Rosalie’s trailing dress hid her feet, and they passed into the picture-gallery. It was deserted. She sat down under the picture of Geoffrey Todbrook. “One day Mariana brought me here and showed me this picture. I forget what was said, but somewhere in our conversation she laughed. She said laughing always produced a pain at her heart.” “Mariana laughed? You utterly astonish me.” His face betrayed no signs of conviction of cruelty, certainly. “Yes,” said Rosalie. “It is astonishing, truly. Had I lived here as long as she, laughing would have been utterly beyond me.” “It is a good thing you escaped, then.” “You don’t grudge me my freedom?” “I grudge no man anything if he wins it, or woman either. And far from grudging you your freedom, I’m glad you won it.” “You were glad, then, when I ran away?” “Well, no—not at the time. I do not know that I ever became thoroughly reconciled to you till you came to see me the other night.” Here a pause followed, broken only by distant strains of music. “You have another dance on New Year’s Eve, Mr. Barringcourt?” “Yes. You will come? It is the one night in the whole year worth dancing on.” “I would come gladly; but I can find no dress to my liking.” “You have a week before you.” She clasped her hands round her knee, shook her head and looked at him. “I won’t come unless I can wear exactly what I want.” “And what is that?” “The dress that Mariana was making long ago. But I expect she’s finished it, and the moths have eaten it away. But all the same, I won’t come unless I have it. It is the one thing on earth I’ve set my heart upon.” Mr. Barringcourt looked at her. The pretty air of reasonless determination suited her. “It’s impossible,” said he. “The moths have eaten it away, then,” and without pretence or acting two big tears rose in her eyes and fell—one for sorrow at his hardness, one for the memory of Mariana in the cell. But two tears upon occasion can be very fascinating. “You never did reason, did you, Rosalie?” said he. “Yes. It’s the one thing I’ve done all my life. But the simpler you are in this world the more you’re derided. Let me see Mariana to ask her about the dress?” “Oh, hang Mariana!” “Are you speaking broadly?” “What do you mean?” “You should never use abusive language towards the individual. I learnt that long ago. If you want to be profane you should generalise.” “Whose lax teaching was that?” “I learnt it from the Governor; the gentleman whom I met when I ran away from you. But he wasn’t lax, I’m sure. Perhaps I misunderstood him.” “I wouldn’t put it beyond you. But give me a form of forcible language that would fit in with his exposition.” “Well, the only one that presents itself at all to me is ‘Damn it.’ You see ‘it’ means nothing in particular, is quite impersonal, and therefore no one is any the worse for it, yourself included.” “You’re an advocate of that particular form?” said he. “I’d allow it to you upon occasion, but not to myself.”