him； she was reminded by his tone of his curious abstract
declaration upon the Embankment。 Anything that hinted
at love for the moment alarmed her； it was as much an
infliction to her as the rubbing of a skinless wound。
But he went on； without waiting for her invitation。
“In the first place； such a friendship must be unemotional；”
he laid it down emphatically。 “At least； on both
sides it must be understood that if either chooses to fall
in love； he or she does so entirely at his own risk。 Neither
is under any obligation to the other。 They must be at
liberty to break or to alter at any moment。 They must be
able to say whatever they wish to say。 All this must be
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understood。”
“And they gain something worth having？” she asked。
“It’s a risk—of course it’s a risk；” he replied。 The word
was one that she had been using frequently in her arguments
with herself of late。
“But it’s the only way—if you think friendship worth
having；” he concluded。
“Perhaps under those conditions it might be；” she said
reflectively。
“Well；” he said； “those are the terms of the friendship I
wish to offer you。” She had known that this was ing；
but； none the less； felt a little shock； half of pleasure；
half of reluctance； when she heard the formal statement。
“I should like it；” she began； “but—”
“Would Rodney mind？”
“Oh no；” she replied quickly。
“No； no； it isn’t that；” she went on； and again came to
an end。 She had been touched by the unreserved and yet
ceremonious way in which he had made what he called
his offer of terms； but if he was generous it was the more
necessary for her to be cautious。 They would find them
selves in difficulties； she speculated； but； at this point；
which was not very far； after all； upon the road of caution；
her foresight deserted her。 She sought for some definite
catastrophe into which they must inevitably plunge。
But she could think of none。 It seemed to her that these
catastrophes were fictitious； life went on and on—life
was different altogether from what people said。 And not
only was she at an end of her stock of caution； but it
seemed suddenly altogether superfluous。 Surely if any one
could take care of himself； Ralph Denham could； he had
told her that he did not love her。 And； further； she meditated；
walking on beneath the beechtrees and swinging
her umbrella； as in her thought she was accustomed to
plete freedom； why should she perpetually apply so
different a standard to her behavior in practice？ Why； she
reflected； should there be this perpetual disparity between
the thought and the action； between the life of
solitude and the life of society； this astonishing precipice
on one side of which the soul was active and in
broad daylight； on the other side of which it was contemplative
and dark as night？ Was it not possible to step
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from one to the other； erect； and without essential change？
Was this not the chance he offered her—the rare and
wonderful chance of friendship？ At any rate； she told
Denham； with a sigh in which he heard both impatience
and relief； that she agreed； she thought him right； she
would accept his terms of friendship。
“Now；” she said； “let’s go and have tea。”
In fact； these principles having been laid down； a great
lightness of spirit showed itself in both of them。 They
were both convinced that something of profound importance
had been settled； and could now give their attention
to their tea and the Gardens。 They wandered in and
out of glasshouses； saw lilies swimming in tanks； breathed
in the scent of thousands of carnations； and pared
their respective tastes in the matter of trees and lakes。
While talking exclusively of what they saw； so that any
one might have overheard them； they felt that the pact
between them was made firmer and deeper by the
number of people who passed them and suspected nothing
of the kind。 The question of Ralph’s cottage and future
was not mentioned again。
CHAPTER XXVI
Although the old coaches； with their gay panels and the
guard’s horn； and the humors of the box and the vicissitudes
of the road； have long moldered into dust so far as
they were matter； and are preserved in the printed pages
of our novelists so far as they partook of the spirit； a
journey to London by express train can still be a very
pleasant and romantic adventure。 Cassandra Otway； at the
age of twentytwo； could imagine few things more pleasant。
Satiated with months of green fields as she was； the
first row of artisans’ villas on the outskirts of London
seemed to have something serious about it； which positively
increased the importance of every person in the
railway carriage； and even； to her impressionable mind；
quickened the speed of the train and gave a note of stern
authority to the shriek of the enginewhistle。 They were
bound for London； they must have precedence of all traffic
not similarly destined。 A different demeanor was necessary
directly one stepped out upon Liverpool Street
platform； and became one of those preoccupied and hasty
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citizens for whose needs innumerable taxicabs； motor
omnibuses； and underground railways were in waiting。
She did her best to look dignified and preoccupied too；
but as the cab carried her away； with a determination
which alarmed her a little； she became more and more
forgetful of her station as a citizen of London； and turned
her head from one window to another； picking up eagerly
a building on this side or a street scene on that to feed
her intense curiosity。 And yet； while the drive lasted no
one was real； nothing was ordinary； the crowds； the Government
buildings； the tide of men and women washing
the base of the great glass windows； were all generalized；
and affected her as if she saw them on the stage。
All these feelings were sustained and partly inspired by
the fact that her journey took her straight to the center
of her most romantic world。 A thousand times in the midst
of her pastoral landscape her thoughts took this precise
road； were admitted to the house in Chelsea； and went
directly upstairs to Katharine’s room； where； invisible
themselves； they had the better chance of feasting upon
the privacy of the room’s adorable and mysterious mis
tress。 Cassandra adored her cousin； the adoration might
have been foolish； but was saved from that excess and
lent an engaging charm by the volatile nature of
Cassandra’s temperament。 She had adored a great many
things and people in the course of twentytwo years； she
had been alternately the pride and the desperation of her
teachers。 She had worshipped architecture and music；
natural history and humanity； literature and art； but always
at the height of her enthusiasm； which was acpanied
by a brilliant degree of acplishment； she
changed her mind and bought； surreptitiously； another
grammar。 The terrible results which governesses had predicted
from such mental dissipation were certainly apparent
now