Just my room. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. It was his turn to express astonishment. This done, he followed the course which Jack had just taken. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Rather a magniloquent term, perhaps, but what else am I to say? One of these is that the most absolutely selfish thing in the world is to give way to depression, to think of one’s troubles at all except of how to overcome them. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. Disappointment flickered in Gerald’s chest, and he did not hesitate to speak his mind, unable to help a reproachful note. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. She said that your mother was only fifteen when she went to live with them. “Silly!” he remarked after a pause. Jonathan, however, still lingered.
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