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He
protested
that
,
if
he
had
known
her
longer
,
he
had
known
her
much
less
well
,
and
that
he
had
already
,
on
this
point
,
convinced
Anna
of
his
inability
to
pronounce
an
opinion
.
Madame
de
Chantelle
drew
a
deep
sigh
of
intelligence
.
“
Your
opinion
of
Mrs
.
Murrett
is
enough
!
I
don
’
t
suppose
you
pretend
to
conceal
that
?
And
heaven
knows
what
other
unspeakable
people
she
’
s
been
mixed
up
with
.
The
only
friends
she
can
produce
are
called
Hoke
.
.
.
.
Don
’
t
try
to
reason
with
me
,
Mr
.
Darrow
.
There
are
feelings
that
go
deeper
than
facts
.
.
.
.
And
I
know
she
thought
of
studying
for
the
stage
.
.
.
”
Madame
de
Chantelle
raised
the
corner
of
her
lace
handkerchief
to
her
eyes
.
“
I
’
m
old
-
fashioned
—
like
my
furniture
,
”
she
murmured
.
“
And
I
thought
I
could
count
on
you
,
Mr
.
Darrow
.
.
.
”
When
Darrow
,
that
night
,
regained
his
room
,
he
reflected
with
a
flash
of
irony
that
each
time
he
entered
it
he
brought
a
fresh
troop
of
perplexities
to
trouble
its
serene
seclusion
.
Since
the
day
after
his
arrival
,
only
forty
-
eight
hours
before
,
when
he
had
set
his
window
open
to
the
night
,
and
his
hopes
had
seemed
as
many
as
its
stars
,
each
evening
had
brought
its
new
problem
and
its
renewed
distress
.
But
nothing
,
as
yet
,
had
approached
the
blank
misery
of
mind
with
which
he
now
set
himself
to
face
the
fresh
questions
confronting
him
.
Sophy
Viner
had
not
shown
herself
at
dinner
,
so
that
he
had
had
no
glimpse
of
her
in
her
new
character
,
and
no
means
of
divining
the
real
nature
of
the
tie
between
herself
and
Owen
Leath
.
One
thing
,
however
,
was
clear
:
whatever
her
real
feelings
were
,
and
however
much
or
little
she
had
at
stake
,
if
she
had
made
up
her
mind
to
marry
Owen
she
had
more
than
enough
skill
and
tenacity
to
defeat
any
arts
that
poor
Madame
de
Chantelle
could
oppose
to
her
.
Darrow
himself
was
in
fact
the
only
person
who
might
possibly
turn
her
from
her
purpose
:
Madame
de
Chantelle
,
at
haphazard
,
had
hit
on
the
surest
means
of
saving
Owen
—
if
to
prevent
his
marriage
were
to
save
him
!
Darrow
,
on
this
point
,
did
not
pretend
to
any
fixed
opinion
;
one
feeling
alone
was
clear
and
insistent
in
him
:
he
did
not
mean
,
if
he
could
help
it
,
to
let
the
marriage
take
place
.
How
he
was
to
prevent
it
he
did
not
know
:
to
his
tormented
imagination
every
issue
seemed
closed
.
For
a
fantastic
instant
he
was
moved
to
follow
Madame
de
Chantelle
’
s
suggestion
and
urge
Anna
to
withdraw
her
approval
.
If
his
reticence
,
his
efforts
to
avoid
the
subject
,
had
not
escaped
her
,
she
had
doubtless
set
them
down
to
the
fact
of
his
knowing
more
,
and
thinking
less
,
of
Sophy
Viner
than
he
had
been
willing
to
admit
;
and
he
might
take
advantage
of
this
to
turn
her
mind
gradually
from
the
project
.
Yet
how
do
so
without
betraying
his
insincerity
?
If
he
had
had
nothing
to
hide
he
could
easily
have
said
:
“
It
’
s
one
thing
to
know
nothing
against
the
girl
,
it
’
s
another
to
pretend
that
I
think
her
a
good
match
for
Owen
.
”
But
could
he
say
even
so
much
without
betraying
more
?
It
was
not
Anna
’
s
questions
,
or
his
answers
to
them
,
that
he
feared
,
but
what
might
cry
aloud
in
the
intervals
between
them
.
He
understood
now
that
ever
since
Sophy
Viner
’
s
arrival
at
Givre
he
had
felt
in
Anna
the
lurking
sense
of
something
unexpressed
,
and
perhaps
inexpressible
,
between
the
girl
and
himself
.
.
.
.
When
at
last
he
fell
asleep
he
had
fatalistically
committed
his
next
step
to
the
chances
of
the
morrow
.
The
first
that
offered
itself
was
an
encounter
with
Mrs
.
Leath
as
he
descended
the
stairs
the
next
morning
.
She
had
come
down
already
hatted
and
shod
for
a
dash
to
the
park
lodge
,
where
one
of
the
gatekeeper
’
s
children
had
had
an
accident
.
In
her
compact
dark
dress
she
looked
more
than
usually
straight
and
slim
,
and
her
face
wore
the
pale
glow
it
took
on
at
any
call
on
her
energy
:
a
kind
of
warrior
brightness
that
made
her
small
head
,
with
its
strong
chin
and
close
-
bound
hair
,
like
that
of
an
amazon
in
a
frieze
.
It
was
their
first
moment
alone
since
she
had
left
him
,
the
afternoon
before
,
at
her
mother
-
in
-
law
’
s
door
;
and
after
a
few
words
about
the
injured
child
their
talk
inevitably
reverted
to
Owen
.
Anna
spoke
with
a
smile
of
her
“
scene
”
with
Madame
de
Chantelle
,
who
belonged
,
poor
dear
,
to
a
generation
when
“
scenes
”
(
in
the
ladylike
and
lachrymal
sense
of
the
term
)
were
the
tribute
which
sensibility
was
expected
to
pay
to
the
unusual
.
Their
conversation
had
been
,
in
every
detail
,
so
exactly
what
Anna
had
foreseen
that
it
had
clearly
not
made
much
impression
on
her
;
but
she
was
eager
to
know
the
result
of
Darrow
’
s
encounter
with
her
mother
-
in
-
law
.
