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How such a reparation would have vulgarized their past it would have been like "restoring" a masterpiece; and how exquisite must have been the perceptions of the woman who, in defiance of appearances, and perhaps of her own secret inclination, chose to go down to posterity as Silvia rather than as Mrs. Vincent Rendle! Mrs. Memorall, from this day forth, acquired an interest in Danyers's eyes.
Memorall knew better: his fortunate friend was bored as well as lonely. "You have had more than any other woman!" he had exclaimed to her one day; and her smile flashed a derisive light on his blunder. Fool that he was, not to have seen that she had not had enough! That she was young still do years count? tender, human, a woman; that the living have need of the living.
The fact is, she cared only about his friends she separated herself gradually from all her own people. Now, of course, it's different; she's desperately lonely; she's taken to writing to me now and then; and last year, when she heard I was going abroad, she asked me to meet her in Venice, and I spent a week with her there." "And Rendle?" Mrs. Memorall smiled and shook her head.
A., he had included in his worship of Rendle the woman who had inspired not only such divine verse but such playful, tender, incomparable prose. Danyers never forgot the day when Mrs. Memorall happened to mention that she knew Mrs. Anerton. He had known Mrs.
Memorall, whom he revered and cultivated as her friend, he had extracted but the one impressionist phrase: "Oh, well, she's like one of those old prints where the lines have the value of color." He was almost certain, at all events, that he had been thinking of Mrs.
"Why not, pray? She's a young woman still what many people would call young," Mrs. Memorall interjected, with a parenthetic glance at the mirror. "Why not accept the inevitable and begin over again? All the King's horses and all the King's men won't bring Rendle to life-and besides, she didn't marry him when she had the chance." Danyers winced slightly at this rude fingering of his idol.
I saw your name on the visitors' list and wished to thank you for an essay on Mr. Rendle's poetry or rather to tell you how much I appreciated it. The book was sent to me last winter by Mrs. Memorall." She spoke in even melancholy tones, as though the habit of perfunctory utterance had robbed her voice of more spontaneous accents; but her smile was charming.
When, some months later, he brought out his first slim volume, in which the remodelled college essay on Rendle figured among a dozen, somewhat overstudied "appreciations," he offered a copy to Mrs. Memorall; who surprised him, the next time they met, with the announcement that she had sent the book to Mrs. Anerton. Mrs. Anerton in due time wrote to thank her friend.
She had been engaged, for some time after his death, in editing some juvenilia which he had bequeathed to her care; but that task being accomplished, she had been left without definite occupation, and Mrs. Memorall, on the occasion of their last meeting, had found her listless and out of spirits. "She misses him too much her life is too empty. I told her so I told her she ought to marry." "Oh!"
"The Anertons never separated, did they?" "Separated? Bless you, no. He never would have left Rendle! And besides, he was very fond of his wife." "And she?" "Oh, she saw he was the kind of man who was fated to make himself ridiculous, and she never interfered with his natural tendencies." From Mrs. Memorall, Danyers further learned that Mrs.
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