The revelation made to her yesterday had caused a mental shock
greater than she had yet realised. That Mrs. Hannaford, a woman whom
she had for many years regarded as elderly, should be possessed and
overcome by the passion of love, was a thing so strange, so at
conflict with her fixed ideas, as to be all but incredible. In her
aunt's presence, she scarcely reflected upon it; she saw only a
woman bound to her by natural affection, who had fallen into dire
misfortune and wretchedness. Little by little the story grew upon
her understanding; the words in which it had been disclosed came
back to her, and with a new significance, a pathos hitherto unfelt.
She remembered that Olga's mother was not much more than forty years
old; that this experience began more than five years ago; that her
life had been loveless; that she was imaginative and of emotional
temper. To dwell upon these facts was not only to see one person in
a new light, but to gain a wider perception of life at large. Irene
had a sense of enfranchisement from the immature, the conventional.
She would have liked to be alone, to sit quietly and think. She
wanted to review once more, and with fuller self-consciousness, the
circumstances which were shaping her future. But there was no
leisure for such meditation; the details of life pressed upon her,
urged her onward, as with an impatient hand. This sense of
constraint became an irritation--due in part to the slight
headache, coming and going, which reminded her of her bad night.
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