But what was fatal to Lucy was that this
thing having happened to her, she could not change it. No matter what
she discovered in George's nature she was unable to take away what she
had given him; and though she could think differently about him, she
could not feel differently about him, for she was one of those too
faithful victims of glamour. When she managed to keep the picture of
George away from her mind's eye, she did well enough; but when she let
him become visible, she could not choose but love what she disdained.
She was a little angel who had fallen in love with high-handed
Lucifer; quite an experience, and not apt to be soon succeeded by any
falling in love with a tamer party--and the unhappy truth was that
George did make better men seem tame. But though she was a victim,
she was a heroic one, anything but helpless.
As they drew nearer, George tried to prepare himself to meet her with
some remnants of aplomb. He decided that he would keep on looking
straight ahead, and lift his hand toward his hat at the very last
moment when it would be possible for her to see him out of the corner
of her eye: then when she thought it over later, she would not be sure
whether he had saluted her or merely rubbed his forehead.
Pages:
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373