lingwithgratitude,becauseProvidencehadgivenhimtheenduringloveofsobeautifulandenchantingalittlewoman.
"P.W.isworthtenofyou,"Jamestoldherindignantlyoneday,whenhehadbeenwitnesstosomeaudaciousdeception.
"Well,hedoesn'tthinkso.Andthat'sthechiefthing."
Jamesdarednotseeher.Itwasobviouslybesttohavedestroyedtheletter.Afterall,itwasprobablynothingmorethanacurt,formalcongratulation,anditscoldnesswouldnearlyhavebrokenhisheart.Hefearedalsolestinhisnever-ceasingthoughthehadcrystallisedhisbelovedintosomethingquitedifferentfromreality.Hisimaginationwasveryactive,anditsconstantplayuponthosefewrecollectionsmighteasilyhaveaddedmanyafalsedelight.TomeetMrs.WallacewouldonlybringperhapsapainfuldisillusionandofthatJameswasterrified,forwithoutthispassionwhichoccupiedhiswholesoulhewouldbenowsingularlyaloneintheworld.Itwasafantastic,charmingfigurethathehadmadeforhimself,andhecouldworshipitwithoutdangerandwithoutreproach.Wasitnotbettertopreservehisdreamfromthesullenirruptionoffact?Butwhywouldthatperfumecomeperpetuallyentanglingitselfwithhismemory?Itgavetheimagenewsubstanceandwhenheclosedhiseyes,thewomanseemedsonearthathecouldfeelagainsthisfacethefragranceofherbreath.
Hedinedalone,andspentthehoursthatfollowedinreading.Bysomechancehewasabletofindnooneheknew,andhefeltratherbored.Hewenttobedwithaheadache,feelingalreadythedrearinessofLondonwithoutfriends.
NextmorningJameswanderedinthePark,freshanddelightfulwiththerhododendronsbutthepeoplehesawhurthimbytheiralmostaggressivehappiness—vivacious,cheerful,andcareless,theywereallevidentlyofopinionthatnoreasonablecreaturecouldcomplainwiththebestofallpossibleworlds.Thegirlsthathurriedpastonponies,oronbicyclesupanddownthewell-keptroad,gavehimanimpressionoflight-heartednesswhichwasfascinating,yetmadehisownsolitudemoreintolerable.Theircheeksglowedwithhealthinessinthesummerair,andtheirgestures,theirlaughter,werecharminglyanimated.HenoticedthesmilewhichaslenderAmazongavetoam