"I have met him somewhere," mused the Colonel, "I'll swear I've met
him somewhere. I wish to goodness he would go."

A hundred things a day the Colonel wanted to say to Mrs. Devine, a
hundred things a day Mrs. Devine would have liked to observe to the

Colonel. But by the time the opportunity occurred--when nobody else
was by to hear--all interest in saying them was gone.

"Women will be women," was the sentiment with which the Colonel
consoled himself. "A man must bear with them--must never forget that

he is a gentleman."
"Oh, well, I suppose they're all alike," laughed Mrs. Devine to

herself, having arrived at that stage of despair when one seeks refuge
in cheerfulness. "What's the use of putting oneself out--it does no

good, and only upsets one." There is a certain satisfaction in
feeling you are bearing with heroicresignation the irritating follies

of others. Colonel and Mrs. Devine came to enjoy the luxury of much
self-approbation.

But the person seriously annoyed by the stranger's bigoted belief in
the innate goodness of everyone he came across was the languid,

handsome Miss Devine. The stranger would have it that Miss Devine was
a noble-souled, high-minded young woman, something midway between a

Flora Macdonald and a Joan of Arc. Miss Devine, on the contrary, knew
herself to be a sleek, luxury-loving animal, quite willing to sell

herself to the bidder who could offer her the finest clothes, the
richest foods, the most sumptuous surroundings. Such a bidder was to

hand in the person of a retiredbookmaker, a somewhat greasy old
gentleman, but exceedingly rich and undoubtedly fond of her.

Miss Devine, having made up her mind that the thing had got to be
done, was anxious that it should be done quickly. And here it was

that the stranger's ridiculous opinion of her not only irritated but
inconvenienced her. Under the very eyes of a person--however

foolish--convinced that you are possessed of all the highest
attributes of your sex, it is difficult to behave as though actuated

by only the basest motives. A dozen times had Miss Devine determined
to end the matter by formalacceptance of her elderly admirer's large

and flabby hand, and a dozen times--the vision intervening of the
stranger's grave, believing eyes--had Miss Devine refused decided

answer. The stranger would one day depart. Indeed, he had told her
himself, he was but a passing traveller. When he was gone it would be

easier. So she thought at the time.
One afternoon the stranger entered the room where she was standing by

the window, looking out upon the bare branches of the trees in
Bloomsbury Square. She remembered afterwards, it was just such

another foggy afternoon as the afternoon of the stranger's arrival
three months before. No one else was in the room. The stranger

closed the door, and came towards her with that curious, quick-leaping
step of his. His long coat was tightly buttoned, and in his hands he

carried his old felt hat and the massive knotted stick that was almost
a staff.

"I have come to say good-bye," explained the stranger. "I am going."
"I shall not see you again?" asked the girl.

"I cannot say," replied the stranger. "But you will think of me?"
"Yes," she answered with a smile, "I can promise that."

"And I shall always remember you," promised the stranger, "and I wish
you every joy--the joy of love, the joy of a happy marriage."

The girl winced. "Love and marriage are not always the same thing,"
she said.

"Not always," agreed the stranger, "but in your case they will be
one."

She looked at him.
"Do you think I have not noticed?" smiled the stranger, "a gallant,

handsome lad, and clever. You love him and he loves you. I could not
have gone away without knowing it was well with you."

Her gaze wandered towards the fading light.
"Ah, yes, I love him," she answered petulantly. "Your eyes can see

clearly enough, when they want to. But one does not live on love, in
our world. I will tell you the man I am going to marry if you care to

know." She would not meet his eyes. She kept her gaze still fixed
upon the dingy trees, the mist beyond, and spoke rapidly and

vehemently: "The man who can give me all my soul's desire--money and
the things that money can buy. You think me a woman, I'm only a pig.

He is moist, and breathes like a porpoise; with cunning in place of a
brain, and the rest of him mere stomach. But he is good enough for

me."
She hoped this would shock the stranger and that now, perhaps, he

would go. It irritated her to hear him only laugh.
"No," he said, "you will not marry him."

"Who will stop me?" she cried angrily.
"Your Better Self."

His voice had a strange ring of authority, compelling her to turn and
look upon his face. Yes, it was true, the fancy that from the very

first had haunted her. She had met him, talked to him--in silent
country roads, in crowded city streets, where was it? And always in

talking with him her spirit had been lifted up: she had been--what he
had always thought her.

"There are those," continued the stranger (and for the first time she
saw that he was of a noble presence, that his gentle, child-like eyes

could also command), "whose Better Self lies slain by their own hand
and troubles them no more. But yours, my child, you have let grow too

strong; it will ever be your master. You must obey. Flee from it and
it will follow you; you cannot escape it. Insult it and it will

chastise you with burning shame, with stinging self-reproach from day
to day." The sternness faded from the beautiful face, the tenderness

crept back. He laid his hand upon the young girl's shoulder. "You
will marry your lover," he smiled. "With him you will walk the way of

sunlight and of shadow."
And the girl, looking up into the strong, calm face, knew that it

would be so, that the power of resisting her Better Self had passed
away from her for ever.

"Now," said the stranger, "come to the door with me. Leave-takings
are but wasted sadness. Let me pass out quietly. Close the door

softly behind me."
She thought that perhaps he would turn his face again, but she saw no

more of him than the odd roundness of his back under the tightly
buttoned coat, before he faded into the gathering fog.

Then softly she closed the door.
End

• goodness [´gudnis] n.优良；美德；精华 (初中英语单词)
• sentiment [´sentimənt] n.情绪；多愁善感 (初中英语单词)
• despair [di´speə] vi.&n.绝望 (初中英语单词)
• satisfaction [,sætis´fækʃən] n.满意；满足 (初中英语单词)
• luxury [´lʌkʃəri] n.奢侈(品)；享受 (初中英语单词)
• seriously [´siəriəsli] ad.严肃；严重，重大 (初中英语单词)
• belief [bi´li:f] n.相信；信仰，信条 (初中英语单词)
• everyone [´evriwʌn] pron.=everybody 每人 (初中英语单词)
• contrary [´kɔntrəri] a.相反的 n.相反 (初中英语单词)
• willing [´wiliŋ] a.情愿的，乐意的 (初中英语单词)
• undoubtedly [ʌn´dautidli] ad.无疑地，确实地 (初中英语单词)
• anxious [´æŋkʃəs] a.担忧的；渴望的 (初中英语单词)
• behave [bi´heiv] v.举止；表现；举止端正 (初中英语单词)
• formal [´fɔ:məl] a.正式的；外表的 (初中英语单词)
• vision [´viʒən] n.视觉；想象力；幻影 (初中英语单词)
• standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
• knowing [´nəuiŋ] a.会意的，心照不宣的 (初中英语单词)
• cunning [´kʌniŋ] a.&n.狡猾(诡诈)的 (初中英语单词)
• stomach [´stʌmək] n.胃；胃口，食欲 (初中英语单词)
• haunted [´hɔ:tid] a.常出现鬼的，闹鬼的 (初中英语单词)
• insult [in´sʌlt, ´insʌlt] n.&vt.侮辱；损害 (初中英语单词)
• softly [´sɔftli] ad.软化地；柔和地 (初中英语单词)
• colonel [´kə:nəl] n.海(陆)军上校 (高中英语单词)
• saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
• bearing [´beəriŋ] n.举止；忍耐；关系 (高中英语单词)
• heroic [hi´rəuik] a.英雄的，英勇的 (高中英语单词)
• resignation [,rezig´neiʃən] n.辞职(书)；放弃；顺从 (高中英语单词)
• exceedingly [ik´si:diŋli] ad.非常地，极度地 (高中英语单词)
• ridiculous [ri´dikjuləs] a.荒谬的；可笑的 (高中英语单词)
• acceptance [ək´septəns] n.接受；承认 (高中英语单词)
• tightly [´taitli] ad.紧，紧密地 (高中英语单词)
• massive [´mæsiv] a.厚实的；魁伟的 (高中英语单词)
• crowded [´kraudid] a.充(拥)满了的 (高中英语单词)
• sadness [´sædnis] n.悲哀；悲痛；凄惨 (高中英语单词)
• midway [,mid´wei] n.中途 ad.&a.中途(的) (英语四级单词)
• elderly [´eldəli] a. 较老的，年长的 (英语四级单词)
• gathering [´gæðəriŋ] n.集会，聚集 (英语四级单词)
• cheerfulness [´tʃiəfulnis] n.高兴，愉快 (英语六级单词)
• sumptuous [´sʌmptʃuəs] a.奢侈的；豪华的 (英语六级单词)
• retired [ri´taiəd] a.退休的；通职的 (英语六级单词)
• bookmaker [´buk,meikə] n.靴匠；制靴厂 (英语六级单词)
• greasy [´gri:si] a.油腻的；润滑的 (英语六级单词)