rybody in the world was happy except her. Without
doubt he would think her quite mad if he knew that she was in the grip
of a depression that seemed to be wringing misery out of her body and
brain as one wrings water out of a bathing-dress, so when they got into
the train she turned away, muttered yawningly that she was very tired,
and buried her face in the crook of her arm so that he might think she
slept. It puzzled her that she felt so disappointed. What had she
expected to happen to-day that hadn't happened? Everything had been
lovely. Mr. Yaverland had talked most interestingly, and the hills had
been very beautiful. She was ashamed of all those tears that she shed
more frequently than one would have expected from an intending rival of
Pierpont Morgan, but these present tears filled her with terror because
they were so utterly irrational. Irrational, too, was the sudden picture
that flashed on her mind's eye of Mr. Philip sitting in the opposite
corner of the carriage, screwing up his dark face with mocking laughter.
"Mr. Philip is driving me mad," she thought to herself. "Some day soon
I'll find myself in Morningside Asylum, sticking flowers in my hair and
flattering myself I'm Queen Victoria. But I will not go mad. I am going
to get on. I am going to be great. But am I? I think I am not." Her face
made a wet contorted mask against her sleeve, and a swallowed sob was as
sharp in her throat as a fishbone; and there struck through her like an
impaling sword a certainty which she could not understand, but which was
surely a certificate that there was to be no more happiness, that even
if Mr. Philip ceased to persecute her she would still be hungry and
tormented.

Perhaps if she could go to some new country she would escape from this
misery. She saw a sky like stretched blue silk, stamped with the black
monograms of palms; a purple bay shaped like a shell and edged with a
white embroidery of surf. Surely such fair weather killed with sweetness
such coarse plants as her stupid gloom, as the foul weather here killed
with its coarseness all sweet-flowering southern plants. She turned to
Yaverland to ask him if he could help her to find work abroad, but she
became aware that she was in the grip of an unreasonable emotion that
prevented her from this. It was as horrible to her to see the coldly
logical apparatus of her mind churning out these irrational conclusions
as it would have been for her to find her mother babbling