and if she is to have a
feature, he is the sculptor; she depends on him for life, and her human history
at least is married to him far more than to the rescuing lover. No wonder, then,
that men should find her thrice cherishable featureless, or with the most
moderate possible indication of a countenance. Thousands of the excellent simple
creatures do; and every reader of her tale. On the contrary, the heroine of
Reality is that woman whom you have met or heard of once in your course of
years, and very probably despised for bearing in her composition the motive
principle; at best, you say, a singular mixture of good and bad; anything but
the feminine ideal of man. Feature to some excess, you think, distinguishes her.
Yet she furnishes not any of the sweet sensual excitement pertaining to her
spotless rival pursued by villany. She knocks at the doors of the mind, and the
mind must open to be interested in her. Mind and heart must be wide open to
excuse her sheer descent from the pure ideal of man.
    Dacier's wandering reflections all came back in crowds to the judicial Bench
of the Black Cap. He felt finely, apart from the treason, that her want of money
degraded her: him too, by contact. Money she might have had to any extent: upon
application for it, of course. How was he to imagine that she wanted money!
Smilingly as she welcomed him and his friends, entertaining them royally, he was
bound to think she had means. A decent propriety bound him not to think of the
matter at all. He naturally supposed she was capable of conducting her affairs.
And - money! It soiled his memory: though the hour at Rovio was rather pretty,
and the scene at Copsley touching: other times also, short glimpses of the
woman, were taking. The flood of her treachery effaced them. And why reflect?
Constance called to him to look her way.
    Diana's letter died hard. The corners were burnt to black tissue, with an
edge or two of discoloured paper. A small frayed central heap still resisted,
and in kindness to the necessity for privacy, he impressed the fire-tongs to
complete the execution. After which he went to his desk and worked, under the
presidency of Constance.
 

                                 Chapter XXXVI

           Is Conclusive as to the Heartlessness of Women with Brains

Hymenæal rumours are those which might be backed to run a victorious race with
the tale of evil fortune; and clearly for the reason that man's livelier half is
ever alert to speed them