Yet the need of peace or some solace needed to prepare her for her interview turned her imagination burningly on Dartrey.  She would not allow herself to meditate over hopes and schemes:—­Nesta free:  Dartrey free.  She vowed to her soul sacredly—­and she was one of those in whom the Divinity lives, that they may do so—­not to speak a word for the influencing of Dudley save the one fact.  Consequently, for a personal indulgence, she mused; she caressed maternally the object of her musing; of necessity, she excluded Nesta; but in tenderness she gave Dartrey a fair one to love him.

The scene was waved away.  That one so loving him, partly worthy of him, ready to traverse the world now beside him—­who could it be other than she who knew and prized his worth?  Foolish!  It is one of the hatefuller scourges upon women whenever, a little shaken themselves, they muse upon some man’s image, that they cannot put in motion the least bit of drama without letting feminine self play a part; generally to develop into a principal part. . .  The apology makes it a melancholy part.

Dartrey’s temper of the caged lion dominated by his tamer, served as keynote for any amount of saddest colouring.  He controlled the brute:  but he held the contempt of danger, the love of strife, the passion for adventure; he had crossed the desert of human anguish.  He of all men required a devoted mate, merited her.  Of all men living, he was the hardest to match with a woman—­with a woman deserving him.

The train had quitted London.  Now for the country, now for free breathing!  She who two days back had come from Alps, delighted in the look on flat green fields.  It was under the hallucination of her saying in flight adieu to them, and to England; and, that somewhere hidden, to be found in Asia, Africa, America, was the man whose ideal of life was higher than enjoyment.  His caged brute of a temper offered opportunities for delicious petting; the sweetest a woman can bestow:  it lifts her out of timidity into an adoration still palpitatingly fearful.  Ah, but familiarity, knowledge, confirmed assurance of his character, lift her to another stage, above the pleasures.  May she not prove to him how really matched with him she is, to disdain the pleasures, cheerfully accept the burdens, meet death, if need be; readily face it as the quietly grey to-morrow:  at least, show herself to her hero for a woman—­the incredible being to most men—­who treads the terrors as well as the pleasures of humanity beneath her feet, and may therefore have some pride in her stature.  Ay, but only to feel the pride of standing not so shamefully below his level beside him.

Woods were flying past the carriage-windows.  Her solitary companion was of the class of the admiring gentlemen.  Presently he spoke.  She answered.  He spoke again.  Her mouth smiled, and her accompanying look of abstract benevolence arrested the tentative allurement to conversation.