she had scarcely looked at him,
and she had talked to Mr. Flushing with just the same interest with
which she talked to him. Finally, Hirst's odious words flicked his mind
like a whip, and he remembered that he had left her talking to Hirst.
She was at this moment talking to him, and it might be true, as he said,
that she was in love with him. He went over all the evidence for this
supposition--her sudden interest in Hirst's writing, her way of quoting
his opinions respectfully, or with only half a laugh; her very nickname
for him, "the great Man," might have some serious meaning in it.
Supposing that there were an understanding between them, what would it
mean to him?

"Damn it all!" he demanded, "am I in love with her?" To that he could
only return himself one answer. He certainly was in love with her, if
he knew what love meant. Ever since he had first seen her he had been
interested and attracted, more and more interested and attracted, until
he was scarcely able to think of anything except Rachel. But just as he
was sliding into one of the long feasts of meditation about them both,
he checked himself by asking whether he wanted to marry her? That was
the real problem, for these miseries and agonies could not be endured,
and it was necessary that he should make up his mind. He instantly
decided that he did not want to marry any one. Partly because he was
irritated by Rachel the idea of marriage irritated him. It immediately
suggested the picture of two people sitting alone over the fire; the man
was reading, the woman sewing. There was a second picture. He saw a
man jump up, say good-night, leave the company and hasten away with
the quiet secret look of one who is stealing to certain happiness.
Both these pictures were very unpleasant, and even more so was a third
picture, of husband and wife and friend; and the married people
glancing at each other as though they were content to let something
pass unquestioned, being themselves possessed of the deeper truth. Other
pictures--he was walking very fast in his irritation, and they
came before him without any conscious effort, like pictures on a
sheet--succeeded these. Here were the worn husband and wife sitting with
their children round them, very patient, tolerant, and wise. But that
too, was an unpleasant picture. He tried all sorts of pictures, taking
them from the lives of friends of his, for he knew many different
married couples; but he saw them always, walled up