Лето
XIII
ItuncoveredtheendofthefirstrowandinoneoftheseatsCharitysawHarney,andinthenextaladywhosefacewasturnedtowardhim,andalmosthiddenbythebrimofherdroopinghat.Charitydidnotneedtoseetheface.Sheknewataglancetheslimfigure,thefairhairheapedupunderthehat-brim,thelongpalewrinkledgloveswithbraceletsslippingoverthem.AtthefallofthebranchMissBalchturnedherheadtowardthestage,andinherprettythin-lippedsmiletherelingeredthereflectionofsomethingherneighbourhadbeenwhisperingtoher....
Someonecameforwardtoreplacethefallenbranch,andMissBalchandHarneywereoncemorehidden.ButtoCharitythevisionoftheirtwofaceshadblottedouteverything.Inaflashtheyhadshownherthebarerealityofhersituation.Behindthefrailscreenofherlover’scaresseswasthewholeinscrutablemysteryofhislife:hisrelationswithotherpeople—withotherwomen—hisopinions,hisprejudices,hisprinciples,thenetofinfluencesandinterestsandambitionsinwhicheveryman’slifeisentangled.Ofallthesesheknewnothing,exceptwhathehadtoldherofhisarchitecturalaspirations.Shehadalwaysdimlyguessedhimtobeintouchwithimportantpeople,involvedincomplicatedrelations—butshefeltitalltobesofarbeyondherunderstandingthatthewholesubjecthunglikealuminousmistonthefarthestvergeofherthoughts.
