And what of Ida? It was hard for her to realise her position; for a
time she was conscious only of an overwhelming sense of loneliness.
The interval of life with her grandfather was dreamlike as she
looked back upon it; yet harder to grasp was the situation in which
she now found herself, surrounded by luxuries which had come to her
as if from the clouds, her own mistress, free to form wishes merely
for the sake of satisfying them. She cared little to realise the
minor possibilities of wealth. The great purpose, the noble end to
which her active life had shaped itself, was sternly present before
her; she would not shirk its demands. But there was lacking the
inspiration of joy. Could she harden herself to every personal
desire, and forget, in devotion to others, the sickness of one great
hope deferred? Did her ideal require this of her?
Would he come, now that she was free to give herself where she
would, now that she was so alone? The distance between them had
increased ever since the beginning of her new life. She knew well
the sort of pride he was capable of; but was there not something
else, something she dreaded to observe too closely, in the manner of
his speech? Did he think so meanly of her as to deem such
precautions necessary against her misconstruction? Nay, _could_ he
have guarded himself in that way if he really loved her? Would it
not have been to degrade her too much in his own eyes?
He loved her once.
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