Jocelyn shook her head gently and said, “There are two sides to that.”
“Certainly, my dear young lady, there are two sides to every question. I am quite willing to hear the other side—but to me music—pictures—books, they are all frrills, charrming frrills. They don’t begin till the garment is completed. They rrise out of leisure, and there is not any leisure, don’t you see, until there is alrready a civilisation. After all, a man must eat—that comes first.” He nodded his head mournfully, as if the fact were painful to him.
But all his efforts to draw her into argument were of no avail; the drive ended silently, and he left her at the door of the Mansions. He walked away slowly eastwards, looking absently at the grey water running through the dark arches of the bridge, and every now and then shaking his head gravely.
Jocelyn climbed the two flights of stairs to the flat, and let herself in with her key. She went straight to her bedroom, the thought of her aunt’s society at that moment was intolerable to her, and she muffled her footsteps as she passed the drawing-room.
She took off her hat and gloves, and flung herself into a chair in front of the empty fireplace. She sat there for some minutes, rocking herself to and fro, with her hands crossed in her lap.
She was haunted by that picture, its endless whirlwind of motion, its anguish. In the face of Paolo something reminded her of Giles. It seemed to her that she read in the picture, for herself and for him, the cruel denial of rest, the resistless decree of an eternal punishment through immeasurable space.
She sprang to her feet, and paced to and fro the length of her room, pressing her hands to her throbbing temples. After a time, the soft monotony of her own footsteps on the carpet soothed her; she paused in front of the window, and flung it open. The air was sweet and warm, and there was a faint sound of raindrops plashing gently on the young leaves of the trees. The church clock was striking “five.” She shut her eyes and listened—another and another echoed the refrain, till the world seemed full of a wistful chiming. It ceased. She reached her hand out along the window, leaning against the half-opened casement. Some drops of rain fell upon her face.
The paroxysm of her pain had passed away, she only felt alone—very tired, and alone.
Presently she bathed her face with cold water, changed her dress, and went to the drawing-room pale and quite calm.
Mrs. Travis, upright in her chair, with watchful green eyes and a silver-grey dress, was playing “Patience.” Jocelyn shivered a little.