Breton had crushed the letter in his hand and stood looking in front of him, but seeing nothing. His one thought was that he had been brutally treated,--she had simply, without a thought, without a care, flung him aside. He had, of course, known that this accident to her husband must, for a time, hold her, but now, in this fashion, she had passed on without hesitation--leaving him anywhere, anyhow; was it so long ago that she had said to him that, whether she came to him or no she would always love him? Had she already forgotten that kiss, that moment when she had clung to him, held to him? He stood there, filled with self-pity. This restraint, this self-discipline all done for her and now all useless. It was not wanted; _he_ was not wanted.... Had she only preserved some relationship, told him to wait, assured him that he meant something to her, anything but this-- But there was greater pain at Breton's heart than thought of Rachel brought him. To every man comes in due time the instant of revelation; it had flashed before Breton now. He saw that his relationship with Rachel was at an end, utterly--However he might delude himself that, in his soul, he knew. There had been a moment when they had met and the moment had passed. But he saw more than this. He saw that he was a man to whom life had always been a succession of moments--moments flashing, stinging, flying, gone--he, always, helpless to grasp and hold. Had he, on that day, been strong, held Rachel, conquered her, made her his.... He was weak through the fine things in him as surely as through the base--His ideals forced his purpose to tremble as often as his regrets.... Standing there, he faced himself and saw that, whether for good or evil, Life for him had always been evasive, fluid, a thing grasped at but never caught. Rachel was not for such as he-- Lizzie had watched him and her face had grown very tender--"I know I'm a nuisance just now," she said--"it hasn't, naturally, been a very pleasant thing for me to have to do--but I thought that I could tell you a little about her--I've seen her through all of this." He strode along fiercely, his eyes staring in front of him; he looked, she thought, like a boy who had been forbidden some longed-for pleasure; she found it difficult to keep pace with him. "She's so very, very young," Lizzie went on, "I expect you forget that--she's filled, above everything else, with a determination to express her own individuality, a protest, you know, against its having been squashed by her family.