If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. ’ She sniffed and swallowed. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. ’ He called through the library door. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon.
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