The
Grand Turk nature within him, if not actually dead, was certainly in
abeyance. He was so intent on his own affairs that he paid no heed at all
to his wife's, even when they might be said to be also his. Leo Ulford
was becoming difficult to manage, and Lord Holme still gaily went his
way. As Lady Holme thought over Sir Donald's words she felt a crushing
weight of depression sink down upon her. The brougham rolled smoothly on
through the lighted streets. She did not glance out of the windows, or
notice the passing crowds. In the silence and darkness of her own soul
she was trying not to feel, trying to think.
A longing to be incautious, to do something startling, desperate, came to
her.
It was evident that Mrs. Ulford had been complaining to Sir Donald about
his son's conduct. With whom? Lady Holme could not doubt that it was with
herself. She had read, with one glance at the fluttering pink eyelids,
the story of the Leo Ulford's /menage/. Now, she was not preoccupied with
any regret for her own cruelty or for another woman's misery. The egoism
spoken of by Carey was not dead in her yet, but very much alive. As she
sat in the corner of the brougham, pressing herself against the padded
wall, she was angry for herself, pitiful for herself. And she was
jealous--horribly jealous. That woke up her imagination, all the
intensity of her. Where was Fritz to-night? She did not know. Suddenly
the dense ignorance in which every human being lives, and must live to
the end of time, towered above her like a figure in a nightmare.
Pages:
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211