He had
known many bitter hours, and out of them had learned a dogged scepticism--a
cynical mistrust of the thing which is called love. And with all the young,
uplifting faith that was in her Ann vowed to herself that what one woman
had pulled down, destroyed, she would build up and make live again.
She was no longer frightened of love--not even of a love that by the very
nature of things might exact far more from her than from most women. She
would never be afraid of the big claims which life might make on her.
Hitherto, whatever had come her way she had met with a gay courage and
confidence, and now that the biggest thing of all had come to her, with its
shadow of incalculable demands upon her womanhood, she would go to meet
that, too, with the same brave steadfastness.
With the unerring instinct of the mother-woman, she realised how Eliot had
fought against his love for her, tried to withstand it, utterly distrustful
of her sex, and she smiled with a tenderly amused indulgence as she
recalled his sudden withdrawals and brusquenesses. His sending down a groom
to inquire how she was--it had hurt her badly at the time to think he cared
so little. But now she recognised that it was because he cared so much--so
much that he had begun to be afraid.
Pages:
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243