s she
permitted him of her society.

The other reason was that she deluded herself into believing that her
sighs and Shelley-inspired imaginings were all because of Windebank's
imminent return. She thought of him every day, more especially since
she had met Perigal. She often contrasted the two men in her thoughts,
when it would seem as if Windebank's presence, so far as she remembered
it, had affected her life as a bracing, health-giving wind; whereas
Perigal influenced her in the same way as did appealing music, reducing
her to a languorous helplessness. She had for so long associated
Windebank with any sentimental leanings in which she had indulged, that
she was convinced that her fidelity to his memory was sufficient
safeguard against her becoming infatuated with Perigal.

Thus she travelled along a road, blinding herself the while to the
direction in which she was going. But one day, happening to obtain a
glimpse of its possible destination, she resolved to make something of
an effort, if not to retrace her way (she scarcely thought this
necessary), to stay her steps.

Perigal had told her that if he could get the sum he wanted from his
father, he would shortly be going somewhere near Cardiff, where he
would be engaged in the manufacture of glazed bricks with a partner.
The news had frightened her. She felt as if she had been dragged to the
edge of a seemingly bottomless abyss, into which it was uncertain
whether or not she would be thrown. To escape the fate that threatened,
she threw off her lethargy, to resume her fishing and avoid rather than
seek Perigal. Perhaps he took the hint, or was moved by the same motive
as Mavis, for he too gave up frequenting the meadows bordering the
river. His absence hurt Mavis more than she could have believed
possible. She became moody, irritable; she lost her appetite and could
not sleep at night. To ease her distress of mind, she tried calling on
her old friends, the Medlicotts, and her new ones, the Trivetts. The
former expressed concern for her altered appearance, which only served
to increase her despondency, while the music she heard at Pennington
Farm told of love dreams, satisfied longings, worlds in which romantic
fancy was unweighted with the bitterness and disappointment of life, as
she now found it, all of which was more than enough to stimulate her
present discontent.

She had not seen or heard anything of Perigal for two weeks, when one
July evening she happen