At the onslaught, so unexpected and severe, Joanna flushed painfully and avoided her friend’s shrewd gaze. In her heart there could be no misunderstanding of his words. The dead man he had spoken of was not Mario, not her dead husband. His words too had forced her to recall a confused but vexing memory. She was compelled to re-live that last ride which, owing to a mischance, had been taken alone in Lawrence’s company. She saw again the muddy country lanes, darkness, the humid air of evening, and they framed the bitterness of a young man wounded in his manhood. She winced again under his reproaches. From below the hoofs of their horses, the thick, glistening mud had flown up at them, blackening the belly of Lawrence’s tall, whitish hack; and above them the dripping trees had bent over the road like the wires of a steel trap. How she had longed to escape from him and forget. And she had escaped, was going to forget! But it was hateful that Lawrence had sat in this very chair and had talked about her to Carl. She wished never to see or think of Lawrence again. She was sorry, of course, that he had failed to get his lectureship. But she was glad, glad now without a single regret, that she was going to London. There would be no Carl there to reproach her. No Lawrence to love and accuse her. There would only be Louis. She would go her own way. No one should stop her.

BOOK III

… Behold, I make all things new

REV xxi 5

CHAPTER ONE

I

Joanna reached London on a Friday late in June.

She was met at Euston Station by Georgie, and carried enthusiastically off to her sister’s beautifully hygienic home in the Garden Suburb. Without and within the house was all green and white. It suggested some very pleasant kind of institute rather than a personal dwelling place. Nevertheless its mistress had caused the name Duntarvie to be painted in clear letters upon the gate. Joanna duly admired everything.

But sincere as was this admiration of Joanna’s, it was in no degree of the covetous sort; and at breakfast on Saturday the elder sister was provoked to a considerable exasperation by the quiet obstinacy displayed by the younger on the subject of lodgings. It was not, she complained, as if Joanna could give any definite idea of what she did want. Why then should she be so positive in her refusal even to look at the rooms her brother-in-law had kindly bespoken for her, rooms green and white like Georgie’s own, and so nice and near in a New Era boarding house opened only a week ago by one of Max’s enterprising friends? Joanna sat accused of prejudice by both Max and Georgie. But in vain. For she admitted it, and she did not see the New Era rooms.