XXXI
It goes to my heart to tell of the end of that day, how the
fugitives vanished into Immensity; how there were no more trains
how Botley stared unsympathetically with a palpable disposition
to derision, denying conveyances how the landlord of the Heron
was suspicious, how the next day was Sunday, and the hot summer's
day had crumpled the collar of Phipps and stained the skirts of
Mrs. Milton, and dimmed the radiant emotions of the whole party.
Dangle, with sticking-plaster and a black eye, felt the absurdity
of the pose of the Wounded Knight, and abandoned it after the
faintest efforts. Recriminations never, perhaps, held the
foreground of the talk, but they played like summer lightning on
the edge of the conversation. And deep in the hearts of all was a
galling sense of the ridiculous. Jessie, they thought, was most
to blame. Apparently, too, the worst, which would have made the
whole business tragic, was not happening. Here was a young woman
--young woman do I say? a mere girl!--had chosen to leave a
comfortable home in Surbiton, and all the delights of a refined
and intellectual circle, and had rushed off, trailing us after
her, posing hard, mutually jealous, and now tired and
weather-worn, to flick us off at last, mere mud from her wheel,
into this detestable village beer-house on a Saturday night! And
she had done it, not for Love and Passion, which are serious
excuses one may recognise even if one must reprobate, but just
for a Freak, just for a fantastic Idea ; for nothing, in fact,
but the outraging of Common Sense.
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