eself in their insufficient phrases, pretend,
sentimentalize. And it is clear that unless oneself is to be lost, one
must be content to leave alone all those people that one can reach
only by sentimentalizing. But Amanda--and yet somehow I love her for
it still--could not leave any one alone. So she was always feverishly
weaving nets of false relationship. Until her very self was forgotten.
So she will go on until the end. With Easton it had been necessary for
her to key herself to a simple exalted romanticism that was entirely
insincere. She had so accustomed herself to these poses that her innate
gestures were forgotten. She could not recover them; she could not
even reinvent them. Between us there were momentary gleams as though
presently we should be our frank former selves again. They were never
more than momentary...."

And that was all that this astonishing man had seen fit to tell of his
last parting from his wife.

Perhaps he did Amanda injustice. Perhaps there was a stronger thread
of reality in her desire to recover him than he supposed. Clearly he
believed that under the circumstances Amanda would have tried to recover
anybody.

She had dressed for that morning's encounter in a very becoming and
intimate wrap of soft mauve and white silk, and she had washed and dried
her dark hair so that it was a vapour about her face. She set herself
with a single mind to persuade herself and Benham that they were
inseparable lovers, and she would not be deflected by his grim
determination to discuss the conditions of their separation. When he
asked her whether she wanted a divorce, she offered to throw over
Sir Philip and banish him for ever as lightly as a great lady might
sacrifice an objectionable poodle to her connubial peace.

Benham passed through perplexing phases, so that she herself began to
feel that her practice with Easton had spoilt her hands. His initial
grimness she could understand, and partially its breakdown into
irritability. But she was puzzled by his laughter. For he laughed
abruptly.

"You know, Amanda, I came home in a mood of tremendous tragedy. And
really,--you are a Lark."

And then overriding her altogether, he told her what he meant to do
about their future and the future of their little son.

"You don't want a divorce and a fuss. Then I'll leave things. I perceive
I've no intention of marrying any more. But you'd better do the straight
thing. People forget and forgive. Especially when