im of a temperament which she had
sometimes hoped was dying out of her? In these last few years she had
suffered less and less from it.

She had made a grand effort of will. That was now ten years ago. It
had cost her more than anyone would ever know; it had cost her those
terrible tears of blood which only the soul weeps. But she had persisted
in her effort. A horrible incident, humiliating her to the dust, had
summoned all the pride that was left in her. In a sort of cold frenzy
of will she had flung life away from her, the life of the woman who was
vain, who would have worship, who would have the desire of men, the life
of the beauty who would have admiration. All that she had clung to
she had abandoned in that dreadful moment, had abandoned as by night a
terrified being leaves a dwelling that is in flames. Feeling naked, she
had gone out from it into the blackness. And for ten years she had
stuck to her resolution, had been supported by the strength of her will
fortified by a hideous memory. She had grasped her nettle, had pressed
it to her bosom. She had taken to her all the semblance of old age,
loneliness, dullness, had thrust away from her almost everything
which she had formerly lived by. For, like almost all those who yield
themselves to a terrific spasm of will, she had done more than it was
necessary for her to do. From one extreme she had gone to another. As
once she had tried to emphasize youth, she had emphasized the loss of
youth. She had cruelly exposed her disabilities to an astonished world,
had flung her loss of beauty, as it were, in the faces of the "old
guard." She had called all men to look upon the ravages Time had brought
about in her. Few women had ever done what she had done.

And eventually she had had a sort of reward. Gradually she had been
enclosed by the curious tranquillity that habit, if not foolish or
dangerous, brings to the human being. Her temperament, which had long
been her enemy, seemed at last to lie down and sleep. There were times
when she had wondered whether perhaps it would die. And she had come
upon certain compensations which were definite, and which she had learnt
how to value.

By slow degrees she had lost the exasperation of desire. The lust of the
eye, spoken of to her by Caroline Briggs in Paris on the evening which
preceded her enlightenment, had ceased to persecute her because she had
taught herself deliberately the custody of the eye. She had eventually
attain