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That's how 。。。 and that's what I am doing now。 Beginning all
over again。 〃 His voice dropped from boastfulness to a note
of wistful melancholy； the look of strained jauntiness fell from
his face like a mask； and for an instant she saw the real man；
old； ruined； lonely。 Yes； that was it： he was lonely；
desperately lonely； foundering in such deep seas of solitude
that any presence out of the past was like a spar to which he
clung。 Whatever he knew or guessed of the part she had played
in his disaster； it was not callousness that had made him greet
her with such forgiving warmth； but the same sense of smallness；
insignificance and isolation which perpetually hung like a cold
fog on her own horizon。 Suddenly she too felt oldold and
unspeakably tired。
〃It's been nice seeing you； Nelson。 But now I must be getting
home。〃
He offered no objection； but asked for the bill； resumed his
jaunty air while he scattered largesse among the waiters； and
sauntered out behind her after calling for a taxi。
They drove off in silence。 Susy was thinking： 〃And Clarissa？〃
but dared not ask。 Vanderlyn lit a cigarette； hummed a dance…
tune； and stared out of the window。 Suddenly she felt his hand
on hers。
〃Susydo you ever see her？〃
〃SeeEllie？〃
He nodded； without turning toward her。
〃Not often 。。。 sometimes 。。。。〃
〃If you do； for God's sake tell her I'm happy 。。。 happy as a
king 。。。 tell her you could see for yourself that I was 。。。。〃
His voice broke in a little gasp。 〃I 。。。 I'll be damned if 。。。
if she shall ever be unhappy about me 。。。 if I can help it 。。。。〃
The cigarette dropped from his fingers； and with a sob he
covered his face。
〃Oh； poor Nelsonpoor Nelson； 〃 Susy breathed。 While their cab
rattled across the Place du Carrousel； and over the bridge； he
continued to sit beside her with hidden face。 At last he pulled
out a scented handkerchief； rubbed his eyes with it； and groped
for another cigarette。
〃I'm all right！ Tell her that； will you； Susy？ There are some
of our old times I don't suppose I shall ever forget； but they
make me feel kindly to her； and not angry。 I didn't know it
would be so； beforehandbut it is 。。。。 And now the thing's
settled I'm as right as a trivet； and you can tell her so 。。。。
Look here； Susy 。。。〃 he caught her by the arm as the taxi drew
up at her hotel 。。。。 〃Tell her I understand； will you？ I'd
rather like her to know that 。。。。 〃
〃I'll tell her； Nelson；〃 she promised； and climbed the stairs
alone to her dreary room。
Susy's one fear was that Strefford； when he returned the next
day； should treat their talk of the previous evening as a fit of
〃nerves〃 to be jested away。 He might； indeed； resent her
behaviour too deeply to seek to see her at once； but his
easygoing modern attitude toward conduct and convictions made
that improbable。 She had an idea that what he had most minded
was her dropping so unceremoniously out of the Embassy Dinner。
But； after all； why should she see him again？ She had had
enough of explanations during the last months to have learned
how seldom they explain anything。 If the other person did not
understand at the first word； at the first glance even；
subsequent elucidations served only to deepen the obscurity。
And she wanted above alland especially since her hour with
Nelson Vanderlynto keep herself free； aloof； to retain her
hold on her precariously recovered self。 She sat down and wrote
to Streffordand the letter was only a little less painful to
write than the one she had despatched to Nick。 It was not that
her own feelings were in any like measure engaged； but because；
as the decision to give up Strefford affirmed itself； she
remembered only his kindness； his forbearance； his good humour；
and all the other qualities she had always liked in him； and
because she felt ashamed of the hesitations which must cause him
so much pain and humiliation。 Yes： humiliation chiefly。 She
knew that what she had to say would hurt his pride； in whatever
way she framed her renunciation； and her pen wavered； hating its
task。 Then she remembered Vanderlyn's words about his wife：
〃There are some of our old times I don't suppose I shall ever
forget〃 and a phrase of Grace Fulmer's that she had but half
grasped at the time： 〃You haven't been married long enough to
understand how trifling such things seem in the balance of one's
memories。〃
Here were two people who had penetrated farther than she into
the labyrinth of the wedded state； and struggled through some of
its thorniest passages； and yet both； one consciously； the other
half…unaware； testified to the mysterious fact which was already
dawning on her： that the influence of a marriage begun in
mutual understanding is too deep not to reassert itself even in
the moment of flight and denial。
〃The real reason is that you're not Nick〃 was what she would
have said to Strefford if she had dared to set down the bare
truth； and she knew that； whatever she wrote； he was too acute
not to read that into it。
〃He'll think it's because I'm still in love with Nick 。。。 and
perhaps I am。 But even if I were； the difference doesn't seem
to lie there； after all； but deeper； in things we've shared that
seem to be meant to outlast love； or to change it into something
different。〃 If she could have hoped to make Strefford
understand that； the letter would have been easy enough to
writebut she knew just at what point his imagination would
fail； in what obvious and superficial inferences it would rest
〃Poor Streffpoor me！〃 she thought as she sealed the letter。
After she had despatched it a sense of blankness descended on
her。 She had succeeded in driving from her mind all vain
hesitations； doubts； returns upon herself： her healthy system
naturally rejected them。 But they left a queer emptiness in
which her thoughts rattled about as thoughts might； she
supposed； in the first moments after deathbefore one got used
to it。 To get used to being dead： that seemed to be her
immediate business。 And she felt such a novice at itfelt so
horribly alive！ How had those others learned to do without
living？ Nelsonwell； he was still in the throes； and probably
never would understand； or be able to communicate； the lesson
when he had mastered it。 But Grace Fulmershe suddenly
remembered that Grace was in Paris； and set forth to find her。
XXIV
NICK LANSING had walked out a long way into the Campagna。 His
hours were seldom his own； for both Mr。 and Mrs。 Hicks were
becoming more and more addicted to sudden and somewhat imperious
demands upon his time； but on this occasion he had simply
slipped away after luncheon； and taking the tram to the Porta
Salaria； had wandered on thence in the direction of the Ponte
Nomentano。
He wanted to get away and think； but now that he had done it the
business proved as unfruitful as everything he had put