rse,andthatitwastheirdutynottomakehisburdenheavier.Jamesknewthathisfatherwasconvincedthathehadacteddishonourably,andhe—whatdidhehimselfthink?
Jamesaskedhimselfahundredtimesadaywhetherhehadactedwellorillandthoughheforcedhimselftoanswerthathehaddonetheonlypossiblething,deepdowninhisheartwasaterrible,aperfectlymaddeninguncertainty.Hetriedtocrushit,andwouldnotlisten,forhisintelligencetoldhimclearlyitwasabsurdbutitwasstrongerthanintelligence,anincorporealshapethroughwhichpassedharmlesslythesword-cutsofhisreason.Itwasalittledevilcurledupinhisheart,mutteringtoallhisarguments,"Areyousure?"
Sometimeshewasnearlydistracted,andthenthedemonlaughed,sothatthemockingshrillnessranginhisears:
"Areyousure,myfriend—areyousure?Andwhere,pray,isthehonourwhichonlyawhileagoyouthoughtsomuchof?"
Jameswalkedtoandfrorestlessly,impatient,angrywithhimselfandwithalltheworld.
Butthenonthebreathofthewind,ontheperfumeoftheroses,yellowandred,camesuddenlytheirresistiblerecollectionofMrs.Wallace.Whyshouldhenotthinkofhernow?Hewasfreehecoulddohernoharmhewouldneverseeheragain.Thethoughtofherwastheonlysunshineinhislifehewastiredofdenyinghimselfeverypleasure.Whyshouldhecontinuethepretencethathenolongerlovedher?Itwas,indeed,aconsolationtothinkthatthelongabsencehadnotdulledhispassionthestrengthofitwasitsjustification.Itwasuselesstofightagainstit,foritwaspartofhisverysoulhemightaswellhavefoughtagainstthebeatingofhisheart.AndifitwastorturetorememberthoseolddaysinIndia,hedelightedinititwasapainmoreexquisitethanthesuffocatingodoursoftropicalflowers,avoluptuousagonysuchasmightfeelthefakirlaceratinghisfleshinadivinepossession....Everylittleoccurrencewasclear,asifithadtakenplacebutadaybefore.
Jamesrepeatedtohimselftheconversationstheyhadhad,ofnoconsequence,theidlegossipofastrayhalf-hourbuteachwordwasopulentinthecharmingsmile,inthecaressingglanceofhereyes.HewasabletoimagineMrs