Incomprehensible they remained. But they had not ridden far with her before she recovered her good humour and forgave them – more than forgave them. After all – sang her quickened blood when they had got their beasts out of town and she was giving her companions a pounding lead round the gallop at the water works – after all they both knew how things were, and if they still liked to be in her company it was of their own choice. Before starting upon another breakneck round, she stole a look at Lawrence. He was only a tolerable rider, but on horseback as in the dance he escaped from his nervousness and was enjoying the exercise with a curious kind of still excitement. Though he used no enthusiastic expressions of pleasure Joanna knew that he had entered with her and with Carl into the spirit of the morning. A dark radiance emanated from him.

Soon a ride was not complete without him.

IV

To Louis Joanna made the most of these rides, and it pleased her to find that he was both envious (himself no horseman, and too old, he said, to learn) and jealous of her company. So now by severance was she learning to bind him to her. The deep appeal for uncalculating union had failed: the sensual appeal was erratic: now she was discovering a new emulative relation in which the balance of power was re-established in her favour. Once, laughing, Louis had told her of a Frenchman who, when asked if he believed in platonic friendship between man and woman, replied – “Mais oui! Après!” And undoubtedly as time went on, more and more of their hours together were hours of sheer friendliness, especially on the part of Louis. The suffering of these friendly hours fell to Joanna, but she braced herself to bear it as something inevitable. She could bear anything, thought she, seeing Louis at peace. And he was often curiously peaceful in such hours.

With the paintings he did of her he remained dissatisfied, and he would not finish any. But he was constantly begging her to sit.

“It is so strange,” he exclaimed one day, “I always get you better when I draw you from memory. Look at this!” And he showed Joanna a brilliant little figure drawing he had done quite without notes when he was in Paris.