+to galleries together and read Ruskin and Browning--do you know the
+Statue and the Bust? And you could go and see Casa Guidi, where the
+Brownings lived, and you could drive up to San Miniato, and then, you
+know, you could drive up again and read more Browning and more Ruskin.
+I'm sure you would enjoy it to any extent. But I should have to go
+through a terrific siege of colds and headaches. It would be rather hard
+on me."
+
+"And harder on me," observed Brook, "and quite fearful for Mrs.
+Bowring."
+
+"Oh no! She would enjoy every minute of it. You forget that she likes
+you."
+
+"You are afraid I should forget that you don't."
+
+"I almost--oh, a long way from quite! I almost liked you yesterday when
+you thrashed the carter and tied him up so neatly. It was beautifully
+done--all those knots! I suppose you learned them on board of the yacht,
+didn't you?"
+
+"I've yachted a good deal," said Brook.
+
+"Generally with that party?" inquired Clare.
+
+"No. That was the first time. My father has an old tub he goes about
+in, and we sometimes go together."
+
+"Is he coming here in his 'old tub'?"
+
+"Oh no--he's lent her to a fellow who has taken her off to Japan, I
+believe."
+
+"Japan! Is it safe? In an 'old tub'!"
+
+"Oh, well--that's a way of talking, you know. She's a good enough boat,
+you know. My father went to New York in her, last year. She's a steamer,
+you know. I hate steamers. They are such dirty noisy things! But of
+course if you are going a long way, they are the only things."
+
+He spoke in a jerky way, annoyed and discomfited by her forcing the
+conversation off the track. Though he was aware that he had gone further
+than he intended, when he proposed to spend the winter in Florence.
+Moreover, he was very tenacious by nature, and had rarely been seriously
+opposed during his short life. Her persistent refusal to tell him the
+cause of her deep-rooted dislike exasperated him, while her frank and
+careless manner and good-fellowship fascinated him more and more.
+
+"Tell me all about the yacht," she said. "I'm sure she is a beauty,
+though you call her an old tub."
+
+"I don't want to talk about yachts," he answered, returning to the
+attack in spite of her. "I want to talk about the chances of seeing you
+after we part here."
+
+"There aren't any," replied the young girl carelessly. "What is the name
+of the yacht?"
+
+"Very commonplace--'Lucy,' that's all. I'll make chances if there are
+none--"
+
+"You mustn't say that 'Lucy' is commonplace. That's my mother's name."
+
+"I beg your pardon. I couldn't know that. It always struck me that it
+wasn't much of a name for a yacht, you know. That was all I meant. He's
+a queer old bird, my father; he always says he took it from the Bride of
+Lammermoor, Heaven knows why. But please--I really can't go away and
+feel that I'm not to see you again soon. You seem to think that I'm
+chaffing. I'm not. I'm very serious. I like you very much, and I don't
+see why one should just meet and then go off, and let that be the
+end--do you?"
+
+"I don't see why not," exclaimed Clare, hating the unexpected longing
+she felt to agree with him, and tell him to come and stay in Florence as
+much as he pleased. "Come--it's too cold here. I must be going in."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+Brook Johnstone had never been in the habit of observing his sensations
+nor of paying any great attention to his actions. He was not at all an
+actor, as Clare believed him to be, and the idea that he could ever have
+taken pleasure in giving pain would have made him laugh. Possibly, it
+would have made him very angry, but it certainly had no foundation at
+all in fact. He had been liked, loved, and made much of, not for
+anything he had ever taken the trouble to do, but partly for his own
+sake, and partly on account of his position. Such charm as he had for
+women lay in his frankness, good humour, and simplicity of character.
+That he had appeared to be changeable in his affection was merely due to
+the fact that he had never been in love. He vaguely recognised the fact
+in his inner consciousness, though he would have said that he had been
+in love half a dozen times; which only amounted to saying that women he
+had liked had been in love with him or had thought that they were, or
+had wished to have it thought that he loved them or had perhaps, like
+poor Lady Fan, been willing to risk a good deal on the bare chance of
+marrying one of the best of society's matches in the end. He was too
+young to look upon such affairs very seriously. When he had been tired
+of the game he had not lacked the courage to say so, and in most cases
+he had been forgiven. Lady Fan might prove an exception, but he hoped
+not. He was enormously far removed from being a saint, it is true, but
+it is due to him to repeat that he had drawn the line rigidly at a
+certain limit, and that all women beyond that line had been to him as
+his own mother, in thought and deed. Let those who have the right to
+cast stones--and the cruelty to do so--decide for themselves whether
+Brook Johnstone was a bad man at heart, or not. It need not be hinted
+that a proportion of the stone-throwing Pharisees owe their immaculate
+reputation to their conspicuous lack of attraction; the little band has
+a place apart and they stand there and lapidate most of us, and secretly
+wish that they had ever had the chance of being as bad as we are without
+being found out. But the great army of the pure in heart are mixed with
+us sinners in the fight, and though they may pray for us, they do not
+carp at our imperfections--and occasionally they get hit by the
+Pharisees just as we do, being rather whiter than we and therefore
+offering a more tempting mark for a jagged stone or a handful of pious
+mud. You may know the Pharisee by his intimate knowledge of the sins he
+has never committed.
+
+Besides, though the code of honour is not worth much as compared with
+the Ten Commandments, it is notably better than nothing, in the way of
+morality. It will keep a man from lying and evil speaking as well as
+from picking and stealing, and if it does not force him to honour all
+women as angels, it makes him respect a very large proportion of them as
+good women and therefore sacred, in a very practical way of sacredness.
+Brook Johnstone always was very careful in all matters where honour and
+his own feeling about honour were concerned. For that reason he had told
+Clare that he had never done anything very bad, whereas what she had
+seen him do was monstrous in her eyes. She had not reflected that she
+knew nothing about Lady Fan; and if she had heard half there was to be
+known she would not have understood. That night on the platform Lady Fan
+had given her own version of what had taken place on the Acropolis at
+sunset, and Brook had not denied anything. Clare did not reflect that
+Lady Fan might very possibly have exaggerated the facts very much in her
+statement of them, and that at such a time Brook was certainly not the
+man to argue the case, since it had manifestly been his only course to
+take all the apparent blame on himself. Even if he had known that Clare
+had heard the conversation, he could not possibly have explained the
+matter to her--not even if she had been an old woman--without telling
+all the truth about Lady Fan, and he was too honourable a man to do
+that, under any conceivable circumstances.
+
+He was decidedly and really in love with the girl. He knew it, because
+what he felt was not like anything he had ever felt before. It was
+anything but the pleasurable excitement to which he was accustomed.
+There might have been something of that if he had received even the
+smallest encouragement. But, do what he would, he could find none. The
+attraction increased, and the encouragement was daily less, he thought.
+Clare occasionally said things which made him half believe that she did
+not wholly dislike him. That was as much as he could say. He cudgelled
+his brains and wrung his memory to discover what he could have done to
+offend her, and he could not remember anything--which was not
+surprising. It was clear that she had never heard of him before he had
+come to Amalfi. He had satisfied himself of that by questions, otherwise
+he would naturally enough have come near the truth and guessed that she
+must have known of some affair in which he had been concerned, which she
+judged harshly from her own point of view.
+
+He was beginning to suffer, and he was not accustomed to suffering,
+least of all to any of the mental kind, for his life had always gone
+smoothly. He had believed hitherto that most people exaggerated, and
+worried themselves unnecessarily, but when he found it hard to sleep,
+and noticed that he had a dull, unsatisfied sort of misery with him all
+day long, he began to understand. He did not think that Clare could
+really enjoy teasing him, and, besides, it was not like mere teasing,
+either. She was evidently in earnest when she repeated that she did not
+like him. He knew her face when she was chaffing, and her tone, and the
+little bending of the delicate, swan-like throat, too long for perfect
+beauty, but not for perfect grace. When she was in earnest, her head
+rose, her eyes looked straight before her, and her voice sank to a
+graver note. He knew all the signs of truth, for with her it was always
+very near the surface, dwelling not in a deep well, but in clear water,
+as it were, open to the sky. Her truth was evidently truth, and her
+jesting was transparent as a child's.
+
+It looked a hopeless case, but he had no intention of considering it
+without hope, nor any inclination to relinquish his attempts. He did
+not tell himself in so many words that he wished to marry her, and
+intended to marry her, and would marry her, if it were humanly possible,
+and he assuredly made no such promises to himself. Nor did he look at
+her as he had looked at women in whom he had been momentarily
+interested, appreciating her good points of face and figure, cataloguing
+and compiling her attractions so as to admire them all in turn, forget
+none, and receive their whole effect.
+
+He had a restless, hungry craving that left him no peace, and that
+seemed to desire only a word, a look, the slightest touch of sympathy,
+to be instantly satisfied. And he could not get from her one softened
+glance, nor one sympathetic pressure of the hand, nor one word spoken
+more gravely than another, except the assurance of her genuine dislike.
+
+That was the only thing he had to complain of, but it was enough. He
+could not reproach her with having encouraged him, for she had told him
+the truth from the first. He had not quite believed her. So much the
+worse for him. If he had, and if he had gone to Naples to wait for his
+people, all this would not have happened, for he had not fallen in love
+at first sight. A fortnight of daily and almost hourly intercourse was
+very good and reasonable ground for being in love.
+
+He grew absent-minded, and his pipe went out unexpectedly, which always
+irritated him, and sometimes he did not take the trouble to light it
+again. He rose at dawn and went for long walks in the hills, with the
+idea that the early air and the lofty coolness would do him good, and
+with the acknowledged intention of doing his walking at an hour when he
+could not possibly be with Clare. For he could not keep away from her,
+whether Mrs. Bowring were with her or not. He was too much a man of the
+world to sit all day long before her, glaring at her in shy silence, as
+a boy might have done, and as he would have been content to do; so he
+took immense pains to be agreeable, when her mother was present, and
+Mrs. Bowring liked him, and said that he had really a most extraordinary
+talent for conversation. It was not that he ever said anything very
+memorable; but he talked most of the time, and always pleasantly,
+telling stories about people and places he had known, discussing the
+lighter books of the day, and affecting that profound ignorance of
+politics which makes some women feel at their ease, and encourages
+amusing discussion.
+
+Mrs. Bowring watched him when she was there with a persistency which
+might have made him nervous if he had not been wholly absorbed in her
+daughter. She evidently saw something in him which reminded her of some
+one or something. She had changed of late, and Clare was beginning to
+think that she must be ill, though she scouted the suggestion, and said
+that she was growing daily stronger. She had altogether relaxed her
+vigilance with regard to the two young people, and seemed willing that
+they should go where they pleased together, and sit alone together by
+the hour.
+
+"I dare say I watched him a good deal at first," she said to her
+daughter. "But I have made up my mind about him. He's a very good sort
+of young fellow, and I'm glad that you have a companion. You see I can't
+walk much, and now that you are getting better you need exercise. After
+all, one can always trust the best of one's own people. He's not falling
+in love with you, is he, dear? I sometimes fancy that he looks at you as
+though he were."
+
+"Nonsense, mother!" and Clare laughed intentionally. "But he's very good
+company."
+
+"It would be very unfortunate if he did," said Mrs. Bowring, looking
+away, and speaking almost to herself. "I am not sure that we should not
+have gone away--"
+
+"Really! If one is to be turned out of the most beautiful place in the
+world because a young Englishman chooses to stop in the same hotel!
+Besides, why in the world should he fall in love with me? He's used to
+a very different kind of people, I fancy."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Oh--the gay set--'a' gay set, I suppose, for there are probably more
+than one of them. They are quite different from us, you know."
+
+"That is no reason. On the contrary--men like variety and
+change--change, yes," repeated Mrs. Bowring, with an odd emphasis. "At
+all events, child, don't take a fancy to him!" she added. "Not that I'm
+much afraid of that. You are anything but 'susceptible,' my dear!" she
+laughed faintly.
+
+"You need not be in the least afraid," answered Clare. "But, after all,
+mother--just supposing the case--I can't see why it should be such an
+awful calamity if we took a fancy to each other. We belong to the same
+class of people, if not to the same set. He has enough money, and I'm
+not absolutely penniless, though we are as poor as church mice--"
+
+"For Heaven's sake, don't suggest such a thing!" cried Mrs. Bowring.
+
+Her face was white, and her lips trembled. There was a frightened look
+in her pale eyes, and she turned her face quickly to her daughter, and
+quickly away again.
+
+"Mother!" exclaimed the young girl, in surprise. "What in the world is
+the matter? I was only laughing--besides--" she stopped, puzzled. "Tell
+me the truth, mother," she continued suddenly. "You know about his
+people--his father is some connection of--of your first husband--there's
+some disgraceful story about them--tell me the truth. Why shouldn't I
+know?"
+
+"I hope you never will!" answered Mrs. Bowring, in a low voice that had
+a sort of horror in it.
+
+"Then there is something?" Clare herself turned a little paler as she
+asked the question.
+
+"Don't ask me--don't ask me!"
+
+"Something disgraceful?" The young girl leaned forward as she spoke, and
+her eyes were wide and anxious, forcing her mother to speak.
+
+"Yes--no," faltered Mrs. Bowring. "Nothing to do with this
+one--something his father did long ago."
+
+"Dishonourable?" asked Clare, her voice sinking lower and lower.
+
+"No--not as men look at it--oh, don't ask me! Please don't ask
+me--please don't, darling!"
+
+"Then his yacht is named after you," said the young girl in a flash of
+intelligence.
+
+"His yacht?" asked the elder woman excitedly. "What? I don't
+understand."
+
+"Mr. Johnstone told me that his father had a big steam yacht called the
+'Lucy'--mother, that man loved you, he loves you still."
+
+"Me? Oh no--no, he never loved me!" She laughed wildly, with quivering
+lips. "Don't, child--don't! For God's sake don't ask questions--you'll
+drive me mad! It's the secret of my life--the only secret I have from
+you--oh, Clare, if you love me at all--don't ask me!"
+
+"Mother, sweet! Of course I love you!"
+
+The young girl, very pale and wondering, kneeled beside the elder woman
+and threw her arms round her and drew down her face, kissing the white
+cheeks and the starting tears and the faded flaxen hair. The storm
+subsided, almost without breaking, for Mrs. Bowring was a brave woman
+and, in some ways, a strong woman, and whatever her secret might be, she
+had kept it long and well from her daughter.
+
+Clare knew her, and inwardly decided that the secret must have been
+worth keeping. She loved her mother far too well to hurt her with
+questions, but she was amazed at what she herself felt of resentful
+curiosity to know the truth about anything which could cast a shadow
+upon the man she disliked, as she thought so sincerely. Her mind worked
+like lightning, while her voice spoke softly and her hands sought those
+thin, familiar, gentle fingers which were an integral part of her world
+and life.
+
+Two possibilities presented themselves. Johnstone's father was a
+brother or near connection of her mother's first husband. Either she had
+loved him, been deceived in him, and had married the brother instead;
+or, having married, this man had hated her and fought against her, and
+harmed her, because she was his elder brother's wife, and he coveted the
+inheritance. In either case it was no fault of Brook's. The most that
+could be said would be that he might have his father's character. She
+inclined to the first of her theories. Old Johnstone had made love to
+her mother and had half broken her heart, before she had married his
+brother. Brook was no better--and she thought of Lady Fan. But she was
+strangely glad that her mother had said "not dishonourable, as men look
+at it." It had been as though a cruel hand had been taken from her
+throat, when she had heard that.
+
+"But, mother," she said presently, "these people are coming to-morrow or
+the next day--and they mean to stay, he says. Let us go away, before
+they come. We can come back afterwards--you don't want to meet them."
+
+Mrs. Bowring was calm again, or appeared to be so, whatever was passing
+in her mind.
+
+"I shall certainly not run away," she answered in a low, steady voice.
+"I will not run away and leave Adam Johnstone's son to tell his father
+that I was afraid to meet him, or his wife," she added, almost in a
+whisper. "I've been weak, sometimes, my dear--" her voice rose to its
+natural key again, "and I've made a mistake in life. But I won't be a
+coward--I don't believe I am, by nature, and if I were I wouldn't let
+myself be afraid now."
+
+"It would not be fear, mother. Why should you suffer, if you are going
+to suffer in meeting him? We had much better go away at once. When they
+have all left, we can come back."
+
+"And you would not mind going away to-morrow, and never seeing Brook
+Johnstone again?" asked Mrs. Bowring, quietly.
+
+"I? No! Why should I?"
+
+Clare meant to speak the truth, and she thought that it was the truth.
+But it was not. She grew a little paler a moment after the words had
+passed her lips, but her mother did not see the change of colour.
+
+"I'm glad of that, at all events," said the elder woman. "But I won't go
+away. No--I won't," she repeated, as though spurring her own courage.
+
+"Very well," answered the young girl. "But we can keep very much to
+ourselves all the time they are here, can't we? We needn't make their
+acquaintance--at least--" she stopped short, realising that it would be
+impossible to avoid knowing Brook's people if they were stopping in the
+same hotel.
+
+"Their acquaintance!" Mrs. Bowring laughed bitterly at the idea.
+
+"Oh--I forgot," said Clare. "At all events, we need not meet
+unnecessarily. That's what I mean, you know."
+
+There was a short pause, during which her mother seemed to be thinking.
+
+"I shall see him alone, for I have something to say to him," she said at
+last, as though she had come to a decision. "Go out, my dear," she
+added. "Leave me alone a little while. I shall be all right when it is
+time for luncheon."
+
+Her daughter left her, but she did not go out at once. She went to her
+own room and sat down to think over what she had seen and heard. If she
+went out she should probably find Johnstone waiting for her, and she did
+not wish to meet him just then. It was better to be alone. She would
+find out why the idea of not seeing him any more had hurt her after she
+had spoken.
+
+But that was not an easy matter at all. So soon as she tried to think of
+herself and her own feelings, she began to think of her mother. And when
+she endeavoured to solve the mystery and guess the secret, her thoughts
+flew off suddenly to Brook, and she wished that she were outside in the
+sunshine talking to him. And again, as the probable conversation
+suggested itself to her, she was glad that she was not with him, and she
+tried to think again. Then she forced herself to recall the scene with
+Lady Fan on the terrace, and she did her best to put him in the worst
+possible light, which in her opinion was a very bad light indeed. And
+his father before him--Adam--her mother had told her the name for the
+first time, and it struck her as an odd one--old Adam Johnstone had been
+a heart-breaker, and a faith-breaker, and a betrayer of women before
+Brook was in the world at all. Her theory held good, when she looked at
+it fairly, and her resentment grew apace. It was natural enough, for in
+her imagination she had always hated that first husband of her mother's
+who had come and gone before her father; and now she extended her hatred
+to this probable brother, and it had much more force, because the man
+was alive and a reality, and was soon to come and be a visible talking
+person. There was one good point about him and his coming. It helped her
+to revive her hatred of Brook and to colour it with the inheritance of
+some harm done to her own mother. That certainly was an advantage.
+
+But she should be very sorry not to see Brook any more, never to hear
+him talk to her again, never to look into his eyes--which, all the
+same, she so unreasonably dreaded. It was beyond her powers of analysis
+to reconcile her like and dislike. All the little logic she had said
+that it was impossible to like and dislike the same person at the same
+time. She seemed to have two hearts, and the one cried "Hate," while the
+other cried "Love." That was absurd, and altogether ridiculous, and
+quite contemptible.
+
+There they were, however, the two hearts, fighting it out, or at least
+altercating and threatening to fight and hurt her. Of course "love"
+meant "like"--it was a general term, well contrasting with "hate." As
+for really caring, beyond a liking for Brook Johnstone, she was sure
+that it was impossible. But the liking was strong. She exploded her
+difficulty at last with the bomb of a splendidly youthful quibble. She
+said to herself that she undoubtedly hated him and despised him, and
+that he was certainly the very lowest of living men for treating Lady
+Fan so badly--besides being a black sinner, a point which had less
+weight. And then she told herself that the cry of something in her to
+"like" instead of hating was simply the expression of what she might
+have felt, and should have felt, and should have had a right to have
+felt, had it not been for poor Lady Fan; but also of something which she
+assuredly did not feel, never could feel, and never meant to feel. In
+other words, she should have liked Brook if she had not had good cause
+to dislike him. She was satisfied with this explanation of her feelings,
+and she suddenly felt that she could go out and see him and talk to him
+without being inconsistent. She had forgotten to explain to herself why
+she wished him not to go away. She went out accordingly, and sat down on
+the terrace in the soft air.
+
+She glanced up and down, but Johnstone was not to be seen anywhere, and
+she wished that she had not come out after all. He had probably waited
+some time and had then gone for a walk by himself. She thought that he
+might have waited just a little longer before giving it up, and she half
+unconsciously made up her mind to requite him by staying indoors after
+luncheon. She had not even brought a book or a piece of work, for she
+had felt quite sure that he would be walking up and down as usual, with
+his pipe, looking as though he owned the scenery. She half rose to go
+in, and then changed her mind. She would give him one more chance and
+count fifty, before she went away, at a good quick rate.
+
+She began to count. At thirty-five her pace slackened. She stopped a
+long time at forty-five, and then went slowly to the end. But Johnstone
+did not come. Once again, she reluctantly decided--and she began
+slowly; and again she slackened speed and dragged over the last ten
+numbers. But he did not come.
+
+"Oh, this is ridiculous!" she exclaimed aloud to herself, as she rose
+impatiently from her seat.
+
+She felt injured, for her mother had sent her away, and there was no one
+to talk to her, and she did not care to think any more, lest the
+questions she had decided should again seem open and doubtful. She went
+into the hotel and walked down the corridor. He might be in the
+reading-room. She walked quickly, because she was a little ashamed of
+looking for him when she felt that he should be looking for her.
+Suddenly she stopped, for she heard him whistling somewhere. Whistling
+was his solitary accomplishment, and he did it very well. There was no
+mistaking the shakes and runs, and pretty bird-like cadences. She
+listened, but she bit her lip. He was light-hearted, at all events, she
+thought.
+
+The sound came nearer, and Brook suddenly appeared in the corridor, his
+hat on the back of his head, his hands in his pockets. As he caught
+sight of Clare the shrill tune ceased, and one hand removed the hat.
+
+"I've been looking for you everywhere, for the last two hours," he cried
+as he came along. "Good morning," he said as he reached her. "I was
+just going back to the terrace in despair."
+
+"It sounded more as though you were whistling for me," answered Clare,
+with a laugh, for she was instantly happy, and pacified, and peaceful.
+
+"Well--not exactly!" he answered. "But I did hope that you would hear me
+and know that I was about--wishing you would come."
+
+"I always come out in the morning," she replied with sudden demureness.
+"Indeed--I wondered where you were. Let us go out, shall we?"
+
+"We might go for a walk," suggested Brook.
+
+"It is too late."
+
+"Just a little walk--down to the town and across the bridge to Atrani,
+and back. Couldn't we?"
+
+"Oh, we could, of course. Very well--I've got a hat on, haven't I? All
+right. Come along!"
+
+"My people are coming to-day," said Brook, as they passed through the
+door. "I've just had a telegram."
+
+"To-day!" exclaimed Clare in surprise, and somewhat disturbed.
+
+"Yes, you know I have been expecting them at any moment. I fancy they
+have been knocking about, you know--seeing Paestum and all that. They
+are such queer people. They always want to see everything--as though it
+mattered!"
+
+"There are only the two? Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone?"
+
+"Yes--that's all." Brook laughed a little as though she had said
+something amusing.
+
+"What are you laughing at?" asked Clare, naturally enough.
+
+"Oh, nothing. It's ridiculous--but it sounded funny--unfamiliar, I mean.
+My father has fallen a victim to knighthood, that's all. The affliction
+came upon him some time ago, and his name is Adam--of all the names in
+the world."
+
+"It was the first," observed Clare reassuringly. "It doesn't sound badly
+either--Sir Adam. I beg his pardon for calling him 'Mr.'" She laughed in
+her turn.
+
+"Oh, he wouldn't mind," said Brook. "He's not at all that sort. Do you
+know? I think you'll like him awfully. He's a fine old chap in his way,
+though he is a brewer. He's much bigger than I am, but he's rather odd,
+you know. Sometimes he'll talk like anything, and sometimes he won't
+open his lips. We aren't at all alike in that way. I talk all the time,
+I believe--rain or shine. Don't I bore you dreadfully sometimes?"
+
+"No--you never bore me," answered Clare with perfect truth.
+
+"I mean, when I talk as I did yesterday afternoon," said Johnstone with
+a shade of irritation.
+
+"Oh, that--yes! Please don't begin again, and spoil our walk!"
+
+But the walk was not destined to be a long one. A narrow, paved footway
+leads down from the old monastery to the shore, in zigzag, between low
+whitewashed walls, passing at last under some houses which are built
+across it on arches.
+
+Just as they came in sight a tall old man emerged from this archway,
+walking steadily up the hill. He was tall and bony, with a long grey
+beard, shaggy bent brows, keen dark eyes, and an eagle nose. He wore
+clothes of rough grey woollen tweed, and carried a grey felt hat in one
+long hand.
+
+A moment after he had come out of the arch he caught sight of Brook, and
+his rough face brightened instantly. He waved the grey hat and called
+out.
+
+"Hulloa, my boy! There you are, eh!"
+
+His voice was thin, like many Scotch voices, but it carried far, and had
+a manly ring in it. Brook did not answer, but waved his hat.
+
+"That's my father," he said in a low tone to Clare. "May I introduce
+him? And there's my mother--being carried up in the chair."
+
+A couple of lusty porters were carrying Lady Johnstone up the steep
+ascent. She was a fat lady with bright blue eyes, like her son's, and a
+much brighter colour. She had a parasol in one hand and a fan in the
+other, and she shook a little with every step the porters made. In the
+rear, a moment later, came other porters, carrying boxes and bags of all
+sizes. Then a short woman, evidently Lady Johnstone's maid, came quietly
+along by herself, stopping occasionally to look at the sea.
+
+Clare looked curiously at the party as they approached. Her first
+impulse had been to leave Brook and go back alone to warn her mother. It
+was not far. But she realised that it would be much better and wiser to
+face the introduction at once. In less than five minutes Sir Adam had
+reached them. He shook hands with Brook vigorously, and looked at him as
+a man looks who loves his son. Clare saw the glance, and it pleased her.
+
+"Let me introduce you to Miss Bowring," said Brook. "Mrs. Bowring and
+Miss Bowring are staying here, and have been awfully good to me."
+
+Sir Adam turned his keen eyes to Clare, as she held out her hand.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said, "but are you a daughter of Captain
+Bowring who was killed some years ago in Africa?"
+
+"Yes." She looked up to him inquiringly and distrustfully.
+
+His face brightened again and softened--then hardened singularly, all at
+once. She could not have believed that such features could change so
+quickly.
+
+"And my son says that your mother is here! My dear young lady--I'm very
+glad! I hope you mean to stay."
+
+The words were cordial. The tone was cold. Brook stared at his father,
+very much surprised to find that he knew anything of the Bowrings, for
+he himself had not mentioned them in his letters. But the porters,
+walking more slowly, had just brought his mother up to where the three
+stood, and waited, panting a little, and the chair swinging slightly
+from the shoulder-straps.
+
+"Dear old boy!" cried Lady Johnstone. "It is good to see you. No--don't
+kiss me, my dear--it's far too hot. Let me look at you."
+
+Sir Adam gravely introduced Clare. Lady Johnstone's fat face became
+stony as a red granite mummy case, and she bent her apoplectic neck
+stiffly.
+
+"Oh!" she ejaculated. "Very glad, I'm sure. Were you going for a walk?"
+she asked, turning to Brook, severely.
+
+"Yes, there was just time. I didn't know when to expect you. But if Miss
+Bowring doesn't mind, we'll give it up, and I'll install you. Your rooms
+are all ready."
+
+It was at once clear to Clare that Lady Johnstone had never heard the
+name of Bowring, and that she resented the idea of her son walking alone
+with any young girl.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Clare went directly to her mother's room. She had hardly spoken again
+during the few minutes while she had necessarily remained with the
+Johnstones, climbing the hill back to the hotel. At the door she had
+stood aside to let Lady Johnstone go in, Sir Adam had followed his wife,
+and Brook had lingered, doubtless hoping to exchange a few words more
+with Clare. But she was preoccupied, and had not vouchsafed him a
+glance.
+
+"They have come," she said, as she closed Mrs. Bowring's door behind
+her.
+
+Her mother was seated by the open window, her hands lying idly in her
+lap, her face turned away, as Clare entered. She started slightly, and
+looked round.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Already! Well--it had to come. Have you met?"
+
+Clare told her all that had happened.
+
+"And he said that he was glad?" asked Mrs. Bowring, with the ghost of a
+smile.
+
+"He said so--yes. His voice was cold. But when he first heard my name
+and asked about my father his face softened."
+
+"His face softened," repeated Mrs. Bowring to herself, just above a
+whisper, as the ghost of the smile flitted about her pale lips.
+
+"He seemed glad at first, and then he looked displeased. Is that it?"
+she asked, raising her voice again.
+
+"That was what I thought," answered Clare. "Why don't you have luncheon
+in your room, mother?" she asked suddenly.
+
+"He would think I was afraid to meet him," said the elder woman.
+
+A long silence followed, and Clare sat down on a stiff straw chair,
+looking out of the window. At last she turned to her mother again.
+
+"You couldn't tell me all about it, could you, mother dear?" she asked.
+"It seems to me it would be so much easier for us both. Perhaps I could
+help you. And I myself--I should know better how to act."
+
+"No. I can't tell you. I only pray that I may never have to. As for you,
+darling--be natural. It is a very strange position to be in, but you
+cannot know it--you can't be supposed to know it. I wish I could have
+kept my secret better--but I broke down when you told me about the
+yacht. You can only help me in one way--don't ask me questions, dear. It
+would be harder for me, if you knew--indeed it would. Be natural. You
+need not run after them, you know--"
+
+"I should think not!" cried Clare indignantly.
+
+"I mean, you need not go and sit by them and talk to them for long at a
+time. But don't be suddenly cold and rude to their son. There's nothing
+against--I mean, it has nothing to do with him. You mustn't think it
+has, you know. Be natural--be yourself."
+
+"It's not altogether easy to be natural under the circumstances," Clare
+answered, with some truth, and a great deal of repressed curiosity which
+she did her best to hide away altogether for her mother's sake.
+
+At luncheon the Johnstones were all three placed on the opposite side of
+the table, and Brook was no longer Clare's neighbour. The Bowrings were
+already in their places when the three entered, Sir Adam giving his arm
+to his wife, who seemed to need help in walking, or at all events to be
+glad of it. Brook followed at a little distance, and Clare saw that he
+was looking at her regretfully, as though he wished himself at her side
+again. Had she been less young and unconscious and thoroughly innocent,
+she must have seen by this time that he was seriously in love with her.
+
+Sir Adam held his wife's chair for her, with somewhat old-fashioned
+courtesy, and pushed it gently as she sat down. Then he raised his head,
+and his eyes met Mrs. Bowring's. For a few moments they looked at each
+other. Then his expression changed and softened, as it had when he had
+first met Clare, but Mrs. Bowring's face grew hard and pale. He did not
+sit down, but to his wife's surprise walked quietly all round the end of
+the table and up the other side to where Mrs. Bowring sat. She knew that
+he was coming, and she turned a little to meet his hand. The English old
+maids watched the proceedings with keen interest from the upper end.
+
+Sir Adam held out his hand, and Mrs. Bowring took it.
+
+"It is a great pleasure to me to meet you again," he said slowly, as
+though speaking with an effort. "Brook says that you have been very good
+to him, and so I want to thank you at once. Yes--this is your
+daughter--Brook introduced me. Excuse me--I'll get round to my place
+again. Shall we meet after luncheon?"
+
+"If you like," said Mrs. Bowring in a constrained tone. "By all means,"
+she added nervously.
+
+"My dear," said Sir Adam, speaking across the table to his wife, "let me
+introduce you to my old friend Mrs. Bowring, the mother of this young
+lady whom you have already met," he added, glancing down at Clare's
+flaxen head.
+
+Again Lady Johnstone slightly bent her apoplectic neck, but her
+expression was not stony, as it had been when she had first looked at
+Clare. On the contrary, she smiled very pleasantly and naturally, and
+her frank blue eyes looked at Mrs. Bowring with a friendly interest.
+
+Clare thought that she heard a faint sigh of relief escape her mother's
+lips just then. Sir Adam's heavy steps echoed upon the tile floor, as he
+marched all round the table again to his seat. The table itself was
+narrow, and it was easy to talk across it, without raising the voice.
+Sir Adam sat on one side of his wife, and Brook on the other, last on
+his side, as Clare was on hers.
+
+There was very little conversation at first. Brook did not care to talk
+across to Clare, and Sir Adam seemed to have said all he meant to say
+for the present. Lady Johnstone, who seemed to be a cheerful,
+conversational soul, began to talk to Mrs. Bowring, evidently attracted
+by her at first sight.
+
+"It's a beautiful place when you get here," she said. "Isn't it? The
+view from my window is heavenly! But to get here! Dear me! I was carried
+up by two men, you know, and I thought they would have died. I hope
+they are enjoying their dinner, poor fellows! I'm sure they never
+carried such a load before!"
+
+And she laughed, with a sort of frank, half self-commiserating amusement
+at her own proportions.
+
+"Oh, I fancy they must be used to it," said Mrs. Bowring, reassuringly,
+for the sake of saying something.
+
+"They'll hate the sight of me in a week!" said Lady Johnstone. "I mean
+to go everywhere, while I'm here--up all the hills, and down all the
+valleys. I always see everything when I come to a new place. It's
+pleasant to sit still afterwards, and feel that you've done it all,
+don't you know? I shall ruin you in porters, Adam," she added, turning
+her large round face slowly to her husband.
+
+"Certainly, certainly," answered Sir Adam, nodding gravely, as he
+dissected the bones out of a fried sardine.
+
+"You're awfully good about it," said Lady Johnstone, in thanks for
+unlimited porters to come.
+
+Like many unusually stout people, she ate very little, and had plenty of
+time for talking.
+
+"You knew my husband a long time ago, then!" she began, again looking
+across at Mrs. Bowring.
+
+Sir Adam glanced at Mrs. Bowring sharply from beneath his shaggy brows.
+
+"Oh yes," she said calmly. "We met before he was married."
+
+The grey-headed man slowly nodded assent, but said nothing.
+
+"Before his first marriage?" inquired Lady Johnstone gravely. "You know
+that he has been married twice."
+
+"Yes," answered Mrs. Bowring. "Before his first marriage."
+
+Again Sir Adam nodded solemnly.
+
+"How interesting!" exclaimed Lady Johnstone. "Such old friends! And to
+meet in this accidental way, in this queer place!"
+
+"We generally live abroad," said Mrs. Bowring. "Generally in Florence.
+Do you know Florence?"
+
+"Oh yes!" cried the fat lady enthusiastically. "I dote on Florence. I'm
+perfectly mad about pictures, you know. Perfectly mad!"
+
+The vision of a woman cast in Lady Johnstone's proportions and perfectly
+mad might have provoked a smile on Mrs. Bowring's face at any other
+time.
+
+"I suppose you buy pictures, as well as admire them," she said, glad of
+the turn the conversation had taken.
+
+"Sometimes," answered the other. "Sometimes. I wish I could buy more.
+But good pictures are getting to be most frightfully dear. Besides, you
+are hardly ever sure of getting an original, unless there are all the
+documents--and that means thousands, literally thousands of pounds. But
+now and then I kick over the traces, you know."
+
+Clare could not help smiling at the simile, and bent down her head.
+Brook was watching her, he understood and was annoyed, for he loved his
+mother in his own way.
+
+"At all events you won't be able to ruin yourself in pictures here,"
+said Mrs. Bowring.
+
+"No--but how about the porters?" suggested Sir Adam.
+
+"My dear Adam," said Lady Johnstone, "unless they are all Shylocks here,
+they won't exact a ducat for every pound of flesh. If they did, you
+would certainly never get back to England."
+
+It was impossible not to laugh. Lady Johnstone did not look at all the
+sort of person to say witty things, though she was the very incarnation
+of good humour--except when she thought that Brook was in danger of
+being married. And every one laughed, Sir Adam first, then Brook, and
+then the Bowrings. The effect was good. Lady Johnstone was really
+afflicted with curiosity, and her first questions to Mrs. Bowring had
+been asked purely out of a wish to make advances. She was strongly
+attracted by the quiet, pale face, with its excessive refinement and
+delicately traced lines of suffering. She felt that the woman had taken
+life too hard, and it was her instinct to comfort her, and warm her and
+take care of her, from the first. Brook understood and rejoiced, for he
+knew his mother's tenacity about her first impressions, and he wished to
+have her on his side.
+
+After that the ice was broken and the conversation did not flag. Sir
+Adam looked at Mrs. Bowring from time to time with an expression of
+uncertainty which sat strangely on his determined features, and whenever
+any new subject was broached he watched her uneasily until she had
+spoken. But Mrs. Bowring rarely returned his glances, and her eyes never
+lingered on his face even when she was speaking to him. Clare, for her
+part, joined in the conversation, and wondered and waited. Her theory
+was strengthened by what she saw. Clearly Sir Adam felt uncomfortable in
+her mother's presence; therefore he had injured her in some way, and
+doubted whether she had ever forgiven him. But to the girl's quick
+instinct it was clear that he did not stand to Mrs. Bowring only in the
+position of one who had harmed her. In some way of love or friendship,
+he had once been very fond of her. The youngest woman cannot easily
+mistake the signs of such bygone intercourse.
+
+When they rose, Mrs. Bowring walked slowly, on her side of the table, so
+as not to reach the door before Lady Johnstone, who could not move fast
+under any circumstances. They all went out together upon the terrace.
+
+"Brook," said the fat lady, "I must sit down, or I shall die. You know,
+my dear--get me one that won't break!"
+
+She laughed a little, as Brook went off to find a solid chair. A few
+minutes later she was enthroned in safety, her husband on one side of
+her and Mrs. Bowring on the other, all facing the sea.
+
+"It's too perfect for words!" she exclaimed, in solid and peaceful
+satisfaction. "Adam, isn't it a dream? You thin people don't know how
+nice it is to come to anchor in a pleasant place after a long voyage!"
+
+She sighed happily and moved her arms so that their weight was quite at
+rest without an effort.
+
+Clare and Johnstone walked slowly up and down, passing and repassing,
+and trying to talk as though neither were aware that there was something
+unusual in the situation, to say the least of it. At last they stopped
+at the end farthest away from the others.
+
+"I had no idea that my father had known your mother long ago," said
+Brook suddenly. "Had you?"
+
+"Yes--of late," answered Clare. "You see my mother wasn't sure, until
+you told me his first name," she hastened to add.
+
+"Oh--I see. Of course. Stupid of me not to try and bring it into the
+conversation sooner, wasn't it? But it seems to have been ever so long
+ago. Don't you think so?"
+
+"Yes. Ever so long ago."
+
+"When they were quite young, I suppose. Your mother must have been
+perfectly beautiful when she was young. I dare say my father was madly
+in love with her. It wouldn't be at all surprising, you know, would it?
+He was a tremendous fellow for falling in love."
+
+"Oh! Was he?" Clare spoke rather coldly.
+
+"You're not angry, are you, because I suggested it?" asked Brook
+quickly. "I don't see that there's any harm in it. There's no reason why
+a young man as he was shouldn't have been desperately in love with a
+beautiful young girl, is there?"
+
+"None whatever," answered Clare. "I was only thinking--it's rather an
+odd coincidence--do you mind telling me something?"
+
+"Of course not! What is it?"
+
+"Had your father ever a brother--who died?"
+
+"No. He had a lot of sisters--some of them are alive still. Awful old
+things, my aunts are, too. No, he never had any brother. Why do you
+ask?"
+
+"Nothing--it's a mere coincidence. Did I ever tell you that my mother
+was married twice? My father was her second husband. The first had your
+name."
+
+"Johnstone, with an E on the end of it?"
+
+"Yes--with an E."
+
+"Gad! that's funny!" exclaimed Brook. "Some connection, I dare say. Then
+we are connected too, you and I, not much though, when one thinks of it.
+Step-cousin by marriage, and ever so many degrees removed, too."
+
+"You can't call that a connection," said Clare with a little laugh, but
+her face was thoughtful. "Still, it is odd that she should have known
+your father well, and should have married a man of the same name--with
+the E--isn't it?"
+
+"He may have been an own cousin, for all I know," said Brook. "I'll ask.
+He's sure to remember. He never forgets anything. And it's another
+coincidence too, that my father should have been married twice, just
+like your mother, and that I should be the son of the second marriage,
+too. What odd things happen, when one comes to compare notes!"
+
+While they had walked up and down, Lady Johnstone had paid no attention
+to them, but she had grown restless as soon as she had seen that they
+stood still at a distance to talk, and her bright blue eyes turned
+towards them again and again, with sudden motherly anxiety. At last she
+could bear it no longer.
+
+"Brook!" she cried. "Brook, my dear boy!" Brook and Clare walked back
+towards the little group.
+
+"Brook, dear," said Lady Johnstone. "Please come and tell me the names
+of all the mountains and places we see from here. You know, I always
+want to know everything as soon as I arrive."
+
+Sir Adam rose from his chair.
+
+"Should you like to take a turn?" he asked, speaking to Mrs. Bowring and
+standing before her.
+
+She rose in silence and stepped forward, with a quiet, set face, as
+though she knew that the supreme moment had come.
+
+"Take our chairs," said Sir Adam to Clare and Brook. "We are going to
+walk about a little."
+
+Mrs. Bowring turned in the direction whence the young people had come,
+towards the end of the terrace. Sir Adam walked erect beside her.
+
+"Is there a way out at that end?" he asked in a low voice, when they
+had gone a little distance.
+
+"No."
+
+"We can't stand there and talk. Where can we go? Isn't there a quiet
+place somewhere?"
+
+"Do you want to talk to me?" asked Mrs. Bowring, looking straight before
+her.
+
+"Yes, please," answered Sir Adam, almost sharply, but still in a low
+tone. "I've waited a long time," he added.
+
+Mrs. Bowring said nothing in answer. They reached the end of the walk,
+and she turned without pausing.
+
+"The point out there is called the Conca," she said, pointing to the
+rocks far out below. "It curls round like a shell, you know. Conca means
+a sea-shell, I think. It seems to be a great place for fishing, for
+there are always little boats about it in fine weather."
+
+"I remember," replied Sir Adam. "I was here thirty years ago. It hasn't
+changed much. Are there still those little paper-mills in the valley on
+the way to Ravello? They used to be very primitive."
+
+They kept up their forced conversation as they passed Lady Johnstone and
+the young people. Then they were silent again, as they went towards the
+hotel.
+
+"We'll go through the house," said Mrs. Bowring, speaking low again.
+"There's a quiet place on the other side--Clare and your son will have
+to stay with your wife."
+
+"Yes, I thought of that, when I told them to take our chairs."
+
+In silence they traversed the long tiled corridor with set faces, like
+two people who are going to do something dangerous and disagreeable
+together. They came out upon the platform before the deep recess of the
+rocks in which stood the black cross. There was nobody there.
+
+"We shall not be disturbed out here," said Mrs. Bowring, quietly. "The
+people in the hotel go to their rooms after luncheon. We will sit down
+there by the cross, if you don't mind--I'm not so strong as I used to
+be, you know."
+
+They ascended the few steps which led up to the bench where Clare had
+sat on that evening which she could not forget, and they sat down side
+by side, not looking at each other's faces.
+
+A long silence followed. Once or twice Sir Adam shifted his feet
+uneasily, and opened his mouth as though he were going to say something,
+but suddenly changed his mind. Mrs. Bowring was the first to speak.
+
+"Please understand," she said slowly, glancing at him sideways, "I don't
+want you to say anything, and I don't know what you can have to say. As
+for my being here, it's very simple. If I had known that Brook Johnstone
+was your son before he had made our acquaintance, and that you were
+coming here, I should have gone away at once. As soon as I knew him I
+suspected who he was. You must know that he is like you as you used to
+be--except your eyes. Then I said to myself that he would tell you that
+he had met us, and that you would of course think that I had been afraid
+to meet you. I'm not. So I stayed. I don't know whether I did right or
+wrong. To me it seemed right, and I'm willing to abide the consequences,
+if there are to be any."
+
+"What consequences can there be?" asked the grey-bearded man, turning
+his eyes slowly to her face.
+
+"That depends upon how you act. It might have been better to behave as
+though we had never met, and to let your son introduce you to me as he
+introduced you to Clare. We might have started upon a more formal
+footing, then. You have chosen to say that we are old friends. It's an
+odd expression to use--but let it stand. I won't quarrel with it. It
+does well enough. As for the position, it's not pleasant for me, but it
+must be worse for you. There's not much to choose. But I don't want you
+to think that I expect you to talk about old times unless you like. If
+you have anything which you wish to say, I'll hear it all without
+interrupting you. But I do wish you to believe that I won't do anything
+nor say anything which could touch your wife. She seems to be happy with
+you. I hope she always has been and always will be. She knew what she
+was doing when she married you. God knows, there was publicity enough.
+Was it my fault? I suppose you've always thought so. Very well,
+then--say that it was my fault. But don't tell your wife who I am unless
+she forces you to it out of curiosity."
+
+"Do you think I should wish to?" asked Sir Adam, bitterly.
+
+"No--of course not. But she may ask you who I was and when we met, and
+all about it. Try and keep her off the subject. We don't want to tell
+lies, you know."
+
+"I shall say that you were Lucy Waring. That's true enough. You were
+christened Lucy Waring. She need never know what your last name was.
+That isn't a lie, is it?"
+
+"Not exactly--under the circumstances."
+
+"And your daughter knows nothing, of course? I want to know how we
+stand, you see."
+
+"No--only that we have met before. I don't know what she may suspect.
+And your son?"
+
+"Oh, I suppose he knows. Somebody must have told him."
+
+"He doesn't know who I am, though," said Mrs. Bowring, with conviction.
+"He seems to be more like his mother than like you. He couldn't conceal
+anything long."
+
+"I wasn't particularly good at that either, as it turned out," said Sir
+Adam, gravely.
+
+"No, thank God!"
+
+"Do you think it's something to be thankful for? I don't. Things might
+have gone better afterwards--"
+
+"Afterwards!" The suffering of the woman's life was in the tone and in
+her eyes.
+
+"Yes, afterwards. I'm an old man, Lucy, and I've seen a great many
+things since you and I parted, and a great many people. I was bad
+enough, but I've seen worse men since, who have had another chance and
+have turned out well."
+
+"Their wives did not love them. I am almost old, too. I loved you, Adam.
+It was a bad hurt you gave me, and the wound never healed. I married--I
+had to marry. He was an honest gentleman. Then he was killed. That hurt
+too, for I was very fond of him--but it did not hurt as the other did.
+Nothing could."
+
+Her voice shook, and she turned away her face. At least, he should not
+see that her lip trembled.
+
+"I didn't think you cared," said Sir Adam, and his own voice was not
+very steady.
+
+She turned upon him almost fiercely, and there was a blue light in her
+faded eyes.
+
+"I! You thought I didn't care? You've no right to say that--it's wicked
+of you, and it's cruel. Did you think I married you for your money,
+Adam? And if I had--should I have given it up to be divorced because you
+gave jewels to an actress? I loved you, and I wanted your love, or
+nothing. You couldn't be faithful--commonly, decently faithful, for one
+year--and I got myself free from you, because I would not be your wife,
+nor eat your bread, nor touch your hand, if you couldn't love me. Don't
+say that you ever loved me, except my face. We hadn't been divorced a
+year when you married again. Don't say that you loved me! You loved your
+wife--your second wife--perhaps. I hope so. I hope you love her now--and
+I dare say you do, for she looks happy--but don't say that you ever
+loved me--just long enough to marry me and betray me!"
+
+"You're hard, Lucy. You're as hard as ever you were twenty years ago,"
+said Adam Johnstone.
+
+As he leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee, he passed his brown
+hand across his eyes, and then stared vaguely at the white walls of the
+old hotel beyond the platform.
+
+"But you know that I'm right," answered Mrs. Bowring. "Perhaps I'm
+hard, too. I'm sorry. You said that you had been mad, I remember--I
+don't like to think of all you said, but you said that. And I remember
+thinking that I had been much more mad than you, to have married you,
+but that I should soon be really mad--raving mad--if I remained your
+wife. I couldn't. I should have died. Afterwards I thought it would have
+been better if I had died then. But I lived through it. Then, after the
+death of my old aunt, I was alone. What was I to do? I was poor and
+lonely, and a divorced woman, though the right had been on my side.
+Richard Bowring knew all about it, and I married him. I did not love you
+any more, then, but I told him the truth when I told him that I could
+never love any one again. He was satisfied--so we were married."
+
+"I don't blame you," said Sir Adam.
+
+"Blame me! No--it would hardly be for you to blame me, if I could make
+anything of the shreds of my life which I had saved from yours. For that
+matter--you were free too. It was soon done, but why should I blame you
+for that? You were free--by the law--to go where you pleased, to love
+again, and to marry at once. You did. Oh no! I don't blame you for
+that!"
+
+Both were silent for some time. But Mrs. Bowring's eyes still had an
+indignant light in them, and her fingers twitched nervously from time to
+time. Sir Adam stared stolidly at the white wall, without looking at his
+former wife.
+
+"I've been talking about myself," she said at last. "I didn't mean to,
+for I need no justification. When you said that you wanted to say
+something, I brought you here so that we could be alone. What was it? I
+should have let you speak first."
+
+"It was this." He paused, as though choosing his words. "Well, I don't
+know," he continued presently. "You've been saying a good many things
+about me that I would have said myself. I've not denied them, have I?
+Well, it's this. I wanted to see you for years, and now we've met. We
+may not meet again, Lucy, though I dare say we may live a long time. I
+wish we could, though. But of course you don't care to see me. I was
+your husband once, and I behaved like a brute to you. You wouldn't want
+me for a friend now that I am old."
+
+He waited, but she said nothing.
+
+"Of course you wouldn't," he continued. "I shouldn't, in your place. Oh,
+I know! If I were dying or starving, or very unhappy, you would be
+capable of doing anything for me, out of sheer goodness. You're only
+just to people who aren't suffering. You were always like that in the
+old days. It's so much the worse for us. I have nothing about me to
+excite your pity. I'm strong, I'm well, I'm very rich, I'm relatively
+happy. I don't know how much I cared for my wife when I married her, but
+she has been a good wife, and I'm very fond of her now, in my own way.
+It wasn't a good action, I admit, to marry her at all. She was the
+beauty of her year and the best match of the season, and I was just
+divorced, and every one's hand was against me. I thought I would show
+them what I could do, winged as I was, and I got her. No; it wasn't a
+thing to be proud of. But somehow we hit it off, and she stuck to me,
+and I grew fond of her because she did, and here we are as you see us,
+and Brook is a fine fellow, and likes me. I like him too. He's honest
+and faithful, like his mother. There's no justice and no logic in this
+world, Lucy. I was a good-for-nothing in the old days. Circumstances
+have made me decently good, and a pretty happy man besides, as men go. I
+couldn't ask for any pity if I tried."
+
+"No; you're not to be pitied. I'm glad you're happy. I don't wish you
+any harm."
+
+"You might, and I shouldn't blame you. But all that isn't what I wished
+to say. I'm getting old, and we may not meet any more after this. If
+you wish me to go away, I'll go. We'll leave the place tomorrow."
+
+"No. Why should you? It's a strange situation, as we were to-day at
+table. You with your wife beside, and your divorced wife opposite you,
+and only you and I knowing it. I suppose you think, somehow--I don't
+know--that I might be jealous of your wife. But twenty-seven years make
+a difference, Adam. It's half a lifetime. It's so utterly past that I
+sha'n't realise it. If you like to stay, then stay. No harm can come of
+it, and that was so very long ago. Is that what you want to say?"
+
+"No." He hesitated. "I want you to say that you forgive me," he said, in
+a quick, hoarse voice.
+
+His keen dark eyes turned quickly to her face, and he saw how very pale
+she was, and how the shadows had deepened under her eyes, and her
+fingers twitched nervously as they clasped one another in her lap.
+
+"I suppose you think I'm sentimental," he said, looking at her. "Perhaps
+I am; but it would mean a good deal to me if you would just say it."
+
+There was something pathetic in the appeal, and something young too, in
+spite of his grey beard and furrowed face. Still Mrs. Bowring said
+nothing. It meant almost too much to her, even after twenty-seven
+years. This old man had taken her, an innocent young girl, had married
+her, had betrayed her while she dearly loved him, and had blasted her
+life at the beginning. Even now it was hard to forgive. The suffering
+was not old, and the sight of his face had touched the quick again.
+Barely ten minutes had passed since the pain had almost wrung the tears
+from her.
+
+"You can't," said the old man, suddenly. "I see it. It's too much to
+ask, I suppose, and I've never done anything to deserve it."
+
+The pale face grew paler, but the hands were still, and grasped each
+other, firm and cold. The lips moved, but no sound came. Then a moment,
+and they moved again.
+
+"You're mistaken, Adam. I do forgive you."
+
+He caught the two hands in his, and his face shivered.
+
+"God bless you, dear," he tried to say, and he kissed the hands twice.
+
+When Mrs. Bowring looked up he was sitting beside her, just as before;
+but his face was terribly drawn, and strange, and a great tear had
+trickled down the furrowed brown cheek into the grey beard.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+Lady Johnstone was one of those perfectly frank and honest persons who
+take no trouble to conceal their anxieties. From the fact that when she
+had met him on the way up to the hotel Brook had been walking alone with
+Clare Bowring, she had at once argued that a considerable intimacy
+existed between the two. Her meeting with Clare's mother, and her sudden
+fancy for the elder woman, had momentarily allayed her fears, but they
+revived when it became clear to her that Brook sought every possible
+opportunity of being alone with the young girl. She was an eminently
+practical woman, as has been said, which perhaps accounted for her
+having made a good husband out of such a man as Adam Johnstone had been
+in his youth. She had never seen Brook devote himself to a young girl
+before now. She saw that Clare was good to look at, and she promptly
+concluded that Brook must be in love. The conclusion was perfectly
+correct, and Lady Johnstone soon grew very nervous. Brook was too young
+to marry, and even if he had been old enough his mother thought that he
+might have made a better choice. At all events he should not entangle
+himself in an engagement with the girl; and she began systematically to
+interfere with his attempts to be alone with her. Brook was as frank as
+herself. He charged her with trying to keep him from Clare, and she did
+not deny that he was right. This led to a discussion on the third day
+after the Johnstones' arrival.
+
+"You mustn't make a fool of yourself, Brook, dear," said Lady Johnstone.
+"You are not old enough to marry. Oh, I know, you are five-and-twenty,
+and ought to have come to years of discretion. But you haven't, dear
+boy. Don't forget that you are Adam Johnstone's son, and that you may be
+expected to do all the things that he did before I married him. And he
+did a good many things, you know. I'm devoted to your father, and if he
+were in the room I should tell you just what I am telling you now.
+Before I married him he had about a thousand flirtations, and he had
+been married too, and had gone off with an actress--a shocking affair
+altogether! And his wife had divorced him. She must have been one of
+those horrible women who can't forgive, you know. Now, my dear boy, you
+aren't a bit better than your father, and that pretty Clare Bowring
+looks as though she would never forgive anybody who did anything she
+didn't like. Have you asked her to marry you?"
+
+"Good heavens, no!" cried Brook. "She wouldn't look at me!"
+
+"Wouldn't look at you? That's simply ridiculous, you know! She'd marry
+you out of hand--unless she's perfectly idiotic. And she doesn't look
+that. Leave her alone, Brook. Talk to the mother. She's one of the most
+delightful women I ever met. She has a dear, quiet way with her--like a
+very thoroughbred white cat that's been ill and wants to be petted."
+
+"What extraordinary ideas you have, mother!" laughed Brook. "But on
+general principles I don't see why I shouldn't marry Miss Bowring, if
+she'll have me. Why not? Her father was a gentleman, you like her
+mother, and as for herself--"
+
+"Oh, I've nothing against her. It's all against you, Brook dear. You are
+such a dreadful flirt, you know! You'll get tired of the poor girl and
+make her miserable. I'm sure she isn't practical, as I am. The very
+first time you look at some one else she'll get on a tragic horse and
+charge the crockery--and there will be a most awful smash! It's not easy
+to manage you Johnstones when you think you are in love. I ought to
+know!"
+
+"I say, mother," said Brook, "has anybody been telling you stories
+about me lately?"
+
+"Lately? Let me see. The last I heard was that Mrs. Crosby--the one you
+all call Lady Fan--was going to get a divorce so as to marry you."
+
+"Oh--you heard that, did you?"
+
+"Yes--everybody was talking about it and asking me whether it was true.
+It seems that she was with that party that brought you here. She left
+them at Naples, and came home at once by land, and they said she was
+giving out that she meant to marry you. I laughed, of course. But people
+wouldn't talk about you so much, dear boy, if there were not so much to
+talk about. I know that you would never do anything so idiotic as that,
+and if Mrs. Crosby chooses to flirt with you, that's her affair. She's
+older than you, and knows more about it. But this is quite another
+thing. This is serious. You sha'n't make love to that nice girl, Brook.
+You sha'n't! I'll do something dreadful, if you do. I'll tell her all
+about Mrs. Leo Cairngorm or somebody like that. But you sha'n't marry
+her and ruin her life."
+
+"You're going in for philanthropy, mother," said Brook, growing red.
+"It's something new. You never made a fuss before."
+
+"No, of course not. You never were so foolish before, my dear boy. I'm
+not bad myself, I believe. But you are, every one of you, and I love you
+all, and the only way to do anything with you is to let you run wild a
+little first. It's the only practical, sensible way. And you've only
+just begun--how in the world do you dare to think of marrying? Upon my
+word, it's too bad. I won't wait. I'll frighten the girl to death with
+stories about you, until she refuses to speak to you! But I've taken a
+fancy to her mother, and you sha'n't make the child miserable. You
+sha'n't, Brook. Oh, I've made up my mind! You sha'n't. I'll tell the
+mother too. I'll frighten them all, till they can't bear the sight of
+you."
+
+Lady Johnstone was energetic, as well as original, in spite of her
+abnormal size, and Brook knew that she was quite capable of carrying out
+her threat, and more also.
+
+"I may be like my father in some ways," he answered. "But I'm a good
+deal like you too, mother. I'm rather apt to stick to what I like, you
+know. Besides, I don't believe you would do anything of the kind. And
+she isn't inclined to like me, as it is. I believe she must have heard
+some story or other. Don't make things any worse than they are."
+
+"Then don't lose your head and ask her to marry you after a fortnight's
+acquaintance, Brook, because she'll accept you, and you will make her
+perfectly wretched."
+
+He saw that it was not always possible to argue with his mother, and he
+said nothing more. But he reflected upon her point of view, and he saw
+that it was not altogether unjust, as she knew him. She could not
+possibly understand that what he felt for Clare Bowring bore not the
+slightest resemblance to what he had felt for Lady Fan, if, indeed, he
+had felt anything at all, which he considered doubtful now that it was
+over, though he would have been angry enough at the suggestion a month
+earlier. To tell the truth, he felt quite sure of himself at the present
+time, though all his sensations were more or less new to him. And his
+mother's sudden and rather eccentric opposition unexpectedly
+strengthened his determination. He might laugh at what he called her
+originality, but he could not afford to jest at the prospect of her
+giving Clare an account of his life. She was quite capable of it, and
+would probably do it.
+
+These preoccupations, however, were as nothing compared with the main
+point--the certainty that Clare would refuse him, if he offered himself
+to her, and when he left his mother he was in a very undetermined state
+of mind. If he should ask Clare to marry him now, she would refuse him.
+But if his mother interfered, it would be much worse a week hence.
+
+At last, as ill-luck would have it, he came upon her unexpectedly in the
+corridor, as he came out, and they almost ran against each other.
+
+"Won't you come out for a bit?" he asked quickly and in a low voice.
+
+"Thanks--I have some letters to write," answered the young girl.
+"Besides, it's much too hot. There isn't a breath of air."
+
+"Oh, it's not really hot, you know," said Brook, persuasively.
+
+"Then it's making a very good pretence!" laughed Clare.
+
+"It's ever so much cooler out of doors. If you'll only come out for one
+minute, you'll see. Really--I'm in earnest."
+
+"But why should I go out if I don't want to?" asked the young girl.
+
+"Because I asked you to--"
+
+"Oh, that isn't a reason, you know," she laughed again.
+
+"Well, then, because you really would, if I hadn't asked you, and you
+only refuse out of a spirit of opposition," suggested Brook.
+
+"Oh--do you think so? Do you think I generally do just the contrary of
+what I'm asked to do?"
+
+"Of course, everybody knows that, who knows you." Brook seemed amused
+at the idea.
+
+"If you think that--well, I'll come, just for a minute, if it's only to
+show you that you are quite wrong."
+
+"Thanks, awfully. Sha'n't we go for the little walk that was interrupted
+when my people came the other day?"
+
+"No--it's too hot, really. I'll walk as far as the end of the terrace
+and back--once. Do you mind telling me why you are so tremendously
+anxious to have me come out this very minute?"
+
+"I'll tell you--at least, I don't know that I can--wait till we are
+outside. I should like to be out with you all the time, you know--and I
+thought you might come, so I asked you."
+
+"You seem rather confused," said Clare gravely.
+
+"Well, you know," Brook answered as they walked along towards the
+dazzling green light that filled the door, "to tell the truth, between
+one thing and another--" He did not complete the sentence.
+
+"Yes?" said Clare, sweetly. "Between one thing and another--what were
+you going to say?"
+
+Brook did not answer as they went out into the hot, blossom-scented air,
+under the spreading vines.
+
+"Do you mean to say it's cooler here than indoors?" asked the young
+girl in a tone of resignation.
+
+"Oh, it's much cooler! There's a breeze at the end of the walk."
+
+"The sea is like oil," observed Clare. "There isn't the least breath."
+
+"Well," said Brook, "it can't be really hot, because it's only the first
+week in June after all."
+
+"This isn't Scotland. It's positively boiling, and I wish I hadn't come
+out. Beware of first impulses--they are always right!"
+
+But she glanced sideways at his face, for she knew that something was in
+the air. She was not sure what to expect of him just then, but she knew
+that there was something to expect. Her instinct told her that he meant
+to speak and to say more than he had yet said. It told her that he was
+going to ask her to marry him, then and there, in the blazing noon,
+under the vines, but her modesty scouted the thought as savouring of
+vanity. At all events she would prevent him from doing it if she could.
+
+"Lady Johnstone seems to like this place," she said, with a sudden
+effort at conversation. "She says that she means to make all sorts of
+expeditions."
+
+"Of course she will," answered Brook, in a half-impatient tone. "But,
+please--I don't want to talk about my mother or the landscape. I really
+did want to speak to you, because I can't stand this sort of thing any
+longer, you know."
+
+"What sort of thing?" asked Clare innocently, raising her eyes to his,
+as they reached the end of the walk.
+
+It was very hot and still. Not a breath stirred the young vine-leaves
+overhead, and the scent of the last orange-blossoms hung in the
+motionless air. The heat rose quivering from the sea to southward, and
+the water lay flat as a mirror under the glory of the first summer's
+day.
+
+They stood still. Clare felt nervous, and tried to think of something to
+say which might keep him from speaking, and destroy the effect of her
+last question. But it was too late now. He was pale, for him, and his
+eyes were very bright.
+
+"I can't live without you--it comes to that. Can't you see?"
+
+The short plain words shook oddly as they fell from his lips. The two
+stood quite still, each looking into the other's face. Brook grew paler
+still, but the colour rose in Clare's cheeks. She tried to meet his eyes
+steadily, without feeling that he could control her.
+
+"I'm sorry," she said, "I'm very sorry."
+
+"You sha'n't say that," he answered, cutting her words with his, and
+sharply. "I'm tired of hearing it. I'm glad I love you, whatever you do
+to me; and you must get to like me. You must. I tell you I can't live
+without you."
+
+"But if I can't--" Clare tried to say.
+
+"You can--you must--you shall!" broke in Brook, hoarsely, his eyes
+growing brighter and fiercer. "I didn't know what it was to love
+anybody, and now that I know, I can't live without it, and I won't."
+
+"But if--"
+
+"There is no 'if,'" he cried, in his low strong voice, fixing her eyes
+with his. "There's no question of my going mad, or dying, or anything
+half so weak, because I won't take no. Oh, you may say it a hundred
+times, but it won't help you. I tell you I love you. Do you understand
+what that means? I'm in God's own earnest. I'll give you my life, but I
+won't give you up. I'll take you somehow, whether you will or not, and
+I'll hide you somewhere, but you sha'n't get away from me as long as you
+live."
+
+"You must be mad!" exclaimed the young girl, scarcely above her breath,
+half-frightened, and unable to loose her eyes from the fascination of
+his.
+
+"No, I'm not mad; only you've never seen any one in earnest before, and
+you've been condemning me without evidence all along. But it must stop
+now. You must tell me what it is, for I have a right to know. Tell me
+what it all is. I will know--I will. Look at me; you can't look away
+till you tell me."
+
+Clare felt his power, and felt that his eyes were dazzling her, and that
+if she did not escape from them she must yield and tell him. She tried,
+and her eyelids quivered. Then she raised her hand to cover her own
+eyes, in a desperate attempt to keep her secret. He caught it and held
+it, and still looked. She turned pale suddenly. Then her words came
+mechanically.
+
+"I was out there when you said 'good-bye' to Lady Fan. I heard
+everything, from first to last."
+
+He started in surprise, and the colour rose suddenly to his face. He did
+not look away yet, but Clare saw the blush of shame in his face, and
+felt that his power diminished, while hers grew all at once, to
+overmaster him in turn.
+
+"It's scarcely a fortnight since you betrayed her," she said, slowly and
+distinctly, "and you expect me to like you and to believe that you are
+in earnest."
+
+His shame turned quickly to anger.
+
+"So you listened!" he exclaimed.
+
+"Yes, I listened," she answered, and her words came easily, then, in
+self-defence--for she had thought of it all very often. "I didn't know
+who you were. My mother and I had been sitting beside the cross in the
+shadow of the cave, and she went in to finish a letter, leaving me
+there. Then you two came out talking. Before I knew what was happening
+you had said too much. I felt that if I had been in Lady Fan's place I
+would far rather never know that a stranger was listening. So I sat
+still, and I could not help hearing. How was I to know that you meant to
+stay here until I heard you say so to her? And I heard everything. You
+are ashamed now that you know that I know. Do you wonder that I disliked
+you from the first?"
+
+"I don't see why you should," answered Brook stubbornly. "If you do--you
+do. That doesn't change matters--"
+
+"You betrayed her!" cried Clare indignantly. "You forgot that I heard
+all you said--how you promised to marry her if she could get a divorce.
+It was horrible, and I never dreamt of such things, but I heard it. And
+then you were tired of her, I suppose, and you changed your mind, and
+calmly told her that it was all a mistake. Do you expect any woman, who
+has seen another treated in that way, to forget? Oh, I saw her face, and
+I heard her sob. You broke her heart for your amusement. And it was only
+a fortnight ago!"
+
+She had the upper hand now, and she turned from him with a last
+scornful glance, and looked over the low wall at the sea, wondering how
+he could have held her with his eyes a moment earlier. Brook stood
+motionless beside her, and there was silence. He might have found much
+in self-defence, but there was not one word of it which he could tell
+her. Perhaps she might find out some day what sort of person Lady Fan
+was, but his own lips were closed. That was his view of what honour
+meant.
+
+Clare felt that her breath came quickly, and that the colour was deep in
+her cheeks as she gazed at the flat, hot sea. For a moment she felt a
+woman's enormous satisfaction in being absolutely unanswerable. Then,
+all at once, she had a strong sensation of sickness, and a quick pain
+shot sharply through her just below the heart. She steadied herself by
+the wall with her hands, and shut her lips tightly.
+
+She had refused him as well as accused him. He would go away in a few
+moments, and never try to be alone with her again. Perhaps he would
+leave Amalfi that very day. It was impossible that she should really
+care for him, and yet, if she did not care, she would not ask the next
+question. Then he spoke to her. His voice was changed and very quiet
+now.
+
+"I'm sorry you heard all that," he said. "I don't wonder that you've
+got a bad opinion of me, and I suppose I can't say anything just now to
+make you change it. You heard, and you think you have a right to judge.
+Perhaps I shouldn't even say this--you heard me then, and you have heard
+me now. There's a difference, you'll admit. But all that you heard then,
+and all that you have told me now, can't change the truth, and you can't
+make me love you less, whatever you do. I don't believe I'm that sort of
+man."
+
+"I should have thought you were," said Clare bitterly, and regretting
+the words as soon as they were spoken.
+
+"It's natural that you should think so. At the same time, it doesn't
+follow that because a man doesn't love one woman he can't possibly love
+another."
+
+"That's simply brutal!" exclaimed the young girl, angry with him
+unreasonably because the argument was good.
+
+"It's true, at all events. I didn't love Mrs. Crosby, and I told her so.
+You may think me a brute if you like, but you heard me say it, if you
+heard anything, so I suppose I may quote myself. I do love you, and I
+have told you so--the fact that I can't say it in choice language
+doesn't make it a lie. I'm not a man in a book, and I'm in earnest."
+
+"Please stop," said Clare, as she heard the hoarse strength coming back
+in his voice.
+
+"Yes--I know. I've said it before, and you don't care to hear it again.
+You can't kill it by making me hold my tongue, you know. It only makes
+it worse. You'll see that I'm in earnest in time--then you'll change
+your mind. But I can't change mine. I can't live without you, whatever
+you may think of me now."
+
+It was a strange wooing, very unlike anything she had ever dreamt of, if
+she had allowed herself to dream of such things. She asked herself
+whether this could be the same man who had calmly and cynically told
+Lady Fan that he did not love her and could not think of marrying her.
+He had been cool and quiet enough then. That gave strength to the
+argument he used now. She had seen him with another woman, and now she
+saw him with herself and heard him. She was surprised and almost taken
+from her feet by his rough vehemence. He surely did not speak as a man
+choosing his words, certainly not as one trying to produce an effect.
+But then, on that evening at the Acropolis--the thought of that scene
+pursued her--he had doubtless spoken just as roughly and vehemently to
+Lady Fan, and had seemed just as much in earnest. And suddenly Lady Fan
+was hateful to her, and she almost ceased to pity her at all. But for
+Lady Fan--well, it might have been different. She should not have blamed
+herself for liking him, for loving him perhaps, and his words would have
+had another ring.
+
+He still stood beside her, watching her, and she was afraid to turn to
+him lest he should see something in her face which she meant to hide.
+But she could speak quietly enough, resting her hands on the wall and
+looking out to sea. It would be best to be a little formal, she thought.
+The sound of his own name spoken distinctly and coldly would perhaps
+warn him not to go too far.
+
+"Mr. Johnstone," she said, steadying her voice, "this can't go on. I
+never meant to tell you what I knew, but you have forced me to it. I
+don't love you--I don't like a man who can do such things, and I never
+could. And I can't let you talk to me in this way any more. If we must
+meet, you must behave just as usual. If you can't, I shall persuade my
+mother to go away at once."
+
+"I shall follow you," said Brook. "I told you so the other day. You
+can't possibly go to any place where I can't go too."
+
+"Do you mean to persecute me, Mr. Johnstone?" she asked.
+
+"I love you."
+
+"I hate you!"
+
+"Yes, but you won't always. Even if you do, I shall always love you just
+as much."
+
+Her eyes fell before his.
+
+"Do you mean to say that you can really love a woman who hates you?" she
+asked, looking at one of her hands as it rested on the wall.
+
+"Of course. Why not? What has that to do with it?"
+
+The question was asked so simply and with such honest surprise that
+Clare looked up again. He was smiling a little sadly.
+
+"But--I don't understand--" she hesitated.
+
+"Do you think it's like a bargain?" he asked quietly. "Do you think it's
+a matter of exchange--'I will love you if you'll love me'? Oh no! It's
+not that. I can't help it. I'm not my own master. I've got to love you,
+whether I like it or not. But since I do--well, I've said the rest, and
+I won't repeat it. I've told you that I'm in earnest, and you haven't
+believed me. I've told you that I love you, and you won't even believe
+that--"
+
+"No--I can believe that, well enough, now. You do to-day, perhaps. At
+least you think you do."
+
+"Well--you don't believe it, then. What's the use of repeating it? If I
+could talk well, it would be different, but I'm not much of a talker,
+at best, and just now I can't put two words together. But I--I mean lots
+of things that I can't say, and perhaps wouldn't say, you know. At
+least, not just now."
+
+He turned from her and began to walk up and down across the narrow
+terrace, towards her and away from her, his hands in his pockets, and
+his head a little bent. She watched him in silence for some time.
+Perhaps if she had hated him as much as she said that she did, she would
+have left him then and gone into the house. Something, good or evil,
+tempted her to speak.
+
+"What do you mean, that you wouldn't say now?" she asked.
+
+"I don't know," he answered gruffly, still walking up and down, ten
+steps each way. "Don't ask me--I told you one thing. I shall follow you
+wherever you go."
+
+"And then?" asked Clare, still prompted by some genius, good or bad.
+
+"And then?" Brook stopped and stared at her rather wildly. "And then? If
+I can't get you in any other way--well, I'll take you, that's all! It's
+not a very pretty thing to say, is it?"
+
+"It doesn't sound a very probable thing to do, either," answered Clare.
+"I'm afraid you are out of your mind, Mr. Johnstone."
+
+"You've driven most things out of it since I loved you," answered Brook,
+beginning to walk again. "You've made me say things that I shouldn't
+have dreamed of saying to any woman, much less to you. And you've made
+me think of doing things that looked perfectly mad a week ago." He
+stopped before her. "Can't you see? Can't you understand? Can't you feel
+how I love you?"
+
+"Don't--please don't!" she said, beginning to be frightened at his
+manner again.
+
+"Don't what? Don't love you? Don't live, then--don't exist--don't
+anything! What would it all matter, if I didn't love you? Meanwhile, I
+do, and by the--no! What's the use of talking? You might laugh. You'd
+make a fool of me, if you hadn't killed the fool out of me with too much
+earnest--and what's left can't talk, though it can do something better
+worth while than a lot of talking."
+
+Clare began to think that the heat had hurt his head. And all the time,
+in a secret, shame-faced way, she was listening to his incoherent
+sentences and rough exclamations, and remembering them one by one, and
+every one. And she looked at his pale face, and saw the queer light in
+his blue eyes, and the squaring of his jaw--and then and long afterwards
+the whole picture, with its memory of words, hot, broken, and confused,
+meant earnest love in her thoughts. No man in his senses, wishing to
+play a part and produce an impression upon a woman, would have acted as
+he did, and she knew it. It was the rough, real thing--the raw strength
+of an honest man's uncontrolled passion that she saw--and it told her
+more of love in a few minutes than all she had heard or read in her
+whole life. But while it was before her, alive and throbbing and
+incoherent of speech, it frightened her.
+
+"Come," she said nervously, "we mustn't stay out here any longer,
+talking in this way."
+
+He stopped again, close before her, and his eyes looked dangerous for an
+instant. Then he straightened himself, and seemed to swallow something
+with an effort.
+
+"All right," he answered. "I don't want to keep you out here in the
+heat."
+
+He faced about, and they walked slowly towards the house. When they
+reached the door he stood aside. She saw that he did not mean to go in,
+and she paused an instant on the threshold, looked at him gravely, and
+nodded before she entered. Again he bent his head, and said nothing. She
+left him standing there, and went straight to her room.
+
+Then she sat down before a little table on which she wrote her letters,
+near the window, and she tried to think. But it was not easy, and
+everything was terribly confused. She rested her elbows upon the small
+desk and pressed her fingers to her eyes, as though to drive away the
+sight that would come back. Then she dropped her hands suddenly and
+opened her eyes wide, and stared at the wall-paper before her. And it
+came back very vividly between her and the white plaster, and she heard
+his voice again--but she was smiling now.
+
+She started violently, for she felt two hands laid unexpectedly upon her
+shoulders, and some one kissed her hair. She had not heard her mother's
+footstep, nor the opening and shutting of the door, nor anything but
+Brook Johnstone's voice.
+
+"What is it, my darling?" asked the elder woman, bending down over her
+daughter's shoulder. "Has anything happened?"
+
+Clare hesitated a moment, and then spoke, for the habit of her
+confidence was strong. "He has asked me to marry him, mother--"
+
+In her turn Mrs. Bowring started, and then rested one hand on the table.
+
+"You? You?" she repeated, in a low and troubled voice. "You marry Adam
+Johnstone's son?"
+
+"No, mother--never," answered the young girl.
+
+"Thank God!"
+
+And Mrs. Bowring sank into a chair, shivering as though she were cold.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+Brook felt in his pocket mechanically for his pipe, as a man who smokes
+generally takes to something of the sort at great moments in his life,
+from sheer habit. He went through the operation of filling and lighting
+with great precision, almost unconscious of what he was doing, and
+presently he found himself smoking and sitting on the wall just where
+Clare had leaned against it during their interview. In three minutes his
+pipe had gone out, but he was not aware of the fact, and sat quite still
+in his place, staring into the shrubbery which grew at the back of the
+terrace.
+
+He was conscious that he had talked and acted wildly, and quite unlike
+the self with which he had been long acquainted; and the consciousness
+was anything but pleasant. He wondered where Clare was, and what she
+might be thinking of him at that moment. But as he thought of her his
+former mood returned, and he felt that he was not ashamed of what he had
+done and said. Then he realised, all at once, for the second time, that
+Clare had been on the platform on that first night, and he tried to
+recall everything that Lady Fan and he had said to each other.
+
+No such thing had ever happened to him before, and he had a sensation of
+shame and distress and anger, as he went over the scene, and thought of
+the innocent young girl who had sat in the shadow and heard it all. She
+had accidentally crossed the broad, clear line of demarcation which he
+drew between her kind and all the tribe of Lady Fans and Mrs. Cairngorms
+whom he had known. He felt somehow as though it were his fault, and as
+though he were responsible to Clare for what she had heard and seen. The
+sensation of shame deepened, and he swore bitterly under his breath. It
+was one of those things which could not be undone, and for which there
+was no reparation possible. Yet it was like an insult to Clare. For a
+man who had lately been rough to the girl, almost to brutality, he was
+singularly sensitive perhaps. But that did not strike him. When he had
+told her that he loved her, he had been too much in earnest to pick and
+choose his expressions. But when he had spoken to Lady Fan, he might
+have chosen and selected and polished his phrases so that Clare should
+have understood nothing--if he had only known that she had been sitting
+up there by the cross in the dark. And again he cursed himself bitterly.
+
+It was not because her knowing the facts had spoilt everything and
+given her a bad impression of him from the first: that might be set
+right in time, even now, and he did not wish her to marry him believing
+him to be an angel of light. It was that she should have seen something
+which she should not have seen, for her innocence's sake--something
+which, in a sense, must have offended and wounded her maidenliness. He
+would have struck any man who could have laughed at his sensitiveness
+about that. The worst of it--and he went back to the idea again and
+again--was that nothing could be done to mend matters, since it was all
+so completely in the past.
+
+He sat on the wall and pulled at his briar-root pipe, which had gone out
+and was quite cold by this time, though he hardly knew it. He had plenty
+to think of, and things were not going straight at all. He had pretended
+indifference when his mother had told him how Lady Fan meant to get a
+divorce and how she was telling her intimate friends under the usual
+vain promises of secrecy that she meant to marry Adam Johnstone's son as
+soon as she should be free. Brook had told her plainly enough that he
+would not marry her in any case, but he asked himself whether the world
+might not say that he should, and whether in that case it might not
+turn out to be a question of honour. He had secretly thought of that
+before now, and in the sudden depression of spirits which came upon him
+as a reaction he cursed himself a third time for having told Clare
+Bowring that he loved her, while such a matter as Lady Fan's divorce was
+still hanging over him as a possibility.
+
+Sitting on the wall, he swung his legs angrily, striking his heels
+against the stones in his perplexed discontent with the ordering of the
+universe. Things looked very black. He wished that he could see Clare
+again, and that, somehow, he could talk it all over with her. Then he
+almost laughed at the idea. She would tell him that she disliked him--he
+was sick of the sound of the word--and that it was his duty to marry
+Lady Fan. What could she know of Lady Fan? He could not tell her that
+the little lady in the white serge, being rather desperate, had got
+herself asked to go with the party for the express purpose of throwing
+herself at his head, as the current phrase gracefully expresses it, and
+with the distinct intention of divorcing her husband in order to marry
+Brook Johnstone. He could not tell Clare that he had made love to Lady
+Fan to get rid of her, as another common expression put it, with a
+delicacy worthy of modern society. He could not tell her that Lady Fan,
+who was clever but indiscreet, had unfolded her scheme to her bosom
+friend Mrs. Leo Cairngorm, or that Mrs. Cairngorm, unknown to Lady Fan,
+had been a very devoted friend of Brook's, and was still fond of him,
+and secretly hated Lady Fan, and had therefore unfolded the whole plan
+to Brook before the party had started; or that on that afternoon at
+sunset on the Acropolis he had not at all assented to Lady Fan's mad
+proposal, as she had represented that he had when they had parted on the
+platform at Amalfi; he could not tell Clare any of these things, for he
+felt that they were not fit for her to hear. And if she knew none of
+them she must judge him out of her ignorance. Brook wished that some
+supernatural being with a gift for solving hard problems would suddenly
+appear and set things straight.
+
+Instead, he saw the man who brought the letters just entering the hotel,
+and he rose by force of habit and went to the office to see if there
+were anything for him.
+
+There was one, and it was from Lady Fan, by no means the first she had
+written since she had gone to England. And there were several for Sir
+Adam and two for Lady Johnstone. Brook took them all, and opened his own
+at once. He did not belong to that class of people who put off reading
+disagreeable correspondence. While he read he walked slowly along the
+corridor.
+
+Lady Fan was actually consulting a firm of solicitors with a view to
+getting a divorce. She said that she of course understood his conduct on
+that last night at Amalfi--the whole plan must have seemed unrealisable
+to him then--she would forgive him. She refused to believe that he would
+ruin her in cold blood, as she must be ruined if she got a divorce from
+Crosby, and if Brook would not marry her; and much more.
+
+Why should she be ruined? Brook asked himself. If Crosby divorced her on
+Brook's account, it would be another matter altogether. But she was
+going to divorce Crosby, who was undoubtedly a beast, and her reputation
+would be none the worse for it. People would only wonder why she had not
+done it before, and so would Crosby, unless he took it into his head to
+examine the question from a financial point of view. For Crosby was, or
+had been, rich, and Lady Fan had no money of her own, and Crosby was
+quite willing to let her spend a good deal, provided she left him in
+peace. How in the world could Clare ever know all the truth about such
+people? It would be an insult to her to think that she could understand
+half of it, and she would not think the better of him unless she could
+understand it all. The situation did not seem to admit of any solution
+in that way. All he could hope for was that Clare might change her mind.
+When she should be older she would understand that she had made a
+mistake, and that the world was not merely a high-class boarding-school
+for young ladies, in which all the men were employed as white-chokered
+professors of social righteousness. That seemed to be her impression, he
+thought, with a resentment which was not against her in particular, but
+against all young girls in general, and which did not prevent him from
+feeling that he would not have had it otherwise for anything in the
+world.
+
+He stuffed the letter into his pocket, and went in search of his father.
+He was strongly inclined to lay the whole matter before him, and to ask
+the old gentleman's advice. He had reason to believe that Sir Adam had
+been in worse scrapes than this when he had been a young man, and
+somehow or other nobody had ever thought the worse of him. He was sure
+to be in his room at that hour, writing letters. Brook knocked and went
+in. It was about eleven o'clock.
+
+Sir Adam, gaunt and grey, and clad in a cashmere dressing-jacket, was
+extended upon all the chairs which the little cell-like room contained,
+close by the open window. He had a very thick cigarette between his
+lips, and a half-emptied glass of brandy and soda stood on the corner of
+a table at his elbow. He had not failed to drink one brandy and soda
+every morning at eleven o'clock for at least a quarter of a century.
+
+His keen old eyes turned sharply to Brook as the latter entered, and a
+smile lighted up his furrowed face, but instantly disappeared again; for
+the young man's features betrayed something of what he had gone through
+during the last hour.
+
+"Anything wrong, boy?" asked Sir Adam quickly. "Have a brandy and soda
+and a pipe with me. Oh, letters! It's devilish hard that the post should
+find a man out in this place! Leave them there on the table."
+
+Brook relighted his pipe. His father took one leg from one of the
+chairs, which he pushed towards his son with his foot by way of an
+invitation to sit down.
+
+"What's the matter?" he asked, renewing his question. "You've got into
+another scrape, have you? Mrs. Crosby--of all women in the world. Your
+mother told me that ridiculous story. Wants to divorce Crosby and marry
+you, does she? I say, boy, it's time this sort of nonsense stopped, you
+know. One of these days you'll be caught. There are cleverer women in
+the world than Mrs. Crosby."
+
+"Oh! she's not clever," answered Brook thoughtfully.
+
+"Well, what's the foundation of the story? What the dickens did you go
+with those people for, when you found out that she was coming? You knew
+the sort of woman she was, I suppose? What happened? You made love to
+her, of course. That was what she wanted. Then she talked of eternal
+bliss together, and that sort of rot, didn't she? And you couldn't
+exactly say that you only went in for bliss by the month, could you? And
+she said, 'By Jove, as you don't refuse, you shall have it for the rest
+of your life,' and she said to herself that you were richer than Crosby,
+and a good deal younger, and better-looking, and better socially, and
+that if you were going to make a fool of yourself she might as well get
+the benefit of it as well as any other woman. Then she wrote to a
+solicitor--and now you are in the devil of a scrape. I fancy that's the
+history of the case, isn't it?"
+
+"I wish you wouldn't talk about women in that sort of way, Governor!"
+exclaimed Brook, by way of answer.
+
+"Don't be an ass!" answered Sir Adam. "There are women one can talk
+about in that way, and women one can't. Mrs. Crosby is one of the first
+kind. I distinguish between 'women' and 'woman.' Don't you? Woman means
+something to most of us--something a good deal better than we are, which
+we treat properly and would cut one another's throats for. We sinners
+aren't called upon to respect women who won't respect themselves. We are
+only expected to be civil to them because they are things in petticoats
+with complexions. Don't be an ass, Brook. I don't want to know what you
+said to Mrs. Crosby, nor what she said to you, and you wouldn't be a
+gentleman if you told me. That's your affair. But she's a woman with a
+consumptive reputation that's very near giving up the ghost, and that
+would have departed this life some time ago if Crosby didn't happen to
+be a little worse than she is. She wants to get a divorce and marry my
+son--and that's my affair. Do you remember the Arab and his slave?
+'You've stolen my money,' said the sheikh. 'That's my business,'
+answered the slave. 'And I'm going to beat you,' said the sheikh.
+'That's your business,' said the slave. It's a similar case, you know,
+only it's a good deal worse. I don't want to know anything that happened
+before you two parted. But I've a right to know what Mrs. Crosby has
+done since, haven't I? You don't care to marry her, do you, boy?"
+
+"Marry her! I'd rather cut my throat."
+
+"You needn't do that. Just tell me whether all this is mere talk, or
+whether she has really been to the solicitor's. If she has, you know,
+she will get her divorce without opposition. Everybody knows about
+Crosby."
+
+"It's true," said Brook. "I've just had a letter from her again. I wish
+I knew what to do!"
+
+"You can't do anything."
+
+"I can refuse to marry her, can't I?"
+
+"Oh--you could. But plenty of people would say that you had induced her
+to get the divorce, and then had changed your mind. She'll count on
+that, and make the most of it, you may be sure. She won't have a penny
+when she's divorced, and she'll go about telling everybody that you have
+ruined her. That won't be pleasant, will it?"
+
+"No--hardly. I had thought of it."
+
+"You see--you can't do anything without injuring yourself. I can settle
+the whole affair in half an hour. By return of post you'll get a letter
+from her telling you that she has abandoned all idea of proceedings
+against Crosby."
+
+"I'll bet you she doesn't," said Brook.
+
+"Anything you like. It's perfectly simple. I'll just make a will,
+leaving you nothing at all, if you marry her, and I'll send her a copy
+to-day. You'll get the answer fast enough."
+
+"By Jove!" exclaimed Brook, in surprise. Then he thoughtfully relighted
+his pipe and threw the match out of the window. "I say, Governor," he
+added after a pause, "do you think that's quite--well, quite fair and
+square, you know?"
+
+"What on earth do you mean?" cried Sir Adam. "Do you mean to tell me
+that I haven't a perfect right to leave my money as I please? And that
+the first adventuress who takes a fancy to it has a right to force you
+into a disgraceful marriage, and that it would be dishonourable of me to
+prevent it if I could? You're mad, boy! Don't talk such nonsense to me!"
+
+"I suppose I'm an idiot," said Brook. "Things about money so easily get
+a queer look, you know. It's not like other things, is it?"
+
+"Look here, Brook," answered the old man, taking his feet from the chair
+on which they rested, and sitting up straight in the low easy chair.
+"People have said a lot of things about me in my life, and I'll do the
+world the credit to add that it might have said twice as much with a
+good show of truth. But nobody ever said that I was mean, nor that I
+ever disappointed anybody in money matters who had a right to expect
+something of me. And that's pretty conclusive evidence, because I'm a
+Scotch-man, and we are generally supposed to be a close-fisted tribe.
+They've said everything about me that the world can say, except that
+I've told you about my first marriage. She--she got her divorce, you
+know. She had a perfect right to it."
+
+The old man lit another cigarette, and sipped his brandy and soda
+thoughtfully.
+
+"I don't like to talk about money," he said in a lower tone. "But I
+don't want you to think me mean, Brook. I allowed her a thousand a year
+after she had got rid of me. She never touched it. She isn't that kind.
+She would rather starve ten times over. But the money has been paid to
+her account in London for twenty-seven years. Perhaps she doesn't know
+it. All the better for her daughter, who will find it after her mother's
+death, and get it all. I only don't want you to think I'm mean, Brook."
+
+"Then she married again--your first wife?" asked the young man, with
+natural curiosity. "And she's alive still?"
+
+"Yes," answered Sir Adam, thoughtfully. "She married again six years
+after I did--rather late--and she had one daughter."
+
+"What an odd idea!" exclaimed Brook. "To think that those two people are
+somewhere about the world. A sort of stray half-sister of mine, the
+girl would be--I mean--what would be the relationship, Governor, since
+we are talking about it?"
+
+"None whatever," answered the old man, in a tone so extraordinarily
+sharp that Brook looked up in surprise. "Of course not! What relation
+could she be? Another mother and another father--no relation at all."
+
+"Do you mean to say that I could marry her?" asked Brook idly.
+
+Sir Adam started a little.
+
+"Why--yes--of course you could, as she wouldn't be related to you."
+
+He suddenly rose, took up his glass, and gulped down what was left in
+it. Then he went and stood before the open window.
+
+"I say, Brook," he began, his back turned to his son.
+
+"What?" asked Brook, poking his knife into his pipe to clean it.
+"Anything wrong?"
+
+"I can't stand this any longer. I've got to speak to somebody--and I
+can't speak to your mother. You won't talk, boy, will you? You and I
+have always been good friends."
+
+"Of course! What's the matter with you, Governor? You can tell me."
+
+"Oh--nothing--that is--Brook, I say, don't be startled. This Mrs.
+Bowring is my divorced wife, you know."
+
+"Good God!"
+
+Sir Adam turned on his heels and met his son's look of horror and
+astonishment. He had expected an exclamation of surprise, but Brook's
+voice had fear in it, and he had started from his chair.
+
+"Why do you say 'Good God'--like that?" asked the old man. "You're not
+in love with the girl, are you?"
+
+"I've just asked her to marry me."
+
+The young man was ghastly pale, as he stood stock-still, staring at his
+father. Sir Adam was the first to recover something of equanimity, but
+the furrows in his face had suddenly grown deeper.
+
+"Of course she has accepted you?" he asked.
+
+"No--she knew about Mrs. Crosby." That seemed sufficient explanation of
+Clare's refusal. "How awful!" exclaimed Brook hoarsely, his mind going
+back to what seemed the main question just then. "How awful for you,
+Governor!"
+
+"Well--it's not pleasant," said Sir Adam, turning to the window again.
+"So the girl refused you," he said, musing, as he looked out. "Just like
+her mother, I suppose. Brook"--he paused.
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"So far as I'm concerned, it's not so bad as you think. You needn't
+pity me, you know. It's just as well that we should have met--after
+twenty-seven years."
+
+"She knew you at once, of course?"
+
+"She knew I was your father before I came. And, I say, Brook--she's
+forgiven me at last."
+
+His voice was low and unsteady, and he resolutely kept his back turned.
+
+"She's one of the best women that ever lived," he said. "Your mother's
+the other."
+
+There was a long silence, and neither changed his position. Brook
+watched the back of his father's head.
+
+"You don't mind my saying so to you, Brook?" asked the old man, hitching
+his shoulders.
+
+"Mind? Why?"
+
+"Oh--well--there's no reason, I suppose. Gad! I wish--I suppose I'm
+crazy, but I wish to God you could marry the girl, Brook! She's as good
+as her mother."
+
+Brook said nothing, being very much astonished, as well as disturbed.
+
+"Only--I'll tell you one thing, Brook," said the voice at the window,
+speaking into space. "If you do marry her--and if you treat her as I
+treated her mother--" he turned sharply on both heels and waited a
+minute--"I'll be damned if I don't believe I'd shoot you!"
+
+"I'd spare you the trouble, and do it myself," said Brook, roughly.
+
+They were men, at all events, whatever their faults had been and might
+be, and they looked at the main things of life in very much the same
+way, like father like son. Another silence followed Brook's last speech.
+
+"It's settled now, at all events," he said in a decided way, after a
+long time. "What's the use of talking about it? I don't know whether you
+mean to stay here. I shall go away this afternoon."
+
+Sir Adam sat down again in his low easy chair, and leaned forward,
+looking at the pattern of the tiles in the floor, his wrists resting on
+his knees, and his hands hanging down.
+
+"I don't know," he said slowly. "Let us try and look at it quietly, boy.
+Don't do anything in a hurry. You're in love with the girl, are you? It
+isn't a mere flirtation? How the deuce do you know the difference, at
+your age?"
+
+"Gad!" exclaimed Brook, half angrily. "I know it! that's all. I can't
+live without her. That is--it's all bosh to talk in that way, you know.
+One goes on living, I suppose--one doesn't die. You know what I mean.
+I'd rather lose an arm than lose her--that sort of thing. How am I to
+explain it to you? I'm in earnest about it. I never asked any girl to
+marry me till now. I should think that ought to prove it. You can't say
+that I don't know what married life means."
+
+"Other people's married life," observed Sir Adam, grimly. "You know
+something about that, I'm afraid."
+
+"What difference does it make?" asked Brook. "I can't marry the daughter
+of my father's divorced wife."
+
+"I never heard of a case, simply because such cases don't arise often.
+But there's no earthly reason why you shouldn't. There is no
+relationship whatever between you. There's no mention of it in the table
+of kindred and affinity, I know, simply because it isn't kindred or
+affinity in any way. The world may make its observations. But you may do
+much more surprising things than marry the daughter of your father's
+divorced wife when you are to have forty thousand pounds a year, Brook.
+I've found it out in my time. You'll find it out in yours. And it isn't
+as though there were the least thing about it that wasn't all fair and
+square and straight and honourable and legal--and everything else,
+including the clergy. I supposed that the Archbishop of Canterbury
+wouldn't have married me the second time, because the Church isn't
+supposed to approve of divorces. But I was married in church all right,
+by a very good man. And Church disapproval can't possibly extend to the
+second generation, you know. Oh no! So far as its being possible goes,
+there's nothing to prevent your marrying her."
+
+"Except Mrs. Crosby," said Brook. "You'll prove that she doesn't exist
+either, if you go on. But all that doesn't put things straight. It's a
+horrible situation, no matter how you look at it. What would my mother
+say if she knew? You haven't told her about the Bowrings, have you?"
+
+"No," answered Sir Adam, thoughtfully. "I haven't told her anything. Of
+course she knows the story, but--I'm not sure. Do you think I'm bound to
+tell her that--who Mrs. Bowring is? Do you think it's anything like not
+fair to her, just to leave her in ignorance of it? If you think so, I'll
+tell her at once. That is, I should have to ask Mrs. Bowring first, of
+course."
+
+"Of course," assented Brook. "You can't do that, unless we go away.
+Besides, as things are now, what's the use?"
+
+"She'll have to know, if you are engaged to the daughter."
+
+"I'm not engaged to Miss Bowring," said Brook, disconsolately. "She
+won't look at me. What an infernal mess I've made of my life!"
+
+"Don't be an ass, Brook!" exclaimed Sir Adam, for the third time that
+morning.
+
+"It's all very well to tell me not to be an ass," answered the young
+man gravely. "I can't mend matters now, and I don't blame her for
+refusing me. It isn't much more than two weeks since that night. I can't
+tell her the truth--I wouldn't tell it to you, though I can't prevent
+your telling it to me, since you've guessed it. She thinks I betrayed
+Mrs. Crosby, and left her--like the merest cad, you know. What am I to
+do? I won't say anything against Mrs. Crosby for anything--and if I were
+low enough to do that I couldn't say it to Miss Bowring. I told her that
+I'd marry her in spite of herself--carry her off--anything! But of
+course I couldn't. I lost my head, and talked like a fool."
+
+"She won't think the worse of you for that," observed the old man. "But
+you can't tell her--the rest. Of course not! I'll see what I can do,
+Brook. I don't believe it's hopeless at all. I've watched Miss Bowring,
+ever since we first met you two, coming up the hill. I'll try
+something--"
+
+"Don't speak to her about Mrs. Crosby, at all events!"
+
+"I don't think I should do anything you wouldn't do yourself, boy," said
+Sir Adam, with a shade of reproval in his tone. "All I say is that the
+case isn't so hopeless as you seem to think. Of course you are heavily
+handicapped, and you are a dog with a bad name, and all the rest of it.
+The young lady won't change her mind to-day, nor to-morrow either,
+perhaps. But she wouldn't be a human woman if she never changed it at
+all."
+
+"You don't know her!" Brook shook his head and began to refill his
+refractory pipe. "And I don't believe you know her mother either, though
+you were married to her once. If she is at all what I think she is, she
+won't let her daughter marry your son. It's not as though anything could
+happen now to change the situation. It's an old one--it's old, and set,
+and hard, like a cast. You can't run it into a new mould and make
+anything else of it. Not even you, Governor--and you are as clever as
+anybody I know. It's a sheer question of humanity, without any possible
+outside incident. I've got two things against me which are about as
+serious as anything can be--the mother's prejudice against you, and the
+daughter's prejudice against me--both deuced well founded, it seems to
+me."
+
+"You forget one thing, Brook," said Sir Adam, thoughtfully.
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"Women forgive."
+
+Neither spoke for some time.
+
+"You ought to know," said Brook in a low tone, at last. "They forgive
+when they love--or have loved. That's the right way to put it, I think."
+
+"Well--put it in that way, if you like. It will just cover the ground.
+Whatever that young lady may say, she likes you very much. I've seen her
+watch you, and I'm sure of it."
+
+"How can a woman love a man and hate him at the same time?"
+
+"Why do jealous women sometimes kill their husbands? If they didn't love
+them they wouldn't care; and if they didn't hate them, they wouldn't
+kill them. You can't explain it, perhaps, but you can't deny it either.
+She'll never forgive Mrs. Crosby--perhaps--but she'll forgive you, when
+she finds out that she can't be happy without you. Stay here quietly,
+and let me see what I can do."
+
+"You can't do anything, Governor. But I'm grateful to you all the same.
+And--you know--if there's anything I can do on my side to help you, just
+now, I'll do it!"
+
+"Thank you, Brook," said the old man, leaning back, and putting up his
+feet again.
+
+Brook rose and left the room, slowly shutting the door behind him. Then
+he got his hat and went off for a solitary walk to think matters over.
+They were grave enough, and all that his father had said could not
+persuade him that there was any chance of happiness in his future. There
+was a sort of horror in the situation, too, and he could not remember
+ever to have heard of anything like it. He walked slowly, and with bent
+head.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+Sir Adam sat still in his place and smoked another thick cigarette
+before he moved. Then he roused himself, got up, sat down at his table,
+and took a large sheet of paper from a big leather writing-case.
+
+He had no hesitation about what he meant to put down. In a quarter of an
+hour he had written out a new will, in which he left his whole fortune
+to his only son Brook, on condition that Brook did not marry Mrs.
+Crosby. But if he married her before his father's death he was to have
+nothing, and if he married her afterwards he was to forfeit the whole,
+to the uttermost farthing. In either of these cases the property was to
+go to a third person. Sir Adam hesitated a moment, and then wrote the
+name of one of his sisters as the conditional legatee. His wife had
+plenty of money of her own, and besides, the will was a mere formality,
+drawn up and to be executed solely with a view to checking Lady Fan's
+enthusiasm. He did not sign it, but folded it smoothly and put it into
+his pocket. He also took his own pen, for he was particular in matters
+appertaining to the mechanics of writing, and very neat in all he did.
+
+He went out and wandered up and down the terrace in the heat, but no one
+was there. Then he knocked at his wife's door, and found her absorbed in
+an interesting conversation with her maid in regard to matters of dress,
+as connected with climate. Lady Johnstone at once appealed to him, and
+the maid eyed him with suspicion, fearing his suggestions. He satisfied
+her, however, by immediately suggesting that she should go away, whereat
+she smiled and departed.
+
+Lady Johnstone at once understood that something very serious was in the
+air. A wonderful good fellowship existed between husband and wife; but
+they very rarely talked of anything which could not have been discussed,
+figuratively, on the housetops.
+
+"Brook has got himself into a scrape with that Mrs. Crosby, my dear,"
+said Sir Adam. "What you heard is all more or less true. She has really
+been to a solicitor, and means to take steps to get a divorce. Of course
+she could get it easily enough. If she did, people would say that Brook
+had let her go that far, telling her that he would marry her, and then
+had changed his mind and left her to her fate. We can't let that happen,
+you know."
+
+Lady Johnstone looked at her husband with anxiety while he was
+speaking, and then was silent for a few seconds.
+
+"Oh, you Johnstones! You Johnstones!" she cried at last, shaking her
+head. "You're perfectly incorrigible!"
+
+"Oh no, my dear," answered Sir Adam; "don't forget me, you know."
+
+"You, Adam!"
+
+Her tone expressed an extraordinary conflict of varying
+sentiment--amusement, affection, reproach, a retrospective distrust of
+what might have been, but could not be, considering Sir Adam's age.
+
+"Never mind me, then," he answered. "I've made a will cutting Brook off
+with nothing if he marries Mrs. Crosby, and I'm going to send her a copy
+of it to-day. That will be enough, I fancy."
+
+"Adam!"
+
+"Yes--what? Do you disapprove? You always say that you are a practical
+woman, and you generally show that you are. Why shouldn't I take the
+practical method of stopping this woman as soon as possible? She wants
+my money--she doesn't want my son. A fortune with any other name would
+smell as sweet."
+
+"Yes--but--"
+
+"But what?"
+
+"I don't know--it seems--somehow--" Lady Johnstone was perplexed to
+express what she meant just then. "I mean," she added suddenly, "it's
+treating the woman like a mere adventuress, you know--"
+
+"That's precisely what Mrs. Crosby is, my dear," answered Sir Adam
+calmly. "The fact that she comes of decent people doesn't alter the case
+in the least. Nor the fact that she has one rich husband, and wishes to
+get another instead. I say that her husband is rich, but I'm very sure
+he has ruined himself in the last two years, and that she knows it. She
+is not the woman to leave him as long as he has money, for he lets her
+do anything she pleases, and pays her well to leave him alone. But he
+has got into trouble--and rats leave a sinking ship, you know. You may
+say that I'm cynical, my dear, but I think you'll find that I'm telling
+you the facts as they are."
+
+"It seems an awful insult to the woman to send her a copy of your will,"
+said Lady Johnstone.
+
+"It's an awful insult to you when she tries to get rid of her husband to
+marry your only son, my dear."
+
+"Oh--but he'd never marry her!"
+
+"I'm not sure. If he thought it would be dishonourable not to marry her,
+he'd be quite capable of doing it, and of blowing out his brains
+afterwards."
+
+"That wouldn't improve her position," observed the practical Lady
+Johnstone.
+
+"She'd be the widow of an honest man, instead of the wife of a
+blackguard," said Sir Adam. "However, I'm doing this on my own
+responsibility. What I want is that you should witness the will."
+
+"And let Mrs. Crosby think I made you do this? No--"
+
+"Nonsense. I sha'n't copy the signatures--"
+
+"Then why do you need them at all?"
+
+"I'm not going to write to her that I've made a will, if I haven't,"
+answered Sir Adam. "A will isn't a will unless it's witnessed. I'm not
+going to lie about it, just to frighten her. So I want you and Mrs.
+Bowring to witness it."
+
+"Mrs. Bowring?"
+
+"Yes--there are no men here, and Brook can't be a witness, because he's
+interested. You and Mrs. Bowring will do very well. But there's another
+thing--rather an extraordinary thing--and I won't let you sign with her
+until you know it. It's not a very easy thing to tell you, my dear."
+
+Lady Johnstone shifted her fat hands and folded them again, and her
+frank blue eyes gazed at her husband for a moment.
+
+"I can guess," she said, with a good-natured smile. "You told me you
+were old friends--I suppose you were in love with her somewhere!" She
+laughed and shook her head. "I don't mind," she added. "It's one more,
+that's all--one that I didn't know of. She's a very nice woman, and I've
+taken the greatest fancy to her!"
+
+"I'm glad you have," said Sir Adam, gravely. "I say, my dear--don't be
+surprised, you know--I warned you. We knew each other very well--it's
+not what you think at all, and she was altogether in the right and I was
+quite in the wrong about it. I say, now--don't be startled--she's my
+divorced wife--that's all."
+
+"She! Mrs. Bowring! Oh, Adam--how could you treat her so!"
+
+Lady Johnstone leaned back in her chair and slowly turned her head till
+she could look out of the window. She was almost rosy with surprise--a
+change of colour in her sanguine complexion which was equivalent to
+extreme pallor in other persons. Sir Adam looked at her affectionately.
+
+"What an awfully good woman you are!" he exclaimed, in genuine
+admiration.
+
+"I! No, I'm not good at all. I was thinking that if you hadn't been such
+a brute to her I could never have married you. I don't suppose that is
+good, is it? But you were a brute, all the same, Adam, dear, to hurt
+such a woman as that!"
+
+"Of course I was! I told you so when I told you the story. But I didn't
+expect that you'd ever meet."
+
+"No, it is an extraordinary thing. I suppose that if I had any nerves I
+should faint. It would be an awful thing if I did; you'd have to get
+those porters to pick me up!" She smiled meditatively. "But I haven't
+fainted, you see. And, after all, I don't see why it should be so very
+dreadful, do you? You see, you've rather broken me in to the idea of
+lots of other people in your life, and I've always pitied her sincerely.
+I don't see why I should stop pitying her because I've met her and taken
+such a fancy to her without knowing who she was. Do you?"
+
+"Most women would," observed Sir Adam. "It's lucky that you and she
+happen to be the two best women in the world. I told Brook so this
+morning."
+
+"Brook? Have you told him?"
+
+"I had to. He wants to marry her daughter."
+
+"Brook! It's impossible!"
+
+Lady Johnstone's tone betrayed so much more surprise and displeasure
+than when her husband had told her of Mrs. Bowring's identity that he
+stared at her in surprise.
+
+"I don't see why it's impossible," he said, "except that she has
+refused him once. That's nothing. The first time doesn't count."
+
+"He sha'n't!" said the fat lady, whose vivid colour had come back.
+"He'll make her miserable--just as you--no, I won't say that! But they
+are not in the least suited to one another--he's far too young; there
+are fifty reasons."
+
+"Brook won't act as I did, my dear," said Sir Adam. "He's like you in
+that. He'll make as good a husband as you have been a good wife--"
+
+"Nonsense!" interrupted Lady Johnstone. "You're all alike, you
+Johnstones! I was talking to him this morning about her--I knew there
+was the beginning of something--and I told him what I thought. You're
+all bad, and I love you all; but if you think that Clare Bowring is as
+practical as I am, you're very much mistaken, Adam, dear! She'll break
+her heart--"
+
+"If she does, I'll shoot him," answered the old man with a grim smile.
+"I told him so."
+
+"Did you? Well, I am glad you take that view of it," said Lady
+Johnstone, thoughtfully, and not at all realising what she was saying.
+"I'm glad I'm not a nervous woman," she added, beginning to fan herself.
+"I should be in my grave, you know."
+
+"No--you are not nervous, my dear, and I'm very glad of it. I suppose
+it really is rather a trying situation. But if I didn't know you, I
+wouldn't have told you all this. You've spoiled me, you know--you really
+have been so tremendously good to me--always, dear."
+
+There was a rough, half unwilling tenderness in his voice, and his big
+bony hand rested gently on the fat lady's shoulder, as he spoke. She
+bent her head to one side, till her large red cheek touched the brown
+knuckles. It was, in a way, almost grotesque. But there was that
+something in it which could make youth and beauty and passion
+ridiculous--the outspoken truthful old rake and the ever-forgiving wife.
+Who shall say wherein pathos lies? And yet it seems to be something more
+than a mere hack-writer's word, after all. The strangest acts of life
+sometimes go off in such an oddly quiet humdrum way, and then all at
+once there is the little quiver in the throat, when one least expects
+it--and the sad-eyed, faithful, loving angel has passed by quickly, low
+and soft, his gentle wings just brushing the still waters of our unwept
+tears.
+
+Sir Adam left his wife to go in search of Mrs. Bowring. He sent a
+message to her, and she came out and met him in the corridor. They went
+into the reading-room together, and he shut the door. In a few words he
+told her all that he had told his wife about Mrs. Crosby, and asked her
+whether she had any objection to signing the document as a witness,
+merely in order that he might satisfy himself by actually executing it.
+
+"It is high handed," said Mrs. Bowring. "It is like you--but I suppose
+you have a right to save your son from such trouble. But there is
+something else--do you know what has happened? He has been making love
+to Clare--he has asked her to marry him, and she has refused. She told
+me this morning--and I have told her the truth--that you and I were once
+married."
+
+She paused, and watched Sir Adam's furrowed face.
+
+"I'm glad of that," he said. "I'm glad that it has all come out on the
+same day. He knows everything, and he has told me everything. I don't
+know how it's all going to end, but I want you to believe one thing. If
+he had guessed the truth, he would never have said a word of love to
+her. He's not that kind of boy. You do believe me, don't you?"
+
+"Yes, I believe you. But the worst of it is that she cares for him
+too--in a way I can't understand. She has some reason, or she thinks she
+has, for disliking him, as she calls it. She wouldn't tell me. But she
+cares for him all the same. She has told him, though she won't tell me.
+There is something horrible in the idea of our children falling in love
+with each other."
+
+Mrs. Bowring spoke quietly, but her pale face and nervous mouth told
+more than her words.
+
+Sir Adam explained to her shortly what had happened on the first evening
+after Brook's arrival, and how Clare had heard it all, sitting in the
+shadow just above the platform. Mrs. Bowring listened in silence,
+covering her eyes with her hands. There was a long pause after he had
+finished speaking, but still she said nothing.
+
+"I should like him to marry her," said Sir Adam at last, in a low voice.
+
+She started and looked at him uneasily, remembering how well she had
+once loved him, and how he had broken her heart when she was young. He
+met her eyes quietly.
+
+"You don't know him," he said. "He loves her, and he will be to
+her--what I wasn't to you."
+
+"How can you say that he loves her? Three weeks ago he loved that Mrs.
+Crosby."
+
+"He? He never cared for her--not even at first."
+
+"He was all the more heartless and bad to make her think that he did."
+
+"She never thought so, for a moment. She wanted my money, and she
+thought that she could catch him."
+
+"Perhaps--I saw her, and I did not like her face. She had the look of an
+adventuress about her. That doesn't change the main facts. Your son and
+she were--flirting, to say the least of it, three weeks ago. And now he
+thinks himself in love with my daughter. It would be madness to trust
+such a man--even if there were not the rest to hinder their marriage.
+Adam--I told you that I forgave you. I have forgiven you--God knows. But
+you broke my life at the beginning like a thread. You don't know all
+there has been to forgive--indeed, you don't. And you are asking me to
+risk Clare's life in your son's hands, as I risked mine in yours. It's
+too much to ask."
+
+"But you say yourself that she loves him."
+
+"She cares for him--that was what I said. I don't believe in love as I
+did. You can't expect me to."
+
+She turned her face away from him, but he saw the bitterness in it, and
+it hurt him. He waited a moment before he answered her.
+
+"Don't visit my sins on your daughter, Lucy," he said at last. "Don't
+forget that love was a fact before you and I were born, and will be a
+fact long after we are dead. If these two love each other, let them
+marry. I hope that Clare is like you, but don't take it for granted
+that Brook is like me. He's not. He's more like his mother."
+
+"And your wife?" said Mrs. Bowring suddenly. "What would she say to
+this?"
+
+"My wife," said Sir Adam, "is a practical woman."
+
+"I never was. Still--if I knew that Clare loved him--if I could believe
+that he could love her faithfully--what could I do? I couldn't forbid
+her to marry him. I could only pray that she might be happy, or at least
+that she might not break her heart."
+
+"You would probably be heard, if anybody is. And a man must believe in
+God to explain your existence," added Sir Adam, in a gravely meditative
+tone. "It's the best argument I know."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+Brook Johnstone had gone to his room when he had left his father, and
+was hastily packing his belongings, for he had made up his mind to leave
+Amalfi at once without consulting anybody. It is a special advantage of
+places where there is no railway that one can go away at a moment's
+notice, without waiting tedious hours for a train. Brook did not
+hesitate, for it seemed to him the only right thing to do, after Clare's
+refusal, and after what his father had told him. If she had loved him,
+he would have stayed in spite of every opposition. If he had never been
+told her mother's history, he would have stayed and would have tried to
+make her love him. As it was, he set his teeth and said to himself that
+he would suffer a good deal rather than do anything more to win the
+heart of Mrs. Bowring's daughter. He would get over it somehow in the
+end. He fancied Clare's horror if she should ever know the truth, and
+his fear of hurting her was as strong as his love. He made no phrases to
+himself, and he thought of nothing theatrical which he should like to
+say. He just set his teeth and packed his clothes alone. Possibly he
+swore rather unmercifully at the coat which would not fit into the right
+place, and at the starched shirt-cuffs which would not lie flat until he
+smashed them out of shape with unsteady hands.
+
+When he was ready, he wrote a few words to Clare. He said that he was
+going away immediately, and that it would be very kind of her to let him
+say good-bye. He sent the note by a servant, and waited in the corridor
+at a distance from her door.
+
+A moment later she came out, very pale.
+
+"You are not really going, are you?" she asked, with wide and startled
+eyes. "You can't be in earnest?"
+
+"I'm all ready," he answered, nodding slowly. "It's much better. I only
+wanted to say good-bye, you know. It's awfully kind of you to come out."
+
+"Oh--I wouldn't have--" but she checked herself, and glanced up and down
+the long corridor. "We can't talk here," she added.
+
+"It's so hot outside," said Brook, remembering how she had complained of
+the heat an hour earlier.
+
+"Oh no--I mean--it's no matter. I'd rather go out for a moment."
+
+She began to walk towards the door while she was speaking. They reached
+it in silence, and went out into the blazing sun. Clare had Brook's note
+still in her hand, and held it up to shield the glare from the side of
+her face as they crossed the platform. Then she realised that she had
+brought him to the very spot whereon he had said good-bye to Lady Fan.
+She stopped, and he stood still beside her.
+
+"Not here," she said.
+
+"No--not here," he answered.
+
+"There's too much sun--really," said she, as the colour rose faintly in
+her cheeks.
+
+"It's only to say good-bye," Brook answered sadly. "I shall always
+remember you just as you are now--with the sun shining on your hair."
+
+It was so bright that it dazzled him as he looked. In spite of the heat
+she did not move, and their eyes met.
+
+"Mr. Johnstone," Clare began, "please stay. Please don't let me feel
+that I have sent you away." There was a shade of timidity in the tone,
+and the eyes seemed brave enough to say something more. Brook hesitated.
+
+"Well--no--it isn't that exactly. I've heard something--my father has
+told me something since I saw you--"
+
+He stopped short and looked down.
+
+"What have you heard?" she asked. "Something dreadful about us?"
+
+"About us all--about him, principally. I can't tell you. I really
+can't."
+
+"About him--and my mother? That they were married and separated?"
+
+The steady innocent eyes had waited for him to look up again. He started
+as he heard her words.
+
+"You don't mean to say that you know it too?" he cried. "Who has dared
+to tell you?"
+
+"My mother--she was quite right. It's wrong to hide such things--she
+ought to have told me at once. Why shouldn't I have known it?"
+
+"Doesn't it seem horrible to you? Don't you dislike me more than ever?"
+
+"No. Why should I? It wasn't your fault. What has it to do with you? Or
+with me? Is that the reason why you are going away so suddenly?"
+
+Brook stared at her in surprise, and the dawn of returning gladness was
+in his face for a moment.
+
+"We have a right to live, whatever they did in their day," said Clare.
+"There is no reason why you should go away like this, at a moment's
+notice."
+
+With an older woman he would have understood the first time, but he did
+not dare to understand Clare, nor to guess that there was anything to be
+understood.
+
+"Of course we have a right to live," he answered, in a constrained tone.
+"But that does not mean that I may stay here and make your life a
+burden. So I'm going away. It was quite different before I knew all
+this. Please don't stay out here--you'll get a sunstroke. I only wanted
+to say good-bye."
+
+Man-like, having his courage at the striking-point, he wished to get it
+all over quickly and be off. The colour sank from Clare's face again,
+and she stood quite still for a moment, looking at him. "Good-bye," he
+said, holding out his hand, and trying hard to smile a little.
+
+Clare looked at him still, but her hand did not meet his, though he
+waited, holding it out to her. Her face hardened as though she were
+making an effort, then softened again, and still he waited.
+
+"Won't you say good-bye to me?" he asked unsteadily.
+
+She hesitated a moment longer.
+
+"No!" she answered suddenly. "I--I can't!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And here the story comes to its conclusion, as many stories out of the
+lives of men and women seem to end at what is only their turning-point.
+For real life has no conclusion but real death, and that is a sad ending
+to a tale, and one which may as well be left to the imagination when it
+is possible.
+
+Stories of strange things, which really occur, very rarely have what
+used to be called a "moral" either. All sorts of things happen to people
+who afterwards go on living just the same, neither much better nor much
+worse than they were in the beginning. The story is a slice, as it were,
+cut from the most interesting part of a life, generally at the point
+where that life most closely touches another, so that the future of the
+two momentarily depends upon each separately, and upon both together.
+The happiness or unhappiness of both, for a long time to come, is
+founded upon the action of each just at those moments. And sometimes, as
+in the tale here told, the least promising of all the persons concerned
+is the one who helps matters out. The only logical thing about life is
+the certainty that it must end. If there were any logic at all about
+what goes between birth and death, men would have found it out long ago,
+and we should all know how to live as soon as we leave school; whereas
+we spend our lives under Fate's ruler, trying to understand, while she
+raps us over the knuckles every other minute because we cannot learn
+our lesson and sit up straight, and be good without being prigs, and do
+right without sticking it through other people's peace of mind as one
+sticks a pin through a butterfly.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 22455.txt or 22455.zip *******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/4/5/22455
+
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://www.gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit:
+https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
diff --git a/22455.zip b/22455.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cd114bf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/22455.zip
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..698b99b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #22455 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22455)