He was fifty-two--sound in wind and limb--a gentleman in spite of
all his oddities and tempers--and one of the best Greek scholars of
his day. She could make her own terms. 'I would take his name--give
him my time, my brains, my friendship--in time, no doubt, my
affection.' He would not ask for more. The modern woman, no longer
young, an intellectual, with a man's work to do, can make of
marriage what she pleases. The possibilities of the relations
between men and women in the future are many, and the psychology of
them unexplored. Elizabeth was beginning to think her own case out,
when, suddenly, she felt the tears running over her cheeks.
She was back in past days. Mannering had vanished. Oh--for
love!--for youth!--for the broken faith and the wounded trust!--for
the first fresh wine of life that, once dashed from the lips, the
gods offer no more! She found herself sobbing helplessly, not for
her actual lost lover, who had passed out of her life, but for those
beautiful ghosts at whose skirts she seemed to be clutching--youth
itself, love itself.
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