The sudden sullen pallor, the capricious fits of silent reserve, the
smiling aloofness, she never attributed to the real source. How could
she? The Incomprehensible Thing was a Finality accomplished according to
law. And the woman concerned was now another man's wife. Which
conclusively proved that there could be no regret arising from the
Incomprehensible Finality, and that nobody involved cared, much less
suffered. Hence _that_ was certainly not the cause of any erratic or
specific phenomena exhibited by this sample of man who differed, as she
had noticed, somewhat from the rank and file of his neutral-tinted
brothers.
"It's this particular specimen, _per se_," she concluded; "it's himself,
_sui generis_--just as I happen to have red hair. That is all."
And she rode on quite happily, content, confident of his interest and
kindness. For she had never forgotten his warm response to her when she
stood on the threshold of her first real dinner party, in her first real
dinner gown--a trivial incident, trivial words! But they had meant more
to her than any man specimen could understand--including the man who had
uttered them; and the violets, which she found later with his card, must
remain for her ever after the delicately fragrant symbol of all he had
done for her in a solitude, the completeness of which she herself was
only vaguely beginning to realise.
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