And yet there are some things which have come to me from my
mother--things which come most to the surface when I am in this,
her own country--which make life at times a little sad. Forgive
me if I have been led on to speak too much of myself. Today one
should think of nothing but of you and of your happiness."
He turned to accept the greeting of an older woman who had
lingered for a moment, in passing, evidently anxious to speak to
him. Penelope watched his kindly air, listened to the courteous
words which flowed from his lips, the interest in his manner,
which his whole bearing denoted, notwithstanding the fact that
the woman was elderly and plain, and had outlived the friends of
her day and received but scanty consideration from the present
generation. It was typical of him, too, she realized. It was
never to the great women of the world that he unbent most
thoroughly. Gray hairs seemed to inspire his respect, to command
his attentions in a way that youth and beauty utterly failed to
do. These things seemed suddenly clear to Penelope as she stood
there watching him. A hundred little acts of graceful kindness,
which she had noticed and admired, returned to her memory. It was
this man whom she had lifted her hand to betray! It was this man
who was to be accounted guilty, even of crime! There came a
sudden revulsion of feeling. The whole mechanical outlook upon
life, as she had known it, seemed, even in those few seconds, to
become a false and meretricious thing.
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