"Never mind!" She smiled brightly, and waved her hand. The cab drove off, and he seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness of the street, looking, as she thought, very wonderful, very handsome.... Then, quite suddenly, she felt cold, quite lonely, almost forsaken....
For hours she could not shake off the horrible impression of his walking away from her into the darkness, leaving her alone.
After her conventional evening at home, she shed bitter tears on her pillow. Could he care for her really? She knew he did, and she suddenly suspected that it was a sort of pleasure, a kind of indulgence to him to play the ascetic when so near her, and at this fancy she felt a little momentary resentment. But as soon as she saw him again, a word or a smile was sunshine and life to her. She wanted so little, and she was again her happy and gentle self.... At least, she could see him—while, if he had gone to Athens.... Surely they would not have to wait a year? No—Savile would find out some splendid arrangement that would make it all right. She loved Woodville too much not to be hopeful; he cared too much for her not to feel, almost, despair. The conditions of their present existence were far harder for him, though she never knew it, and did not dream how much she—not he—was exacting.
CHAPTER XVI
A GOLDEN DAY
Woodville was sitting in the library, supposed to be digging up old Bluebooks for Sir James, but, instead, he found himself lingering over a curious book of poems with a white cover and a black mask on the outside. He read (and sighed):
Dear, were you mine for one full hour,
A lifetime, an hour, that is all I ask.
Dear, like a thing of lace, or a flower
Before the end would you drop your mask?
Dear, days and hours are not for me—
I may not know you, nor forgive,
For you are like the distant sea,
And I upon the hills must live.