"It doesn't matter, if your mother's clear about it.""Oh, but why make such an awful mystery of it, when I'm dying to know?"He talked about this, he chaffed her about it for the rest of his visit: he had at last found a topic after his own heart.If her mother considered that he might be the emblem of their redemption he was an engine of the most primitive construction.He stayed and stayed; he struck Rose as on the point of bringing out something for which he had not quite, as he would have said, the cheek.Sometimes she thought he was going to begin: "By the way, my mother told me to propose to you." At other moments he seemed charged with the admission: "I say, of course I really know what you're trying to do for her," nodding at the door: "therefore hadn't we better speak of it frankly, so that I can help you with my mother, and more particularly with my sister Gwendolen, who's the difficult one? The fact is, you see, they won't do anything for nothing.If you'll accept me they'll call, but they won't call without something 'down.'" Mr.Mangler departed without their speaking frankly, and Rose Tramore had a hot hour during which she almost entertained, vindictively, the project of "accepting" the limpid youth until after she should have got her mother into circulation.The cream of the vision was that she might break with him later.She could read that this was what her mother would have liked, but the next time he came the door was closed to him, and the next and the next.

In August there was nothing to do but to go abroad, with the sense on Rose's part that the battle was still all to fight; for a round of country visits was not in prospect, and English watering-places constituted one of the few subjects on which the girl had heard her mother express herself with disgust.Continental autumns had been indeed for years, one of the various forms of Mrs.Tramore's atonement, but Rose could only infer that such fruit as they had borne was bitter.The stony stare of Belgravia could be practised at Homburg; and somehow it was inveterately only gentlemen who sat next to her at the table d'hote at Cadenabbia.Gentlemen had never been of any use to Mrs.Tramore for getting back into society; they had only helped her effectually to get out of it.She once dropped, to her daughter, in a moralising mood, the remark that it was astonishing how many of them one could know without its doing one any good.Fifty of them--even very clever ones--represented a value inferior to that of one stupid woman.Rose wondered at the offhand way in which her mother could talk of fifty clever men; it seemed to her that the whole world couldn't contain such a number.She had a sombre sense that mankind must be dull and mean.These cogitations took place in a cold hotel, in an eternal Swiss rain, and they had a flat echo in the transalpine valleys, as the lonely ladies went vaguely down to the Italian lakes and cities.Rose guided their course, at moments, with a kind of aimless ferocity; she moved abruptly, feeling vulgar and hating their life, though destitute of any definite vision of another life that would have been open to her.

She had set herself a task and she clung to it; but she appeared to herself despicably idle.She had succeeded in not going to Homburg waters, where London was trying to wash away some of its stains; that would be too staring an advertisement of their situation.The main difference in situations to her now was the difference of being more or less pitied, at the best an intolerable danger; so that the places she preferred were the unsuspicious ones.She wanted to triumph with contempt, not with submission.

One morning in September, coming with her mother out of the marble church at Milan, she perceived that a gentleman who had just passed her on his way into the cathedral and whose face she had not noticed, had quickly raised his hat, with a suppressed ejaculation.She involuntarily glanced back; the gentleman had paused, again uncovering, and Captain Jay stood saluting her in the Italian sunshine."Oh, good-morning!" she said, and walked on, pursuing her course; her mother was a little in front.She overtook her in a moment, with an unreasonable sense, like a gust of cold air, that men were worse than ever, for Captain Jay had apparently moved into the church.Her mother turned as they met, and suddenly, as she looked back, an expression of peculiar sweetness came into this lady's eyes.

It made Rose's take the same direction and rest a second time on Captain Jay, who was planted just where he had stood a minute before.

He immediately came forward, asking Rose with great gravity if he might speak to her a moment, while Mrs.Tramore went her way again.

He had the expression of a man who wished to say something very important; yet his next words were simple enough and consisted of the remark that he had not seen her for a year.

"Is it really so much as that?" asked Rose.

"Very nearly.I would have looked you up, but in the first place Ihave been very little in London, and in the second I believed it wouldn't have done any good.""You should have put that first," said the girl."It wouldn't have done any good."He was silent over this a moment, in his customary deciphering way;but the view he took of it did not prevent him from inquiring, as she slowly followed her mother, if he mightn't walk with her now.She answered with a laugh that it wouldn't do any good but that he might do as he liked.He replied without the slightest manifestation of levity that it would do more good than if he didn't, and they strolled together, with Mrs.Tramore well before them, across the big, amusing piazza, where the front of the cathedral makes a sort of builded light.He asked a question or two and he explained his own presence: having a month's holiday, the first clear time for several years, he had just popped over the Alps.He inquired if Rose had recent news of the old lady in Hill Street, and it was the only tortuous thing she had ever heard him say.