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She
answered
with
a
grateful
little
smile
that
sent
my
heart
pounding
,
and
started
to
descend
the
companion-stairs
.
For
a
long
while
I
remained
standing
where
she
had
left
me
.
There
was
imperative
need
to
adjust
myself
,
to
consider
the
significance
of
the
changed
aspect
of
things
.
It
had
come
,
at
last
,
love
had
come
,
when
I
least
expected
it
and
under
the
most
forbidding
conditions
.
Of
course
,
my
philosophy
had
always
recognized
the
inevitableness
of
the
love-call
sooner
or
later
;
but
long
years
of
bookish
silence
had
made
me
inattentive
and
unprepared
.
And
now
it
had
come
!
Maud
Brewster
!
My
memory
flashed
back
to
that
first
thin
little
volume
on
my
desk
,
and
I
saw
before
me
,
as
though
in
the
concrete
,
the
row
of
thin
little
volumes
on
my
library
shelf
.
How
I
had
welcomed
each
of
them
!
Each
year
one
had
come
from
the
press
,
and
to
me
each
was
the
advent
of
the
year
.
They
had
voiced
a
kindred
intellect
and
spirit
,
and
as
such
I
had
received
them
into
a
camaraderie
of
the
mind
;
but
now
their
place
was
in
my
heart
.
My
heart
?
A
revulsion
of
feeling
came
over
me
.
I
seemed
to
stand
outside
myself
and
to
look
at
myself
incredulously
.
Maud
Brewster
!
Humphrey
Van
Weyden
,
"
the
cold-blooded
fish
,
"
the
"
emotionless
monster
,
"
the
"
analytical
demon
,
"
of
Charley
Furuseth
's
christening
,
in
love
!
And
then
,
without
rhyme
or
reason
,
all
sceptical
,
my
mind
flew
back
to
a
small
biographical
note
in
the
red-bound
Who
's
Who
,
and
I
said
to
myself
,
"
She
was
born
in
Cambridge
,
and
she
is
twenty-seven
years
old
.
"
And
then
I
said
,
"
Twenty-seven
years
old
and
still
free
and
fancy
free
?
"
But
how
did
I
know
she
was
fancy
free
?
And
the
pang
of
new-born
jealousy
put
all
incredulity
to
flight
.
There
was
no
doubt
about
it
.
I
was
jealous
;
therefore
I
loved
.
And
the
woman
I
loved
was
Maud
Brewster
.
I
,
Humphrey
Van
Weyden
,
was
in
love
!
And
again
the
doubt
assailed
me
.
Not
that
I
was
afraid
of
it
,
however
,
or
reluctant
to
meet
it
.
On
the
contrary
,
idealist
that
I
was
to
the
most
pronounced
degree
,
my
philosophy
had
always
recognized
and
guerdoned
love
as
the
greatest
thing
in
the
world
,
the
aim
and
the
summit
of
being
,
the
most
exquisite
pitch
of
joy
and
happiness
to
which
life
could
thrill
,
the
thing
of
all
things
to
be
hailed
and
welcomed
and
taken
into
the
heart
.
But
now
that
it
had
come
I
could
not
believe
.
I
could
not
be
so
fortunate
.
It
was
too
good
,
too
good
to
be
true
.
Symons
's
lines
came
into
my
head
:
"
I
wandered
all
these
years
among
A
world
of
women
,
seeking
you
.
"
And
then
I
had
ceased
seeking
.
It
was
not
for
me
,
this
greatest
thing
in
the
world
,
I
had
decided
Furuseth
was
right
;
I
was
abnormal
,
an
"
emotionless
monster
,
"
a
strange
bookish
creature
,
capable
of
pleasuring
in
sensations
only
of
the
mind
.
And
though
I
had
been
surrounded
by
women
all
my
days
,
my
appreciation
of
them
had
been
aesthetic
and
nothing
more
.
I
had
actually
,
at
times
,
considered
myself
outside
the
pale
,
a
monkish
fellow
denied
the
eternal
or
the
passing
passions
I
saw
and
understood
so
well
in
others
.
And
now
it
had
come
!
Undreamed
of
and
unheralded
,
it
had
come
.
In
what
could
have
been
no
less
than
an
ecstasy
,
I
left
my
post
at
the
head
of
the
companion-way
and
started
along
the
deck
,
murmuring
to
myself
those
beautiful
lines
of
Mrs.
Browning
:
