dine, "_but during
the latter part of the term I must say that your boy's conduct has been
practically unexceptionable. I think it is only right to tell you that
I have great hopes of him._" At the same time Gabrielle was silent.

Of course Considine didn't really know as much about it as she did. He
had seen the broad effects of Arthur's adoration--for that is what it
was now becoming--but he knew nothing of the struggles that had gone to
their making. During the latter part of the term his conduct had not
been by any means "unexceptionable"; but it was part of Gabrielle's
queer policy of secrecy to hide any lapse on Arthur's part from her
husband. She tackled them alone, forcing herself, against her own
compassionate instincts, to play upon Arthur's feelings. She had now
discovered that where appeals to general morality, or even to reason,
were bound to fail, the least sign of suffering on her part could
reduce Arthur to a miserable and perfectly genuine repentance. Such
was the end of all their struggles; and there were many; for she would
not let the least sign of his old weakness pass. At times she felt
that she was cruel, but she allowed herself to be harrowed, finding,
perhaps, in the pain that she inflicted on both of them, something that
was flattering both to her conscience and to her self-esteem.

During all this time there was nothing approaching intimacy between
them. To him, however he might adore her, she was always Mrs.
Considine. In all their relations they preserved the convention that
she was a creature of another world and of another age. No doubt his
childishness made the illusion easy to him. With her there must surely
have been moments of emotion when she realised that the barrier was
artificial. It is impossible to say how soon the first of these
moments came.

Certainly when he returned to Overton for the holidays with Considine's
encouraging report, she felt terribly lonely. For the last two months
she had concerned herself so passionately with the discovery--one might
almost say the creation--of his soul, that his departure left her not
only with a physical blank, but with a spiritual anxiety. She wondered
all the time what was happening to him; whether in her absence he was
keeping it up or drifting into a state of tragic relapse. On the
evening before he left she had made him promise to write to her, but
his boyish letters were wholly unsatisfactory. She believed that he