led to get it; that for him summed up the
matter. Later, he might come to realize many things, all the things that
Prudence realized, that the Crevequers realized--how the fusion of two
'sorts' was at the best a rash experiment, at the worst a most tragical
catastrophe; how the matter had been, no doubt, wisely decided. Now he
knew but one thing: what he so greatly desired he might not have.
Prudence's vision of it seemed of little relevance to him. They might
all follow their improved roads anywhere they chose; they might climb
heights, in that grey future wherein he at least must be (so it seemed
to him at this time) a solitary pedestrian; how they might help
themselves and each other concerned him not at all.

His clever face was very bitterly set as he stared at the ground,
brooding over it. It was probable that he too had learned something, the
insolence, as his cousin had termed it, of his past attitude having so
recoiled upon himself.

'Oh,' said Prudence, suddenly, following up her own talk of roads, 'I
wish we _could_ leave them--I wish we could; but walls shut us in. The
walls of character, and circumstances, and old habit; we can't break
through them. We only knock against them--and it hurts.' She stopped,
because her voice shook strangely. After a moment she said quietly: 'We
can't do that. We can only try to keep the gaps wide, and look through
them.... But there are one or two things we can do besides that. Mr.
Crevequer will want to get something to do afterwards; I told you,
didn't I, that they are giving everything up.'

'Oh! That charming paper. About time, too, I should say. Well?'

'Well, I thought you might write to that _Settimana Illustrata_ man you
know at Genoa. They are going to their old home for the present; but
eventually they would like work at Genoa. I should think the _Settimana_
might give him something to start on; he's quite clever, of course; and
he really can draw, can't he? Genoa's near their home. They'll have all
their old friends to play with, and of course they'll make new ones, and
of course their friends will be of all sorts; their road takes them
there. What I don't know,' she added presently, 'is where else it is
going to take them, and where ours are going to take us.'

Warren did not think it particularly mattered, and said so. Prudence,
who did, proceeded to explain to herself, rather than to him, where
their roads had, in the past, taken them. She liked to be quite s