ng on the
thing that had happened to her a second time.

She had fallen in love; fallen with the fatality of the Lemprieres, and
with the fine precipitate sweep of her own genius. And she had let
herself go, with the recklessness of a woman unaware of her genius for
loving, with the superb innocence, too, of all spontaneous forces.
Owen's nature had disarmed her of all subterfuges, all ordinary defences
of her sex. They were absurd in dealing with a creature so remote and
disembodied.

She knew that in his way, his remote and disembodied way, he cared for
her. She knew that in whatever place he held her she was alone there.
She was the only woman for whom as yet he had cared. His way was not
Tanqueray's way. It was a way that kept her safe. She had sworn that
there were to be no more George Tanquerays; and there were none. She had
done with that.

Not but that she was afraid of Owen. She had taken possession of him in
fear, a secret, unallowed possession, a holding with hands invisible,
intangible. For she had wisdom, the sad wisdom of the frustrate; it, and
the insight of her genius, told her that Owen would not endure a tie
less spiritual than friendship. She knew George Tanqueray's opinion of
her. He was justified.

But though she sacrificed so far to spirit, it was her flesh and blood
that shrank from the possible communion of Owen Prothero and Jane
Holland. For Jinny, as Tanqueray said, had a way with her; and she knew
Jinny's way. Jinny would take Owen Prothero from her as she had taken
George, not deliberately, not because she wanted to, but because she was
Jinny and had a way. Besides, Jane could do for him what she with her
bare genius could not do, and that thought was insupportable to Nina.
Yesterday she had been everything to him. Tomorrow Jane would be as
much, or more.

And there were other women. They would be as ready as she to take
possession. They would claim his friendship, and more than she had
claimed, as the reward of having recognized him. There was no reason why
she should give Owen up, and hand him over to them. And this was what
she would do if she wrote that letter to Jane Holland.

She rose, and went to her desk and wrote it.

XXII

Jane answered at once. If Nina would bring Prothero to Kensington on
Friday at four o'clock he would meet Hugh Brodrick.

But Prothero refused to be taken anywhere. He would not go hanging about
women's drawing-rooms. It was the sort of thing,