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281
Leath
s
had
been
a
moment
earlier
.
He
recalled
with
a
faint
smile
of
retrospective
pleasure
the
girl
s
enjoyment
of
her
evening
,
and
the
innumerable
fine
feelers
of
sensation
she
had
thrown
out
to
its
impressions
.
282
It
gave
him
a
curiously
close
sense
of
her
presence
to
think
that
at
that
moment
she
was
living
over
her
enjoyment
as
intensely
as
he
was
living
over
his
unhappiness
.
His
own
case
was
irremediable
,
but
it
was
easy
enough
to
give
her
a
few
more
hours
of
pleasure
.
And
did
she
not
perhaps
secretly
expect
it
of
him
?
After
all
,
if
she
had
been
very
anxious
to
join
her
friends
she
would
have
telegraphed
them
on
reaching
Paris
,
instead
of
writing
.
He
wondered
now
that
he
had
not
been
struck
at
the
moment
by
so
artless
a
device
to
gain
more
time
.
The
fact
of
her
having
practised
it
did
not
make
him
think
less
well
of
her
;
it
merely
strengthened
the
impulse
to
use
his
opportunity
.
She
was
starving
,
poor
child
,
for
a
little
amusement
,
a
little
personal
life
why
not
give
her
the
chance
of
another
day
in
Paris
?
If
he
did
so
,
should
he
not
be
merely
falling
in
with
her
own
hopes
?
283
At
the
thought
his
sympathy
for
her
revived
.
She
became
of
absorbing
interest
to
him
as
an
escape
from
himself
and
an
object
about
which
his
thwarted
activities
could
cluster
.
He
felt
less
drearily
alone
because
of
her
being
there
,
on
the
other
side
of
the
door
,
and
in
his
gratitude
to
her
for
giving
him
this
relief
he
began
,
with
indolent
amusement
,
to
plan
new
ways
of
detaining
her
.
He
dropped
back
into
his
chair
,
lit
a
cigar
,
and
smiled
a
little
at
the
image
of
her
smiling
face
Отключить рекламу
284
He
tried
to
imagine
what
incident
of
the
day
she
was
likely
to
be
recalling
at
that
particular
moment
,
and
what
part
he
probably
played
in
it
.
That
it
was
not
a
small
part
he
was
certain
,
and
the
knowledge
was
undeniably
pleasant
.
285
Now
and
then
a
sound
from
her
room
brought
before
him
more
vividly
the
reality
of
the
situation
and
the
strangeness
of
the
vast
swarming
solitude
in
which
he
and
she
were
momentarily
isolated
,
amid
long
lines
of
rooms
each
holding
its
separate
secret
.
The
nearness
of
all
these
other
mysteries
enclosing
theirs
gave
Darrow
a
more
intimate
sense
of
the
girl
s
presence
,
and
through
the
fumes
of
his
cigar
his
imagination
continued
to
follow
her
to
and
fro
,
traced
the
curve
of
her
slim
young
arms
as
she
raised
them
to
undo
her
hair
,
pictured
the
sliding
down
of
her
dress
to
the
waist
and
then
to
the
knees
,
and
the
whiteness
of
her
feet
as
she
slipped
across
the
floor
to
bed
.
.
.
286
He
stood
up
and
shook
himself
with
a
yawn
,
throwing
away
the
end
of
his
cigar
.
His
glance
,
in
following
it
,
lit
on
the
telegram
which
had
dropped
to
the
floor
.
The
sounds
in
the
next
room
had
ceased
,
and
once
more
he
felt
alone
and
unhappy
.
287
Opening
the
window
,
he
folded
his
arms
on
the
sill
and
looked
out
on
the
vast
light
-
spangled
mass
of
the
city
,
and
then
up
at
the
dark
sky
,
in
which
the
morning
planet
stood
.
Отключить рекламу
288
At
the
Theatre
Français
,
the
next
afternoon
,
Darrow
yawned
and
fidgeted
in
his
seat
.
289
The
day
was
warm
,
the
theatre
crowded
and
airless
,
and
the
performance
,
it
seemed
to
him
,
intolerably
bad
.
He
stole
a
glance
at
his
companion
,
wondering
if
she
shared
his
feelings
.
Her
rapt
profile
betrayed
no
unrest
,
but
politeness
might
have
caused
her
to
feign
an
interest
that
she
did
not
feel
.
He
leaned
back
impatiently
,
stifling
another
yawn
,
and
trying
to
fix
his
attention
on
the
stage
.
Great
things
were
going
forward
there
,
and
he
was
not
insensible
to
the
stern
beauties
of
the
ancient
drama
.
But
the
interpretation
of
the
play
seemed
to
him
as
airless
and
lifeless
as
the
atmosphere
of
the
theatre
.
The
players
were
the
same
whom
he
had
often
applauded
in
those
very
parts
,
and
perhaps
that
fact
added
to
the
impression
of
staleness
and
conventionality
produced
by
their
performance
.
Surely
it
was
time
to
infuse
new
blood
into
the
veins
of
the
moribund
art
.
He
had
the
impression
that
the
ghosts
of
actors
were
giving
a
spectral
performance
on
the
shores
of
Styx
.
290
Certainly
it
was
not
the
most
profitable
way
for
a
young
man
with
a
pretty
companion
to
pass
the
golden
hours
of
a
spring
afternoon
.
The
freshness
of
the
face
at
his
side
,
reflecting
the
freshness
of
the
season
,
suggested
dapplings
of
sunlight
through
new
leaves
,
the
sound
of
a
brook
in
the
grass
,
the
ripple
of
tree
-
shadows
over
breezy
meadows
.
.
.