Chance

I am no lover of day-breaks. You know how thin, equivocal, is the light

of the dawn. But she was now her true self, she was like a fine tranquil

afternoon--and not so very far advanced either. A woman not much over

thirty, with a dazzling complexion and a little colour, a lot of hair, a

smooth brow, a fine chin, and only the eyes of the Flora of the old days,

absolutely unchanged.

In the room into which she led me we found a Miss Somebody--I didn't

catch the name,--an unobtrusive, even an indistinct, middle-aged person

in black. A companion. All very proper. She came and went and even sat

down at times in the room, but a little apart, with some sewing. By the

time she had brought in a lighted lamp I had heard all the details which

really matter in this story. Between me and her who was once Flora de

Barral the conversation was not likely to keep strictly to the weather.

The lamp had a rosy shade; and its glow wreathed her in perpetual

blushes, made her appear wonderfully young as she sat before me in a

deep, high-backed arm-chair. I asked:

"Tell me what is it you said in that famous letter which so upset Mrs.

Fyne, and caused little Fyne to interfere in this offensive manner?"

"It was simply crude," she said earnestly. "I was feeling reckless and I

wrote recklessly. I knew she would disapprove and I wrote foolishly. It

was the echo of her own stupid talk. I said that I did not love her

brother but that I had no scruples whatever in marrying him."

She paused, hesitating, then with a shy half-laugh:

"I really believed I was selling myself, Mr. Marlow. And I was proud of

it. What I suffered afterwards I couldn't tell you; because I only

discovered my love for my poor Roderick through agonies of rage and

humiliation. I came to suspect him of despising me; but I could not put

it to the test because of my father. Oh! I would not have been too

proud. But I had to spare poor papa's feelings. Roderick was perfect,

but I felt as though I were on the rack and not allowed even to cry out.

Papa's prejudice against Roderick was my greatest grief. It was

distracting. It frightened me. Oh! I have been miserable! That night

when my poor father died suddenly I am certain they had some sort of

discussion, about me. But I did not want to hold out any longer against

my own heart! I could not."