At the time when he had first admitted, welcomed, her claim on him, he
had felt a sudden energy in which he had recognized a play of the traits
of a black Penny. Here was a satisfactory, if necessarily private,
exercise of his inborn contempt for the evident hypocrisy, the
cowardice, of perfunctory inhibitions and safe morals. That, however,
had been speedily lost in his rocketing passion, flaring out of a quiet
continence into giddy spaces of unrestraint. Essie, after a momentary
surrender, had attempted retreat, expressing a doubt of the durability
of their feeling; she had, in fact, made it painfully clear that she
wished to escape from the uncomfortable volume of his fervour; but he
had overborne her caution--her wisdom, he now expressed it.

That, more than anything else, brought before him the undeniable passage
of time, the fact that he was rapidly accomplishing middle age--the
total extinguishing of an emotion which he had felt must outlast life.
It had gone, and with it his youth. Of course, he had recognized that he
was no longer thirty; he had been well aware of his years, but only
during the last few weeks had there been the slight, perceptible
dragging down.... On the black walnut dressing stand past the window lay
a letter he had received from Essie that morning; it contained her usual
appeal for an additional sum of money--he gave her, formally, six
thousand dollars a year; and the manner of the demand, for the
necessities of their daughter, showed his sharpened perceptions that she
had never really experienced the blindness of a generous emotion.
Eunice, the child, was incontrovertible proof of that--no more than an
additional lever for her to swing.

His face darkened, and he moved his shoulder impatiently, as if to throw
off a burden grown unendurable. But it was fastened immovably--his