There was actually an
exquisite white wreath from Miss Le Pettit of Ignores, laid proudly upon
the humbler greener offerings of farmers and fisher folk, overpowering
with its elegance even an artificial wreath under glass which came from
the Bugletown corn-chandler, who was Mr. Lear's chief customer.
Loveday, watching, knew suddenly that, when her time came, she would be
an alien in death, as she was in life; that never for her would these
costly tokens of respect be gathered. Yet, instead of this thought
humbling her, instead of it teaching her the lesson that only by
striving to do her duty in the lowly course set for her could she attain
any measure of regard, it aroused in her once more, this time with an
even fiercer intensity, her ardent desire to be as different from these
good folk as possible. Miss Le Pettit had thought her different, had
admired that difference, and to Miss Le Pettit, as supreme arbiter, her
heart turned now. There was still that doorway to her future whose latch
the fair Flora's hand could lift, and this door, ajar for her, would
open wide if she were but fitly garbed to pass across its threshold.
Watching the funeral procession, which should have suggested such far
other thoughts even to her undisciplined soul, Loveday was taken only
by an idea so rash and impious that it alarmed even herself. It was the
penalty of her dark and ardent blood that fear, like despair, added to
the force of her desires.
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