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She
did
not
turn
her
face
to
his
,
but
began
to
talk
rapidly
,
trying
to
convey
something
of
what
she
felt
.
But
she
was
evidently
unused
to
analyzing
her
aesthetic
emotions
,
and
the
tumultuous
rush
of
the
drama
seemed
to
have
left
her
in
a
state
of
panting
wonder
,
as
though
it
had
been
a
storm
or
some
other
natural
cataclysm
.
She
had
no
literary
or
historic
associations
to
which
to
attach
her
impressions
:
her
education
had
evidently
not
comprised
a
course
in
Greek
literature
.
But
she
felt
what
would
probably
have
been
unperceived
by
many
a
young
lady
who
had
taken
a
first
in
classics
:
the
ineluctable
fatality
of
the
tale
,
the
dread
sway
in
it
of
the
same
mysterious
“
luck
”
which
pulled
the
threads
of
her
own
small
destiny
.
It
was
not
literature
to
her
,
it
was
fact
:
as
actual
,
as
near
by
,
as
what
was
happening
to
her
at
the
moment
and
what
the
next
hour
held
in
store
.
Seen
in
this
light
,
the
play
regained
for
Darrow
its
supreme
and
poignant
reality
.
He
pierced
to
the
heart
of
its
significance
through
all
the
artificial
accretions
with
which
his
theories
of
art
and
the
conventions
of
the
stage
had
clothed
it
,
and
saw
it
as
he
had
never
seen
it
:
as
life
.
After
this
there
could
be
no
question
of
flight
,
and
he
took
her
back
to
the
theatre
,
content
to
receive
his
own
sensations
through
the
medium
of
hers
.
But
with
the
continuation
of
the
play
,
and
the
oppression
of
the
heavy
air
,
his
attention
again
began
to
wander
,
straying
back
over
the
incidents
of
the
morning
.
He
had
been
with
Sophy
Viner
all
day
,
and
he
was
surprised
to
find
how
quickly
the
time
had
gone
.
She
had
hardly
attempted
,
as
the
hours
passed
,
to
conceal
her
satisfaction
on
finding
that
no
telegram
came
from
the
Farlows
.
“
They
’
ll
have
written
,
”
she
had
simply
said
;
and
her
mind
had
at
once
flown
on
to
the
golden
prospect
of
an
afternoon
at
the
theatre
.
The
intervening
hours
had
been
disposed
of
in
a
stroll
through
the
lively
streets
,
and
a
repast
,
luxuriously
lingered
over
,
under
the
chestnut
-
boughs
of
a
restaurant
in
the
Champs
Elysees
.
Everything
entertained
and
interested
her
,
and
Darrow
remarked
,
with
an
amused
detachment
,
that
she
was
not
insensible
to
the
impression
her
charms
produced
.
Yet
there
was
no
hard
edge
of
vanity
in
her
sense
of
her
prettiness
:
she
seemed
simply
to
be
aware
of
it
as
a
note
in
the
general
harmony
,
and
to
enjoy
sounding
the
note
as
a
singer
enjoys
singing
.
After
luncheon
,
as
they
sat
over
their
coffee
,
she
had
again
asked
an
immense
number
of
questions
and
delivered
herself
of
a
remarkable
variety
of
opinions
.
Her
questions
testified
to
a
wholesome
and
comprehensive
human
curiosity
,
and
her
comments
showed
,
like
her
face
and
her
whole
attitude
,
an
odd
mingling
of
precocious
wisdom
and
disarming
ignorance
.
When
she
talked
to
him
about
“
life
”
—
the
word
was
often
on
her
lips
—
she
seemed
to
him
like
a
child
playing
with
a
tiger
’
s
cub
;
and
he
said
to
himself
that
some
day
the
child
would
grow
up
—
and
so
would
the
tiger
.
Meanwhile
,
such
expertness
qualified
by
such
candour
made
it
impossible
to
guess
the
extent
of
her
personal
experience
,
or
to
estimate
its
effect
on
her
character
.
She
might
be
any
one
of
a
dozen
definable
types
,
or
she
might
—
more
disconcertingly
to
her
companion
and
more
perilously
to
herself
—
be
a
shifting
and
uncrystallized
mixture
of
them
all
.
Her
talk
,
as
usual
,
had
promptly
reverted
to
the
stage
.
She
was
eager
to
learn
about
every
form
of
dramatic
expression
which
the
metropolis
of
things
theatrical
had
to
offer
,
and
her
curiosity
ranged
from
the
official
temples
of
the
art
to
its
less
hallowed
haunts
.
Her
searching
enquiries
about
a
play
whose
production
,
on
one
of
the
latter
scenes
,
had
provoked
a
considerable
amount
of
scandal
,
led
Darrow
to
throw
out
laughingly
:
“
To
see
that
you
’
ll
have
to
wait
till
you
’
re
married
!
”
and
his
answer
had
sent
her
off
at
a
tangent
.
“
Oh
,
I
never
mean
to
marry
,
”
she
had
rejoined
in
a
tone
of
youthful
finality
.
“
I
seem
to
have
heard
that
before
!
”
“
Yes
;
from
girls
who
’
ve
only
got
to
choose
!
”
Her
eyes
had
grown
suddenly
almost
old
.
“
I
’
d
like
you
to
see
the
only
men
who
’
ve
ever
wanted
to
marry
me
!
One
was
the
doctor
on
the
steamer
,
when
I
came
abroad
with
the
Hokes
:
he
’
d
been
cashiered
from
the
navy
for
drunkenness
.
The
other
was
a
deaf
widower
with
three
grown
-
up
daughters
,
who
kept
a
clock
-
shop
in
Bayswater
!
—
Besides
,
”
she
rambled
on
,
“
I
’
m
not
so
sure
that
I
believe
in
marriage
.
You
see
I
’
m
all
for
self
-
development
and
the
chance
to
live
one
’
s
life
.
I
’
m
awfully
modern
,
you
know
.
”
