Chapter 36

The lawyer's visit had given her something to think of and to do;
forthwith she began to prepare for her fortnight's stay at Kingston with
much zeal and energy. It was a great deal to her to be able to look
forward to the companionship for a short time of even an elderly, perhaps
very dignified, lady, her loneliness did so weigh upon her. It had not so
weighed before; she had had her daily occupations, the companionship of
her fellow-assistants, and had always felt tired and glad to rest in the
evening. Now that this strange new life had come to her, that the days
were empty yet her heart full, to be so completely cut off from her
fellows and thrown back on herself, to have not one sympathetic friend
among all these multitudes around her, appeared unnatural, and made all
the good things she possessed seem almost a vanity and a delusion.

Sitting in the shade in Hyde Park, she had begun to find a vague pleasure
in recognising individuals she had seen and noticed on previous occasions
in the moving well-dressed crowd--the same tall spare military-looking
gentleman with the grey moustache; the same three slim pretty girls with
golden hair and dressed alike in grey and terra-cotta; the same two young
gentlemen together, both wearing tight morning coats, silk hats, and tan
gloves, but in their faces so different! one colourless, thoughtful, with
eyes bent down; the other burnt brown by tropical heats and looking so
glad to be in London once more. Were they brothers, or dear friends,
reunited after a long separation, with many strange experiences to tell?
To see them again day after day was like seeing people she knew; it was
pleasant and painful at the same time. But as the slow heavy days went
on, and after all her preparations were complete, and still other days
remained to be got through before she could leave London, the
dissatisfied feeling grew in her until she thought that it would be a joy
even to meet that poor laundry-woman who had given her shelter at Dudley
Grove, only to look once more into familiar friendly eyes. During these
days the memory of Constance and Mary was persistently with her; for
these two had become associated together in her mind, as if the two
distinct periods of her life at Dawson Place and Eyethorne had been the
same, and she could not think of one without the other. She had loved and
still loved them both so much; they were both so beautiful and strong and
proud in their different ways; and in their strength perhaps both had
alike despised her weak clinging nature, had grown tired of her
affection. And at last this perpetual want in her heart, this disquieting
"passion of the past," reached its culminating point, when, one day after
dinner, she went out for a short stroll in the