Still, it had to be faced, and she would face it. He would probably do
well as his own master. During a whole horrible week her judgment on
him had been unjustly severe, and she did not mean to fall into the
same sin again. She thought with respect of his artistic gifts, which
she was too inartistic to appreciate. Yes, the chances were that he
would succeed admirably.
She walked him off to church, giving Horrocleave a perfunctory
good-bye. And as, shoulder to shoulder, they descended towards St.
Luke's, she looked sideways at Louis and fed her passion stealthily
with the sight. True, even in those moments, she had heart enough left
to think of others besides.
She hoped that John's Ernest would find a suitable mate. She
remembered that she had Julian's curtains to attend to. She continued
to think kindly of Thomas Batchgrew, and she chid herself for having
thought of him in her distant inexperienced youth, of six months
earlier, as _that man_. And, regretting that Mrs. Tams--at her
age, too!--could be so foolish, she determined to look after Mrs.
Tams also, if need should arise. But these solicitudes were mere downy
trifles floating on the surface of her profound absorption in Louis.
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