at the embalmed face of one who had long since died in shame, which only
brought back the cruellest of all memories, that which one would give
one's best years to forget. With a fortitude beyond description she had
faced it, gently, quietly, but firmly faced it--firmly, because she had
to be firm in keeping him within those bounds the invasion of which would
have killed her. And after the first struggle with his unchangeable
brutality it had been easier: for into his degenerate brain there had
come a faint understanding of the real situation and of her. He had
kept his side of the gulf, but gloating on this touch between the old
luxurious, indulgent life, with its refined vices, and this present
coarse, hard life, where pleasures were few and gross. The free Northern
life of toil and hardship had not refined him. He greedily hung over
this treasure, which was not for his spending, yet was his own--as though
in a bank he had hoards of money which he might not withdraw.

So the years had gone on, with their recurrent dreaded anniversaries,
carrying misery almost too great to be borne by this woman mated to the
loathed phantom of a sad, dead life; and when this black day of each year
was over, for a few days afterwards she went nowhere, was seen by none.
Yet, when she did appear again, it was with her old laughing manner, her
cheerful and teasing words, her quick response to the emotions of others.

So it had gone till Varley had come to follow the open air life for four
months, after a heavy illness due to blood-poisoning got in his surgical
work in London. She had been able to live her life without too great a
struggle till he came. Other men had flattered her vanity, had given her
a sense of power, had made her understand her possibilities, but nothing
more--nothing of what Varley brought with him. And before three months
had gone, she knew that no man had ever interested her as Varley had
done. Ten years before, she would not have appreciated or understood