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and mannoble man； innocent manfalls a victim。 My poor Gombauld！
Surely you're not going to sing that old song again。 It's so unintelligent；
and I always thought you were a man of sense。〃
〃Thanks；〃 said Gombauld。
〃Be a little objective；〃 Anne went on。 〃Can't you see that you're
simply externalising your own emotions？ That's what you men are
always doing； it's so barbarously naive。 You feel one of your loose
desires for some woman； and because you desire her strongly you
immediately accuse her of luring you on； of deliberately provoking and
inviting the desire。 You have the mentality of savages。 You might just
as well say that a plate of strawberries and cream deliberately lures you on
to feel greedy。 In ninety…nine cases out of a hundred women are as passive
and innocent as the strawberries and cream。〃
〃Well； all I can say is that this must be the hundredth case；〃 said
Gombauld； without looking up。
Anne shrugged her shoulders and gave vent to a sigh。 〃I'm at a loss
to know whether you're more silly or more rude。〃
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After painting for a little time in silence Gombauld began to speak
again。 〃And then there's Denis；〃 he said； renewing the conversation as
though it had only just been broken off。 〃You're playing the same game
with him。 Why can't you leave that wretched young man in peace？〃
Anne flushed with a sudden and uncontrollable anger。 〃It's perfectly
untrue about Denis；〃 she said indignantly。 〃I never dreamt of playing
what you beautifully call the same game with him。〃 Recovering her calm；
she added in her ordinary cooing voice and with her exacerbating smile；
〃You've become very protective towards poor Denis all of a sudden。〃
〃I have；〃 Gombauld replied； with a gravity that was somehow a little
too solemn。 〃I don't like to see a young man。。。〃
〃。。。being whirled along the road to ruin；〃 said Anne； continuing his
sentence for him。 I admire your sentiments and； believe me； I share
them。〃
She was curiously irritated at what Gombauld had said about Denis。
It happened to be so completely untrue。 Gombauld might have some
slight ground for his reproaches。 But Denisno； she had never flirted
with Denis。 Poor boy！ He was very sweet。 She became somewhat
pensive。
Gombauld painted on with fury。 The restlessness of an unsatisfied
desire； which； before； had distracted his mind； making work impossible；
seemed now to have converted itself into a kind of feverish energy。
When it was finished； he told himself； the portrait would be diabolic。 He
was painting her in the pose she had naturally adopted at the first sitting。
Seated sideways； her elbow on the back of the chair； her head and
shoulders turned at an angle from the rest of her body； towards the front；
she had fallen into an attitude of indolent abandonment。 He had
emphasised the lazy curves of her body； the lines sagged as they crossed
the canvas； the grace of the painted figure seemed to be melting into a
kind of soft decay。 The hand that lay along the knee was as limp as a
glove。 He was at work on the face now； it had begun to emerge on the
canvas； doll…like in its regularity and listlessness。 It was Anne's facebut
her face as it would be； utterly unillumined by the inward lights of thought
and emotion。 It was the lazy； expressionless mask which was sometimes
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her face。 The portrait was terribly like； and at the same time it was the
most malicious of lies。 Yes； it would be diabolic when it was finished；
Gombauld decided； he wondered what she would think of it。
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CHAPTER XXII。
For the sake of peace and quiet Denis had retired earlier on this same
afternoon to his bedroom。 He wanted to work； but the hour was a drowsy
one； and lunch； so recently eaten； weighed heavily on body and mind。
The meridian demon was upon him； he was possessed by that bored and
hopeless post…prandial melancholy which the coenobites of old knew and
feared under the name of 〃accidie。〃 He felt； like Ernest Dowson； 〃a little
weary。〃 He was in the mood to write something rather exquisite and
gentle and quietist in tone； something a little droopy and at the same time…
…how should he put it？a little infinite。 He thought of Anne； of love
hopeless and unattainable。 Perhaps that was the ideal kind of love； the
hopeless kindthe quiet； theoretical kind of love。 In this sad mood of
repletion he could well believe it。 He began to write。 One elegant
quatrain had flowed from beneath his pen：
〃A brooding love which is at most The stealth of moonbeams when
they slide； Evoking colour's bloodless ghost； O'er some scarce…breathing
breast or side。。。〃
when his attention was attracted by a sound from outside。 He looked
down from his window； there they were； Anne and Gombauld； talking；
laughing together。 They crossed the courtyard in front； and passed out of
sight through the gate in the right…hand wall。 That was the way to the
green close and the granary； she was going to sit for him again。 His
pleasantly depressing melancholy was dissipated by a puff of violent
emotion； angrily he threw his quatrain into the waste…paper basket and ran
downstairs。 〃The stealth of moonbeams；〃 indeed！
In the hall he saw Mr。 Scogan； the man seemed to be lying in wait。
Denis tried to escape； but in vain。 Mr。 Scogan's eye glittered like the eye
of the Ancient Mariner。
〃Not so fast；〃 he said； stretching out a small saurian hand with pointed
nails〃not so fast。 I was just going down to the flower garden to take the
sun。 We'll go together。〃
Denis abandoned himself