usions! But he went on to reflect that he had done very
wisely to pull up stakes and come abroad; this seeing of the world was
a very interesting thing. He had learned a great deal; he couldn't say
just what, but he had it there under his hat-band. He had done what he
wanted; he had seen the great things, and he had given his mind a chance
to "improve," if it would. He cheerfully believed that it had improved.
Yes, this seeing of the world was very pleasant, and he would willingly
do a little more of it. Thirty-six years old as he was, he had a
handsome stretch of life before him yet, and he need not begin to
count his weeks. Where should he take the world next? I have said he
remembered the eyes of the lady whom he had found standing in Mrs.
Tristram's drawing-room; four months had elapsed, and he had not
forgotten them yet. He had looked--he had made a point of looking--into
a great many other eyes in the interval, but the only ones he thought
of now were Madame de Cintre's. If he wanted to see more of the world,
should he find it in Madame de Cintre's eyes? He would certainly find
something there, call it this world or the next. Throughout these rather
formless meditations he sometimes thought of his past life and the long
array of years (they had begun so early) during which he had had nothing
in his head but "enterprise." They seemed far away now, for his present
attitude was more than a holiday, it was almost a rupture. He had told
Tristram that the pendulum was swinging back and it appeared that the
backward swing had not yet ended. Still "enterprise," which was over
in the other quarter wore to his mind a different aspect at different
hours. In its train a thousand forgotten episodes came trooping back
into his memory. Some of them he looked complacently enough in the face;
from some he averted his head. They were old efforts, old exploits,
antiquated examples of "smartness" and sharpness. Some of them, as he
looked at them, he felt decidedly proud of; he admired himself as if
he had been looking at another man. And, in fact, many of the qualities
that make a great deed were there: the decision, the resolution, the
courage, the celerity, the clear eye, and the strong hand. Of certain
other achievements it would be going too far to say that he was ashamed
of them for Newman had never had a stomach for dirty work. He was
blessed with a natural impulse to disfigure with a direct, unreasoning
blow the comely visage of