He tried to picture her living as poor ladies live; he had seen them
sometimes at Mrs. Downey's. He could not see her there, or rather,
seeing her he could see nothing else; he perceived that surroundings
and material accessories contributed nothing to his idea of her.
Still, he knew nothing; and he had to accept his ignorance as part,
and the worst part, of the separation that was his punishment. Many
mixed feelings, shame and passion, delicacy and pride restrained him
from asking Jewdwine any question. Even if Jewdwine had not told him
as much, he would have known that his acquaintance with Jewdwine's
affairs would not involve acquaintance with Jewdwine's family. He had
absolutely nothing to hope for from that connection.
And yet he hoped. The probabilities were that if Lucia did not make
her home with her cousins, she would at any rate stay with them the
greater part of the year. He was always walking up to Hampstead Heath
on the chance of some day seeing her there. Sometimes he would pass by
the front of Jewdwine's beautiful old brown house, and glance quickly
through the delicate iron gate and up at the windows. But she was
never there. Sometimes he would sit for hours on one of the seats
under the elm tree at the back. There was a high walk there
overlooking the West Heath and shaded by the elms and by Jewdwine's
garden wall. The wall had a door in it that might some day open and
let out the thing he longed for.
Pages:
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409