As
the Duchess of Snowdon had said: "It would all depend upon the other man,
whoever he might be."
So he answered her with superficial cheerfulness now; he had not the
depth of soul to see that they were at a crisis, and that she could bear
no longer the old method of treating her as though she were a child, to
be humoured or to be dominated.
"Well, you see all there is," he answered; "you are so imaginative,
crying for some moon there never was in any sky."
In part he had spoken the truth. He had no high objects or ends or
purposes. He wanted only success somehow or another, and there was no
nobility of mind or aspiration behind it. In her heart of hearts she knew
it; but it was the last cry of her soul to him, seeking, though in vain,
for what she had never had, could never have.
"What have you been doing?" he added, looking at the desk where she had
sat, glancing round the room. "Has the Duchess left any rags on the
multitude of her acquaintances? I wonder that you can make yourself
contented here with nothing to do.
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