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A
porter
,
stumbling
against
Darrow
’
s
bags
,
roused
him
to
the
fact
that
he
still
obstructed
the
platform
,
inert
and
encumbering
as
his
luggage
.
“
Crossing
,
sir
?
”
Was
he
crossing
?
He
really
didn
’
t
know
;
but
for
lack
of
any
more
compelling
impulse
he
followed
the
porter
to
the
luggage
van
,
singled
out
his
property
,
and
turned
to
march
behind
it
down
the
gang
-
way
.
As
the
fierce
wind
shouldered
him
,
building
up
a
crystal
wall
against
his
efforts
,
he
felt
anew
the
derision
of
his
case
.
“
Nasty
weather
to
cross
,
sir
,
”
the
porter
threw
back
at
him
as
they
beat
their
way
down
the
narrow
walk
to
the
pier
.
Nasty
weather
,
indeed
;
but
luckily
,
as
it
had
turned
out
,
there
was
no
earthly
reason
why
Darrow
should
cross
.
While
he
pushed
on
in
the
wake
of
his
luggage
his
thoughts
slipped
back
into
the
old
groove
.
He
had
once
or
twice
run
across
the
man
whom
Anna
Summers
had
preferred
to
him
,
and
since
he
had
met
her
again
he
had
been
exercising
his
imagination
on
the
picture
of
what
her
married
life
must
have
been
.
Her
husband
had
struck
him
as
a
characteristic
specimen
of
the
kind
of
American
as
to
whom
one
is
not
quite
clear
whether
he
lives
in
Europe
in
order
to
cultivate
an
art
,
or
cultivates
an
art
as
a
pretext
for
living
in
Europe
.
Mr
.
Leath
’
s
art
was
water
-
colour
painting
,
but
he
practised
it
furtively
,
almost
clandestinely
,
with
the
disdain
of
a
man
of
the
world
for
anything
bordering
on
the
professional
,
while
he
devoted
himself
more
openly
,
and
with
religious
seriousness
,
to
the
collection
of
enamelled
snuff
-
boxes
.
He
was
blond
and
well
-
dressed
,
with
the
physical
distinction
that
comes
from
having
a
straight
figure
,
a
thin
nose
,
and
the
habit
of
looking
slightly
disgusted
—
as
who
should
not
,
in
a
world
where
authentic
snuff
-
boxes
were
growing
daily
harder
to
find
,
and
the
market
was
flooded
with
flagrant
forgeries
?
Darrow
had
often
wondered
what
possibilities
of
communion
there
could
have
been
between
Mr
.
Leath
and
his
wife
.
Now
he
concluded
that
there
had
probably
been
none
.
Mrs
.
Leath
’
s
words
gave
no
hint
of
her
husband
’
s
having
failed
to
justify
her
choice
;
but
her
very
reticence
betrayed
her
.
She
spoke
of
him
with
a
kind
of
impersonal
seriousness
,
as
if
he
had
been
a
character
in
a
novel
or
a
figure
in
history
;
and
what
she
said
sounded
as
though
it
had
been
learned
by
heart
and
slightly
dulled
by
repetition
.
This
fact
immensely
increased
Darrow
’
s
impression
that
his
meeting
with
her
had
annihilated
the
intervening
years
.
She
,
who
was
always
so
elusive
and
inaccessible
,
had
grown
suddenly
communicative
and
kind
:
had
opened
the
doors
of
her
past
,
and
tacitly
left
him
to
draw
his
own
conclusions
.
As
a
result
,
he
had
taken
leave
of
her
with
the
sense
that
he
was
a
being
singled
out
and
privileged
,
to
whom
she
had
entrusted
something
precious
to
keep
.
It
was
her
happiness
in
their
meeting
that
she
had
given
him
,
had
frankly
left
him
to
do
with
as
he
willed
;
and
the
frankness
of
the
gesture
doubled
the
beauty
of
the
gift
.
Their
next
meeting
had
prolonged
and
deepened
the
impression
.
They
had
found
each
other
again
,
a
few
days
later
,
in
an
old
country
house
full
of
books
and
pictures
,
in
the
soft
landscape
of
southern
England
.
The
presence
of
a
large
party
,
with
all
its
aimless
and
agitated
displacements
,
had
served
only
to
isolate
the
pair
and
give
them
(
at
least
to
the
young
man
’
s
fancy
)
a
deeper
feeling
of
communion
,
and
their
days
there
had
been
like
some
musical
prelude
,
where
the
instruments
,
breathing
low
,
seem
to
hold
back
the
waves
of
sound
that
press
against
them
.
Mrs
.
Leath
,
on
this
occasion
,
was
no
less
kind
than
before
;
but
she
contrived
to
make
him
understand
that
what
was
so
inevitably
coming
was
not
to
come
too
soon
.
It
was
not
that
she
showed
any
hesitation
as
to
the
issue
,
but
rather
that
she
seemed
to
wish
not
to
miss
any
stage
in
the
gradual
reflowering
of
their
intimacy
.
