Andthentherebrokeonhimoneofthosedeliriouswavesofnaturaldesire,againstwhichhehadsooftenfought,sooftenwithgreatpainconquered。Hegotup,andrandownhill,leapingoverthestones,andthethickerclumpsofheather。
AudreyNoel,too,hadbeenearlyastir,thoughshehadgonelateenoughtobed。Shedressedlanguidly,butverycarefully,beingoneofthosewomenwhoputonarmouragainstFate,becausetheyareproud,anddislikethethoughtthattheirsufferingsshouldmakeotherssuffer;because,too,theirbodiesaretothemasitweresacred,havingbeengiventhemintrust,tocausedelight。Whenshehadfinished,shelookedatherselfintheglassrathermoredistrustfullythanusual。Shefeltthathersortofwomanwasatadiscountinthesedays,andbeingsensitive,shewasnevercontenteitherwithherappearance,orherhabits。But,forallthat,shewentonbehavinginunsatisfactoryways,becausesheincorrigiblylovedtolookascharmingasshecould;andevenifnooneweregoingtoseeher,sheneverfeltthatshelookedcharmingenough。Shewas——asLadyCasterleyhadshrewdlyguessed——thekindofwomanwhospoilsmenbybeingtoonicetothem;ofnousetothosewhowishwomentoassertthemselves;yethavingacertainpassivestoicism,verydisconcerting。Withlittleornopowerofinitiative,shewoulddowhatshewassettodowithathoroughnessthatwouldshameaninitiator;temperamentallyunabletobeganythingofanybody,sherequiredloveasaplantrequireswater;shecouldgiveherselfcompletely,yetremainoddlyincorruptible;inaword,hopeless,andusuallybelovedofthosewhothoughtherso。
Withallthis,however,shewasnotquitewhatiscalleda\'sweetwoman——aphraseshedetested——fortherewasinheraqueerveinofgentlecynicism。She\'saw\'withextraordinaryclearness,asifshehadbeenborninItalyandstillcarriedthatcleardryatmosphereabouthersoul。Shelovedglowandwarmthandcolour;suchmysticismasshefeltwaspagan;andshehadfewaspirations——sufficienttoherwerethingsastheyshowedthemselvestobe。
Thismorning,whenshehadmadeherselfsmellofgeraniums,andfastenedallthesmallcontrivancesthatholdeventhebestofwomentogether,shewentdownstairstoherlittledining—room,setthespiritlampgoing,andtakinguphernewspaper,stoodwaitingtomaketea。
Itwasthehourofthedaymostdeartoher。Ifthedewhadbeenbrushedoffherlife,itwasstilloutthereeverymorningonthefaceofNature,andonthefacesofherflowers;therewasbeforeherallthepleasureofseeinghoweachofthoselittlecreaturesinthegardenhadslept;howmanychildrenhadbeenbornsincetheDawn;whowasailing,andneededattention。Therewasalsothefeeling,whichrenewsitselfeverymorninginpeoplewholivelonelylives,thattheyarenotlonely,until,thedaywearingon,assuresthemofthefact。Notthatshewasidle,forshehadobtainedthroughCourtiertheworkofreviewingmusicinawoman\'spaper,forwhichshewasintuitivelyfitted。This,herflowers,herownmusic,andtheaffairsofcertainfamiliesofcottagers,fillednearlyallhertime。