Chapter 15

XV

THAT hour with Strefford had altered her whole perspective.
Instead of possible dependence, an enforced return to the old
life of connivances and concessions, she saw before her--
whenever she chose to take them--freedom, power and dignity.
Dignity! It was odd what weight that word had come to have for
her. She had dimly felt its significance, felt the need of its
presence in her inmost soul, even in the young thoughtless days
when she had seemed to sacrifice so little to the austere
divinities. And since she had been Nick Lansing's wife she had
consciously acknowledged it, had suffered and agonized when she
fell beneath its standard. Yes: to marry Strefford would give
her that sense of self-respect which, in such a world as theirs,
only wealth and position could ensure. If she had not the
mental or moral training to attain independence in any other
way, was she to blame for seeking it on such terms?

Of course there was always the chance that Nick would come back,
would find life without her as intolerable as she was finding it
without him. If that happened--ah, if that happened! Then she
would cease to strain her eyes into the future, would seize upon
the present moment and plunge into it to the very bottom of
oblivion. Nothing on earth would matter then--money or freedom
or pride, or her precious moral dignity, if only she were in
Nick's arms again!

But there was Nick's icy letter, there was Coral Hicks's
insolent post-card, to show how little chance there was of such
a solution. Susy understood that, even before the discovery of
her transaction with Ellie Vanderlyn, Nick had secretly wearied,
if not of his wife, at least of the life that their marriage
compelled him to lead. His passion was not strong enough-had
never been strong enough--to outweigh his prejudices, scruples,
principles, or whatever one chose to call them. Susy's dignity
might go up like tinder in the blaze of her love; but his was
made of a less combustible substance. She had felt, in their
last talk together, that she had forever destroyed the inner
harmony between them.

Well--there it was, and the fault was doubtless neither hers nor
his, but that of the world they had grown up in, of their own
moral contempt for it and physical dependence on it, of his
half-talents and her half-principles, of the something in them
both that was not stout enough to resist nor yet pliant enough
to yield. She stared at the fact on the journey back to
Versailles, and all that sleepless night in her room; and the
next morning, when the housemaid came in with her breakfast
tray, she felt the factitious energy that comes from having
decided, however half-heartedly, on a definite course.

She had