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The
reflection
set
him
wondering
whether
the
“
sheltered
”
girl
’
s
bringing
-
up
might
not
unfit
her
for
all
subsequent
contact
with
life
.
How
much
nearer
to
it
had
Mrs
.
Leath
been
brought
by
marriage
and
motherhood
,
and
the
passage
of
fourteen
years
?
What
were
all
her
reticences
and
evasions
but
the
result
of
the
deadening
process
of
forming
a
“
lady
”
?
The
freshness
he
had
marvelled
at
was
like
the
unnatural
whiteness
of
flowers
forced
in
the
dark
.
As
he
looked
back
at
their
few
days
together
he
saw
that
their
intercourse
had
been
marked
,
on
her
part
,
by
the
same
hesitations
and
reserves
which
had
chilled
their
earlier
intimacy
.
Once
more
they
had
had
their
hour
together
and
she
had
wasted
it
.
As
in
her
girlhood
,
her
eyes
had
made
promises
which
her
lips
were
afraid
to
keep
.
She
was
still
afraid
of
life
,
of
its
ruthlessness
,
its
danger
and
mystery
.
She
was
still
the
petted
little
girl
who
cannot
be
left
alone
in
the
dark
.
.
.
.
His
memory
flew
back
to
their
youthful
story
,
and
long
-
forgotten
details
took
shape
before
him
.
How
frail
and
faint
the
picture
was
!
They
seemed
,
he
and
she
,
like
the
ghostly
lovers
of
the
Grecian
Urn
,
forever
pursuing
without
ever
clasping
each
other
.
To
this
day
he
did
not
quite
know
what
had
parted
them
:
the
break
had
been
as
fortuitous
as
the
fluttering
apart
of
two
seed
-
vessels
on
a
wave
of
summer
air
.
.
.
The
very
slightness
,
vagueness
,
of
the
memory
gave
it
an
added
poignancy
.
He
felt
the
mystic
pang
of
the
parent
for
a
child
which
has
just
breathed
and
died
.
Why
had
it
happened
thus
,
when
the
least
shifting
of
influences
might
have
made
it
all
so
different
?
If
she
had
been
given
to
him
then
he
would
have
put
warmth
in
her
veins
and
light
in
her
eyes
:
would
have
made
her
a
woman
through
and
through
.
Musing
thus
,
he
had
the
sense
of
waste
that
is
the
bitterest
harvest
of
experience
.
A
love
like
his
might
have
given
her
the
divine
gift
of
self
-
renewal
;
and
now
he
saw
her
fated
to
wane
into
old
age
repeating
the
same
gestures
,
echoing
the
words
she
had
always
heard
,
and
perhaps
never
guessing
that
,
just
outside
her
glazed
and
curtained
consciousness
,
life
rolled
away
,
a
vast
blackness
starred
with
lights
,
like
the
night
landscape
beyond
the
windows
of
the
train
.
The
engine
lowered
its
speed
for
the
passage
through
a
sleeping
station
.
In
the
light
of
the
platform
lamp
Darrow
looked
across
at
his
companion
Her
head
had
dropped
toward
one
shoulder
,
and
her
lips
were
just
far
enough
apart
for
the
reflection
of
the
upper
one
to
deepen
the
colour
of
the
other
.
The
jolting
of
the
train
had
again
shaken
loose
the
lock
above
her
ear
.
It
danced
on
her
cheek
like
the
flit
of
a
brown
wing
over
flowers
,
and
Darrow
felt
an
intense
desire
to
lean
forward
and
put
it
back
behind
her
ear
.
As
their
motor
-
cab
,
on
the
way
from
the
Gare
du
Nord
,
turned
into
the
central
glitter
of
the
Boulevard
,
Darrow
had
bent
over
to
point
out
an
incandescent
threshold
.
“
There
!
”
Above
the
doorway
,
an
arch
of
flame
flashed
out
the
name
of
a
great
actress
,
whose
closing
performances
in
a
play
of
unusual
originality
had
been
the
theme
of
long
articles
in
the
Paris
papers
which
Darrow
had
tossed
into
their
compartment
at
Calais
.
“
That
’
s
what
you
must
see
before
you
’
re
twenty
-
four
hours
older
!
”
