homage. But there is love, ay, and passionate love, which can
be independent of mere charm of face. In one man only could she hope to inspire
it; successful in that, she would taste victory, and even in this fallen estate
could make for herself a dominion.
    In these few hours she so wrought upon her imagination as to believe that
the one love of her life had declared itself. She revived every memory she
possibly could of those years on the far side of the gulf, and convinced herself
that even then she had loved Sidney. Other love of a certainty she had not
known. In standing face to face with him after so long an interval, she
recognised the qualities which used to impress her, and appraised them as
formerly she could not. His features had gained in attractiveness; the
refinement which made them an index to his character was more noticeable at the
first glance, or perhaps she was better able to distinguish it. The slight
bluntness in his manner reminded her of the moral force which she had known only
as something to be resisted; it was now one of the influences that drew her to
him. Had she not always admitted that he stood far above the other men of his
class whom she used to know? Between his mind and hers there was distinct
kinship; the sense that he had both power and right to judge her explained in a
great measure her attitude of defiance towards him when she was determined to
break away from her humble conditions. All along, had not one of her main
incentives to work and strive been the resolve to justify herself in his view,
to prove to him that she possessed talent, to show herself to him as one whom
the world admired? The repugnance with which she thought of meeting him, when
she came home with her father, meant in truth that she dreaded to be assured
that he could only shrink from her.
    All her vital force setting in this wild current, her self-deception
complete, she experienced the humility of supreme egoism - that state wherein
self multiplies its claims to pity in passionate support of its demand for the
object of desire. She felt capable of throwing herself at Sidney's feet, and
imploring him not to withdraw from her the love of which he had given her so
many assurances. She gazed at her scarred face until the image was blurred with
tears; then, as though there were luxury in weeping, sobbed for an hour,
crouching down in a corner of her room. Even though his love were as dead as her
beauty, must he not be struck