In their discussion about the emotion of the heart Artois had spoken
the truth to Hermione. As he had grown older he had felt the influence
of women less. The pleasures of sentiment had been gradually
superceded in his nature--or so at least he honestly believed--by the
purely intellectual pleasures. More and more completely and
contentedly had he lived in his work, and in the life of preparation
for it. This life could never be narrow, for Artois was a traveller,
and studied many lands.

In the years that had elapsed since the tragedy in Sicily, when the
husband of Hermione had met his death suddenly in the sea, almost in
sight of the home of the girl he had betrayed, the fame of Artois had
grown steadily. And he was jealous of his fame almost as a good woman
is jealous of her honor. This jealousy had led him to a certain
selfishness of which he was quite aware--even to a certain hardness
such as he had hinted to Hermione. Those who strove, or seemed likely
to strive to interrupt him in his work, he pushed out of his life.
Even if they were charming women he got rid of them. And the fact that
he did so proved to him, and not improbably to them, that he was more
wrapped up in the gratification of the mind than in the gratification
of the heart, or of the body. It was not that the charm of charming
women had ceased to please him, but it seemed to have ceased really to
fascinate him.

Long ago, before Hermione married, he had felt for her a warm and
intimate friendship. He had even been jealous of Maurice. Without
being at all in love, he had cared enough for Hermione to be jealous.
Before her marriage he had looked forward in imagination down a vista
of long years, and had seen her with a husband, then with children,