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“
There
are
prejudices
and
prejudices
.
My
mother
,
of
course
,
got
hers
from
Monsieur
de
Chantelle
,
and
they
seem
to
me
as
much
in
their
place
in
this
house
as
the
pot
-
pourri
in
your
hawthorn
jar
.
They
preserve
a
social
tradition
of
which
I
should
be
sorry
to
lose
the
least
perfume
.
Of
course
I
don
’
t
expect
you
,
just
at
first
,
to
feel
the
difference
,
to
see
the
nuance
.
In
the
case
of
little
Madame
de
Vireville
,
for
instance
:
you
point
out
that
she
’
s
still
under
her
husband
’
s
roof
.
Very
true
;
and
if
she
were
merely
a
Paris
acquaintance
—
especially
if
you
had
met
her
,
as
one
still
might
,
in
the
right
kind
of
house
in
Paris
—
I
should
be
the
last
to
object
to
your
visiting
her
.
But
in
the
country
it
’
s
different
.
Even
the
best
provincial
society
is
what
you
would
call
narrow
:
I
don
’
t
deny
it
;
and
if
some
of
our
friends
met
Madame
de
Vireville
at
Givre
—
well
,
it
would
produce
a
bad
impression
.
You
’
re
inclined
to
ridicule
such
considerations
,
but
gradually
you
’
ll
come
to
see
their
importance
;
and
meanwhile
,
do
trust
me
when
I
ask
you
to
be
guided
by
my
mother
.
It
is
always
well
for
a
stranger
in
an
old
society
to
err
a
little
on
the
side
of
what
you
call
its
prejudices
but
I
should
rather
describe
as
its
traditions
.
”
After
that
she
no
longer
tried
to
laugh
or
argue
her
husband
out
of
his
convictions
.
They
were
convictions
,
and
therefore
unassailable
.
Nor
was
any
insincerity
implied
in
the
fact
that
they
sometimes
seemed
to
coincide
with
hers
.
There
were
occasions
when
he
really
did
look
at
things
as
she
did
;
but
for
reasons
so
different
as
to
make
the
distance
between
them
all
the
greater
.
Life
,
to
Mr
.
Leath
,
was
like
a
walk
through
a
carefully
classified
museum
,
where
,
in
moments
of
doubt
,
one
had
only
to
look
at
the
number
and
refer
to
one
’
s
catalogue
;
to
his
wife
it
was
like
groping
about
in
a
huge
dark
lumber
-
room
where
the
exploring
ray
of
curiosity
lit
up
now
some
shape
of
breathing
beauty
and
now
a
mummy
’
s
grin
.
In
the
first
bewilderment
of
her
new
state
these
discoveries
had
had
the
effect
of
dropping
another
layer
of
gauze
between
herself
and
reality
.
She
seemed
farther
than
ever
removed
from
the
strong
joys
and
pangs
for
which
she
felt
herself
made
.
She
did
not
adopt
her
husband
’
s
views
,
but
insensibly
she
began
to
live
his
life
.
She
tried
to
throw
a
compensating
ardour
into
the
secret
excursions
of
her
spirit
,
and
thus
the
old
vicious
distinction
between
romance
and
reality
was
re
-
established
for
her
,
and
she
resigned
herself
again
to
the
belief
that
“
real
life
”
was
neither
real
nor
alive
.
The
birth
of
her
little
girl
swept
away
this
delusion
.
At
last
she
felt
herself
in
contact
with
the
actual
business
of
living
:
but
even
this
impression
was
not
enduring
.
Everything
but
the
irreducible
crude
fact
of
child
-
bearing
assumed
,
in
the
Leath
household
,
the
same
ghostly
tinge
of
unreality
.
Her
husband
,
at
the
time
,
was
all
that
his
own
ideal
of
a
husband
required
He
was
attentive
,
and
even
suitably
moved
:
but
as
he
sat
by
her
bedside
,
and
thoughtfully
proffered
to
her
the
list
of
people
who
had
“
called
to
enquire
”
,
she
looked
first
at
him
,
and
then
at
the
child
between
them
,
and
wondered
at
the
blundering
alchemy
of
Nature
.
.
.
With
the
exception
of
the
little
girl
herself
,
everything
connected
with
that
time
had
grown
curiously
remote
and
unimportant
.
The
days
that
had
moved
so
slowly
as
they
passed
seemed
now
to
have
plunged
down
head
-
long
steeps
of
time
;
and
as
she
sat
in
the
autumn
sun
,
with
Darrow
’
s
letter
in
her
hand
,
the
history
of
Anna
Leath
appeared
to
its
heroine
like
some
grey
shadowy
tale
that
she
might
have
read
in
an
old
book
,
one
night
as
she
was
falling
asleep
.
.
.
Two
brown
blurs
emerging
from
the
farther
end
of
the
wood
-
vista
gradually
defined
themselves
as
her
step
-
son
and
an
attendant
game
-
keeper
.
They
grew
slowly
upon
the
bluish
background
,
with
occasional
delays
and
re
-
effacements
,
and
she
sat
still
,
waiting
till
they
should
reach
the
gate
at
the
end
of
the
drive
,
where
the
keeper
would
turn
off
to
his
cottage
and
Owen
continue
on
to
the
house
.
She
watched
his
approach
with
a
smile
.
From
the
first
days
of
her
marriage
she
had
been
drawn
to
the
boy
,
but
it
was
not
until
after
Effie
’
s
birth
that
she
had
really
begun
to
know
him
.
The
eager
observation
of
her
own
child
had
shown
her
how
much
she
had
still
to
learn
about
the
slight
fair
boy
whom
the
holidays
periodically
restored
to
Givre
.
Owen
,
even
then
,
both
physically
and
morally
,
furnished
her
with
the
oddest
of
commentaries
on
his
father
’
s
mien
and
mind
.
He
would
never
,
the
family
sighingly
recognized
,
be
nearly
as
handsome
as
Mr
.
Leath
;
but
his
rather
charmingly
unbalanced
face
,
with
its
brooding
forehead
and
petulant
boyish
smile
,
suggested
to
Anna
what
his
father
’
s
countenance
might
have
been
could
one
have
pictured
its
neat
features
disordered
by
a
rattling
breeze
.
She
even
pushed
the
analogy
farther
,
and
descried
in
her
step
-
son
’
s
mind
a
quaintly
-
twisted
reflection
of
her
husband
’
s
.
With
his
bursts
of
door
-
slamming
activity
,
his
fits
of
bookish
indolence
,
his
crude
revolutionary
dogmatizing
and
his
flashes
of
precocious
irony
,
the
boy
was
not
unlike
a
boisterous
embodiment
of
his
father
’
s
theories
.
