suggested a sort of noble inelegance; it lurked be
tween the leaves of the uncut but antiquated Tauch-
nitz volume of which, before going out, she had
mechanically possessed herself. She couldn't dress
it away, nor walk it away, nor read it away, nor
think it away; she could neither smile it away in
any dreamy absence nor blow it away in any soft
ened sigh. She couldn't have lost it if she had
tried that was what it was to be really rich. It
had to be the thing you were. When at the end of
an hour she had not returned to the house Mrs.
Stringham, though the bright afternoon was yet
young, took, with precautions, the same direction,
went to join her in case of her caring for a walk.
But the purpose of joining her was in truth less dis
tinct than that of a due regard for a possibly pre
ferred detachment: so that, once more, the good
lady proceeded with a quietness that made her
slightly " underhand " even in her own eyes. She
couldn't help that, however, and she didn't care,
sure as she was that what she really wanted was not
to overstep, but to.stop in time. It was to be able
to stop in time that she went softly, but she had
on this occasion further to go than ever yet, for
she followed in vain, and at last with some anxiety,
the footpath she believed Milly to have taken. It
wound up a hillside and into the higher Alpine
meadows in which, all these last days, they had so
often wanted, as they passed above or below, to
stray; and then it obscured itself in a wood, but

[[136]]

p135 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p136w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p137

v?