Tue, 10/30/2012 - 20:55 — davidchen1
Tue, 10/30/2012 - 20:54 — davidchen1
Her brother asked no questions, but said that he would lunch in town. About ten o’clock a cab was summoned, and Marcella, without leave-taking, drove away.
Christian lingered as long as possible over the morning paper, unable to determine how he should waste the weary hours that lay before him. There was no reason for his remaining in London through this brief season of summer glow. Means and leisure were his, he could go whither he would. But the effort of decision and departure seemed too much for him. Worst of all, this lassitude (not for the first time) was affecting his imagination; he thought with a dull discontent of the ideal love to which he had bound himself. Could he but escape from it, and begin a new life!
Tue, 10/30/2012 - 20:54 — davidchen1
Tue, 10/30/2012 - 20:53 — davidchen1
Marcella’s eyes flashed.
‘How can you say that? You know quite well that most kinds of immorality are far more readily forgiven by people of the world than sincere heterodoxy on moral subjects.’
‘Well, well, I meant decency from their point of view. And there really must be such restrictions, you know. How very few people are capable of what you call sincere heterodoxy, in morals or religion! Your position is unphilosophical; indeed it is. Take the world as you find it, and make friends with kind, worthy people. You have suffered from a needless isolation. Do accept this opportunity of adding to your acquaintances!—Do, Marcella! I shall take it as a great kindness, dear girl.’
His sister let her head lie back against the chair, her face averted.
Tue, 10/30/2012 - 20:53 — davidchen1
Tue, 10/30/2012 - 20:52 — davidchen1
The work was already sold. Christian, happy that his sister could be aroused to this interest, suggested that a cast might be obtainable.
‘Write to Miss Walworth,’ he urged. ‘Bring yourself to her recollection.—I should think she must be the right kind of woman.’
Though at the time she shook her head, Marcella was presently tempted to address a letter to the artist, who responded with friendly invitation. In this way a new house was opened to her; but, simultaneously, one more illusion was destroyed. Knowing little of life, and much of literature, she pictured Miss Walworth as inhabiting a delightful Bohemian world, where the rules of conventionalism had no existence, and everything was judged by the brain-standard. Modern French biographies supplied all her ideas of studio society.
Tue, 10/30/2012 - 20:51 — davidchen1
Tue, 10/30/2012 - 20:51 — davidchen1
It was Marcella’s ill-fate that she could neither learn tolerance nor persuade herself to affect it. The emancipated woman has fewer opportunities of relieving her mind than a man in corresponding position; if her temper be aggressive she must renounce general society, and, if not content to live alone, ally herself with some group of declared militants. By correspondence, or otherwise, Marcella might have brought herself into connection with women of a sympathetic type, but this effort she had never made. And chiefly because of her acquaintance with Godwin Peak. In him she concentrated her interests; he was the man to whom her heart went forth with every kind of fervour.
Tue, 10/30/2012 - 20:51 — davidchen1
Tue, 10/30/2012 - 20:50 — davidchen1
And with a shrug of impatience, the journalist turned to another subject. He, too, regretted his old friend’s disappearance, and in a measure resented it. Godwin Peak was not a man to slip out of one’s life and leave no appreciable vacancy. Neither of these men admired him, in the true sense of the word, yet had his voice sounded at the door both would have sprung up with eager welcome. He was a force—and how many such beings does one encounter in a lifetime?
Part 4 Chapter 2
In different ways, Christian and Marcella Moxey had both been lonely since their childhood. As a schoolgirl, Marcella seemed to her companions conceited and repellent; only as the result of reflection in after years did Sylvia Moorhouse express so favourable an opinion of her.