whatever their relations； he must not put her in a false position。 Far from wishing to hurt her； he desired to preserve her； and everyone； from trouble and annoyance。 He had told Stephen that his interest in the girl was purely protective。 But since the night when； leaning out into the moonlight； he heard the waggons coming in to Covent Garden Market； a strange feeling had possessed himthe sensation of a man who lies； with a touch of fever on him； listening to the thrum of distant musicsensuous； not unpleasurable。
Those who saw him sitting there so quietly； with his face resting on his hand； imagined； no doubt； that he was wrestling with some deep； abstract proposition； some great thought to be given to mankind； for there was that about Hilary which forced everyone to connect him instantly with the humaner arts。
The sun began to leave the long pale waters。
A nursemaid and two children came and sat down beside him。 Then it was that； underneath his seat； Miranda found what she had been looking for all her life。 It had no smell； made no movement； was pale…grey in colour； like herself。 It had no hair that she could find； its tail was like her own； it took no liberties； was silent； had no passions； committed her to nothing。 Standing a few inches from its head； closer than she had ever been of her free will to any dog； she smelt its smellessness with a long； delicious snuffling； wrinkling up the skin on her forehead； and through her upturned eyes her little moonlight soul looked forth。 'How unlike you are；' she seemed to say； 'to all the other dogs I know！ I would love to live with you。 Shall I ever find a dog like you again？ 〃The latest… sterilised clothsee white label underneath： 4s。 3d。！〃' Suddenly she slithered out her slender grey…pink tongue and licked its nose。 The creature moved a little way and stopped。 Miranda saw that it had wheels。 She lay down close to it； for she knew it was the perfect dog。
Hilary watched the little moonlight lady lying vigilant； affectionate； beside this perfect dog； who could not hurt her。 She panted slightly； and her tongue showed between her lips。 Presently behind his seat he saw another idyll。 A thin white spaniel had come running up。 She lay down in the grass quite close； and three other dogs who followed； sat and looked at her。 A poor； dirty little thing she was； who seemed as if she had not seen a home for days。 Her tongue lolled out； she panted piteously； and had no collar。 Every now and then she turned her eyes； but though they were so tired and desperate； there was a gleam in them。 'For all its thirst and hunger and exhaustion； this is life！' they seemed to say。 The three dogs； panting too； and watching till it should be her pleasure to begin to run again； seemed with their moist； loving eyes to echo： 'This is life！'
Because of this idyll； people near were moving on。
And suddenly the thin white spaniel rose； and； like a little harried ghost； slipped on amongst the trees； and the three dogs followed her。
CHAPTER XIX
BIANCA
In her studio that afternoon Blanca stood before her picture of the little modelthe figure with parted pale…red lips and haunting； pale…blue eyes； gazing out of shadow into lamplight。
She was frowning； as though resentful of a piece of work which had the power to kill her other pictures。 What force had moved her to paint like that？ What had she felt while the girl was standing before her； still as some pale flower placed in a cup of water？ Not lovethere was no love in the presentment of that twilight figure； not hatethere was no hate in the painting of her dim appeal。 Yet in the picture of this shadow girl； between the gloom and glimmer； was visible a spirit； driving the artist on to create that which had the power to haunt the mind。
Blanca turned away and went up to a portrait of her husband； painted ten years before。 She looked from one picture to the other； with eyes as hard and stabbing as the points of daggers。
In the more poignant relationships of human life there is a point beyond which men and women do not quite truthfully analyse their feelingsthey feel too much。 It was Blanca's fortune； too； to be endowed to excess with that quality which； of all others； most obscures the real significance of human issues。 Her pride had kept her back from Hilary； till she had felt herself a failure。 Her pride had so revolted at that failure that she had led the way to utter estrangement。 Her pride had forced her to the attitude of one who says 〃Live your own life； I should be ashamed to let you see that I care what happens between us。〃 Her pride had concealed from her the fact that beneath her veil of mocking liberality there was an essential woman tenacious of her dues； avid of affection and esteem。 Her pride prevented the world from guessing that there was anything amiss。 Her pride even prevented Hilary from really knowing what had spoiled his married lifethis ungovernable itch to be appreciated； governed by ungovernable pride。 Hundreds of times he had been baffled by the hedge round that disharmonic nature。 With each failure something had shrivelled in him； till the very roots of his affection had dried up。 She had worn out a man who； to judge from his actions and appearance； was naturally long…suffering to a fault。 Beneath all manner of kindness and consideration for each otherfor their good taste； at all events； had never given waythis tragedy of a woman； who wanted to be loved； slowly killing the power of loving her in the man； had gone on year after year。 It had ceased to be tragedy； as far as Hilary was concerned； the nerve of his love for her was quite dead； slowly frozen out of him。 It was still active tragedy with Bianca； the nerve of whose jealous desire for his appreciation was not dead。 Her instinct； too； ironically informed her that； had he been a man with some brutality； a man who had set himself to ride and master her； instead of one too delicate； he might have trampled down the hedge。 This gave her a secret grudge against him； a feeling that it was not she who was to blame。
Pride was Bianca's fate； her flavour； and her charm。 Like a shadowy hill…side behind glamorous bars of waning sunlight； she was enveloped in smiling pridemysterious； one thinks； even to herself。 This pride of hers took part even in her many generous impulses； kind actions which she did rather secretly and scoffed at herself for doing。 She scoffed at herself continually； even for putting on dresses of colours which Hilary was fond of。 She would not admit her longing to attract him。
Standing between those two pictures； pressing her mahl…stick against her bosom； she suggested somewhat the image of an Italian saint forcing the dagger of martyrdom into her heart。
That other person； who had once brought the thought of Italy into Cecilia's mindthe man Hughshad been for the last eight hours or so walking the streets； placing in a cart the refuses of Life； nor had he at all suggested the aspect of one tortured by the passions of love and hate： For the first two hours he had led the horse without expression of any sort on his dark face； his neat soldier's figure garbed in the costume which had made 〃Westminister〃 describe him as a 〃dreadful foreign…lookin' man。〃 Now and then he had spoken to the horse； save for those speeches； of no great importance； he had been silent。 For the next two hours； following the cart； he had used a shovel； and still his square； short face； with little black moustache and still blacker eyes； had given no sign of conflict in his breast。 So he had passed the day。 Apart from the fact； indeed； that men of any kind are not too given to expose private passions to public gaze； the circumstances of a life devoted from the age of twenty onwards to the service of his country； first as a soldier； now in the more defensive part of Vestry scavenger； had given him a kind of gravity。 Life had cloaked him with passivitythe normal look of men whose bread and cheese depends on their not caring much for anything。 Had Hughs allowed his inclinations play； or sought to express himself； he could hardly have been a private soldier； still less； on his retirement from that office with an honourable wound； would he have been selected out of many others as a Vestry scavenger。 For such an occupation as the lifting from the streets of the refuses of Lifea calling greatly sought after； and； indeed； one of the few open to a man who had served his countrycharm of manner； individuality； or the engaging quality of self…expression； were perhaps out of place。
He had never been trained in the voicing of his thoughts； and； ever since he had been wounded； felt at times a kind of desperate looseness in his head。 It was not； therefore； remarkable that he should be liable to misconstruction； more especially by those who had nothing in common with him； except that somewhat negligible factor； common humanity。 The Dallisons had misconstrued him as much as； but no more than； he had misconstrued them when； as 〃Westminister〃 had informed Hilary； he 〃went on against the gentry。〃 He was； in fact； a ragged screen； a broken vessel； that let light through its holes。 A glass or two of beer； the fumes of which his wounded head no longer