Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. ‘Gerald, this is a nun’s habit. . With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. He was dressed with the utmost care, and he set his feet upon the broad walk as though the action were in some way a condescension. They are not your children, they never were. For the most part these were detached people: men practising the plastic arts, young writers, young men in employment, a very large proportion of girls and women—self-supporting women or girls of the student class. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. ‘But lay him down. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room. But it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. She was shifting, moving back. The boy had all kinds of opportunity; but it's the old story of father making it too easy. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him.
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