The exercise indeed served to clear away the superficial irritations of the morning, but he remained miserable.  It seemed proved beyond a doubt that Rachel was indifferent to him, for 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 in a warm firelit room.  When, on the other hand, he began to think of unmarried people, he saw them active in an unlimited world; above all, standing on the same ground as the rest, without shelter or advantage.  All the most individual and humane of his friends were bachelors and spinsters; indeed he was surprised to find that the women he most admired and knew best