ItwasRachel’sturnnowtofeeldepressed。Ashetalkedofwritinghehadbecomesuddenlyimpersonal。Hemightnevercareforanyone；
allthatdesiretoknowherandgetather，whichshehadfeltpressingonheralmostpainfully，hadcompletelyvanished。
“Areyouagoodwriter？“sheasked。
“Yes，“hesaid。“I’mnotfirst-rate，ofcourse；I’mgoodsecond-rate；
aboutasgoodasThackeray，Ishouldsay。“
Rachelwasamazed。ForonethingitamazedhertohearThackeraycalledsecond-rate；andthenshecouldnotwidenherpointofviewtobelievethattherecouldbegreatwritersinexistenceatthepresentday，oriftherewere，thatanyonesheknewcouldbeagreatwriter，andhisself-confidenceastoundedher，andhebecamemoreandmoreremote。
“Myothernovel，“Hewetcontinued，“isaboutayoungmanwhoisobsessedbyanidea——theideaofbeingagentleman。
HemanagestoexistatCambridgeonahundredpoundsayear。
Hehasacoat；itwasonceaverygoodcoat。Butthetrousers——
they’renotsogood。Well，hegoesuptoLondon，getsintogoodsociety，owingtoanearly-morningadventureonthebanksoftheSerpentine。Heisledintotellinglies——myidea，yousee，istoshowthegradualcorruptionofthesoul——callshimselfthesonofsomegreatlandedproprietorinDevonshire。Meanwhilethecoatbecomesolderandolder，andhehardlydarestowearthetrousers。
Can’tyouimaginethewretchedman，aftersomesplendideveningofdebauchery，contemplatingthesegarments——hangingthemovertheendofthebed，arrangingthemnowinfulllight，nowinshade，andwonderingwhethertheywillsurvivehim，orhewillsurvivethem？
Thoughtsofsuicidecrosshismind。Hehasafriend，too，amanwhosomehowsubsistsuponsellingsmallbirds，forwhichhesetstrapsinthefieldsnearUxbridge。They’rescholars，bothofthem。
IknowoneortwowretchedstarvingcreatureslikethatwhoquoteAristotleatyouoverafriedherringandapintofporter。
Fashionablelife，too，Ihavetorepresentatsomelength，inordertoshowmyherounderallcircumstances。LadyTheoBinghamBingley，whosebaymarehehadthegoodfortunetostop，isthedaughterofaveryfineoldTorypeer。I’mgoingtodescribethekindofpartiesIoncewentto——thefashionableintellectuals，youknow，wholiketohavethelatestbookontheirtables。
Theygiveparties，riverparties，partieswhereyouplaygames。
There’snodifficultyinconceivingincidents；thedifficultyistoputthemintoshape——nottogetrunawaywith，asLadyTheowas。
Itendeddisastrouslyforher，poorwoman，forthebook，asI
plannedit，wasgoingtoendinprofoundandsordidrespectability。
Disownedbyherfather，shemarriesmyhero，andtheyliveinasnuglittlevillaoutsideCroydon，inwhichtownheissetupasahouseagent。Heneversucceedsinbecomingarealgentlemanafterall。
That’stheinterestingpartofit。Doesitseemtoyouthekindofbookyou’dliketoread？“heenquired；“orperhapsyou’dlikemyStuarttragedybetter，“hecontinued，withoutwaitingforhertoanswerhim。
“Myideaisthatthere’sacertainqualityofbeautyinthepast，whichtheordinaryhistoricalnovelistcompletelyruinsbyhisabsurdconventions。ThemoonbecomestheRegentoftheSkies。
Peopleclapspurstotheirhorses，andsoon。I’mgoingtotreatpeopleasthoughtheywereexactlythesameasweare。Theadvantageisthat，detachedfrommodernconditions，onecanmakethemmoreintenseandmoreabstractthenpeoplewholiveaswedo。“
Rachelhadlistenedtoallthiswithattention，butwithacertainamountofbewilderment。Theybothsatthinkingtheirownthoughts。
“I’mnotlikeHirst，“saidHewet，afterapause；hespokemeditatively；
“Idon’tseecirclesofchalkbetweenpeople’sfeet。IsometimeswishIdid。Itseemstomesotremendouslycomplicatedandconfused。
Onecan’tcometoanydecisionatall；one’slessandlesscapableofmakingjudgments。D’youfindthat？Andthenoneneverknowswhatanyonefeels。We’reallinthedark。Wetrytofindout，butcanyouimagineanythingmoreludicrousthanoneperson’sopinionofanotherperson？Onegoesalongthinkingoneknows；
butonereallydoesn’tknow。“
AshesaidthishewasleaningonhiselbowarrangingandrearranginginthegrassthestoneswhichhadrepresentedRachelandherauntsatluncheon。HewasspeakingasmuchtohimselfastoRachel。
Hewasreasoningagainstthedesire，whichhadreturnedwithintensity，totakeherinhisarms；tohavedonewithindirectness；toexplainexactlywhathefelt。Whathesaidwasagainsthisbelief；
allthethingsthatwereimportantaboutherheknew；hefeltthemintheairaroundthem；buthesaidnothing；hewentonarrangingthestones。
“Ilikeyou；d’youlikeme？“Rachelsuddenlyobserved。
“Ilikeyouimmensely，“Hewetreplied，speakingwiththereliefofapersonwhoisunexpectedlygivenanopportunityofsayingwhathewantstosay。Hestoppedmovingthepebbles。
“Mightn’twecalleachotherRachelandTerence？“heasked。
“Terence，“Rachelrepeated。“Terence——that’slikethecryofanowl。“
Shelookedupwithasuddenrushofdelight，andinlookingatTerencewitheyeswidenedbypleasureshewasstruckbythechangethathadcomeovertheskybehindthem。Thesubstantialbluedayhadfadedtoapalerandmoreetherealblue；thecloudswerepink，farawayandcloselypackedtogether；andthepeaceofeveninghadreplacedtheheatofthesouthernafternoon，inwhichtheyhadstartedontheirwalk。
“Itmustbelate！“sheexclaimed。
Itwasnearlyeighto’clock。
“Buteighto’clockdoesn’tcounthere，doesit？“Terenceasked，astheygotupandturnedinlandagain。Theybegantowalkratherquicklydownthehillonalittlepathbetweentheolivetrees。
Theyfeltmoreintimatebecausetheysharedtheknowledgeofwhateighto’clockinRichmondmeant。Terencewalkedinfront，fortherewasnotroomforthemsidebyside。
“WhatIwanttodoinwritingnovelsisverymuchwhatyouwanttodowhenyouplaythepiano，Iexpect，“hebegan，turningandspeakingoverhisshoulder。“Wewanttofindoutwhat’sbehindthings，don’twe？——
Lookatthelightsdownthere，“hecontinued，“scatteredaboutanyhow。
ThingsIfeelcometomelikelights……Iwanttocombinethem……Haveyoueverseenfireworksthatmakefigures？……Iwanttomakefigures……Isthatwhatyouwanttodo？“
Nowtheywereoutontheroadandcouldwalksidebyside。
“WhenIplaythepiano？Musicisdifferent……ButIseewhatyoumean。“
Theytriedtoinventtheoriesandtomaketheirtheoriesagree。
AsHewethadnoknowledgeofmusic，RacheltookhisstickanddrewfiguresinthethinwhitedusttoexplainhowBachwrotehisfugues。
“Mymusicalgiftwasruined，“heexplained，astheywalkedonafteroneofthesedemonstrations，“bythevillageorganistathome，whohadinventedasystemofnotationwhichhetriedtoteachme，withtheresultthatInevergottothetune-playingatall。
Mymotherthoughtmusicwasn’tmanlyforboys；shewantedmetokillratsandbirds——that’stheworstoflivinginthecountry。
WeliveinDevonshire。It’stheloveliestplaceintheworld。
Only——it’salwaysdifficultathomewhenone’sgrownup。I’dlikeyoutoknowoneofmysisters……Oh，here’syourgate——“
Hepusheditopen。Theypausedforamoment。Shecouldnotaskhimtocomein。Shecouldnotsaythatshehopedtheywouldmeetagain；
therewasnothingtobesaid，andsowithoutawordshewentthroughthegate，andwassooninvisible。DirectlyHewetlostsightofher，hefelttheolddiscomfortreturn，evenmorestronglythanbefore。
Theirtalkhadbeeninterruptedinthemiddle，justashewasbeginningtosaythethingshewantedtosay。Afterall，whathadtheybeenabletosay？Heranhismindoverthethingstheyhadsaid，therandom，unnecessarythingswhichhadeddiedroundandroundandusedupallthetime，anddrawnthemsoclosetogetherandflungthemsofarapart，andlefthimintheendunsatisfied，ignorantstillofwhatshefeltandofwhatshewaslike。Whatwastheuseoftalking，talking，merelytalking？
Itwasnowtheheightoftheseason，andeveryshipthatcamefromEnglandleftafewpeopleontheshoresofSantaMarinawhodroveuptothehotel。ThefactthattheAmbroseshadahousewhereonecouldescapemomentarilyfromtheslightlyinhumanatmosphereofanhotelwasasourceofgenuinepleasurenotonlytoHirstandHewet，buttotheElliots，theThornburys，theFlushings，MissAllan，EvelynM。，togetherwithotherpeoplewhoseidentitywassolittledevelopedthattheAmbrosesdidnotdiscoverthattheypossessednames。
Bydegreestherewasestablishedakindofcorrespondencebetweenthetwohouses，thebigandthesmall，sothatatmosthoursofthedayonehousecouldguesswhatwasgoingonintheother，andthewords“thevilla“and“thehotel“calleduptheideaoftwoseparatesystemsoflife。Acquaintancesshowedsignsofdevelopingintofriends，forthatonetietoMrs。Parry’sdrawing-roomhadinevitablysplitintomanyothertiesattachedtodifferentpartsofEngland，andsometimesthesealliancesseemedcynicallyfragile，andsometimespainfullyacute，lackingastheydidthesupportingbackgroundoforganisedEnglishlife。Onenightwhenthemoonwasroundbetweenthetrees，EvelynM。toldHelenthestoryofherlife，andclaimedhereverlastingfriendship；oranotheroccasion，merelybecauseofasigh，orapause，orawordthoughtlesslydropped，poorMrs。Elliotleftthevillahalfintears，vowingneveragaintomeetthecoldandscornfulwomanwhohadinsultedher，andintruth，meetagaintheyneverdid。Itdidnotseemworthwhiletopiecetogethersoslightafriendship。
Hewet，indeed，mighthavefoundexcellentmaterialatthistimeupatthevillaforsomechaptersinthenovelwhichwastobecalled“Silence，ortheThingsPeopledon’tsay。“HelenandRachelhadbecomeverysilent。Havingdetected，asshethought，asecret，andjudgingthatRachelmeanttokeepitfromher，Mrs。Ambroserespecteditcarefully，butfromthatcause，thoughunintentionally，acuriousatmosphereofreservegrewupbetweenthem。Insteadofsharingtheirviewsuponallsubjects，andplungingafteranideawhereveritmightlead，theyspokechieflyincommentuponthepeopletheysaw，andthesecretbetweenthemmadeitselffeltinwhattheysaidevenofThornburysandElliots。Alwayscalmandunemotionalinherjudgments，Mrs。Ambrosewasnowinclinedtobedefinitelypessimistic。Shewasnotsevereuponindividualssomuchasincredulousofthekindnessofdestiny，fate，whathappensinthelongrun，andapttoinsistthatthiswasgenerallyadversetopeopleinproportionastheydeservedwell。Eventhistheoryshewasreadytodiscardinfavourofonewhichmadechaostriumphant，thingshappeningfornoreasonatall，andeveryonegropingaboutinillusionandignorance。Withacertainpleasureshedevelopedtheseviewstoherniece，takingaletterfromhomeashertest:
whichgavegoodnews，butmightjustaswellhavegivenbad。
Howdidsheknowthatatthisverymomentbothherchildrenwerenotlyingdead，crushedbymotoromnibuses？“It’shappeningtosomebody:whyshouldn’tithappentome？“shewouldargue，herfacetakingonthestoicalexpressionofanticipatedsorrow。
howeversinceretheseviewsmayhavebeen，theywereundoubtedlycalledforthbytheirrationalstateofherniece’smind。
Itwassofluctuating，andwentsoquicklyfromjoytodespair，thatitseemednecessarytoconfrontitwithsomestableopinionwhichnaturallybecamedarkaswellasstable。PerhapsMrs。AmbrosehadsomeideathatinleadingthetalkintothesequartersshemightdiscoverwhatwasinRachel’smind，butitwasdifficulttojudge，forsometimesshewouldagreewiththegloomiestthingthatwassaid，atothertimessherefusedtolisten，andrammedHelen’stheoriesdownherthroatwithlaughter，chatter，ridiculeofthewildest，andfierceburstsofangerevenatwhatshecalledthe“croakingofaraveninthemud。“
“It’shardenoughwithoutthat，“sheasserted。
“What’shard？“Helendemanded。
“Life，“shereplied，andthentheybothbecamesilent。
Helenmightdrawherownconclusionsastowhylifewashard，astowhyanhourlater，perhaps，lifewassomethingsowonderfulandvividthattheeyesofRachelbeholdingitwerepositivelyexhilaratingtoaspectator。Truetohercreed，shedidnotattempttointerfere，althoughtherewereenoughofthoseweakmomentsofdepressiontomakeitperfectlyeasyforalessscrupulouspersontopressthroughandknowall，andperhapsRachelwassorrythatshedidnotchoose。Allthesemoodsranthemselvesintoonegeneraleffect，whichHelencomparedtotheslidingofariver，quick，quicker，quickerstill，asitracestoawaterfall。HerinstinctwastocryoutStop！butevenhadtherebeenanyuseincryingStop！shewouldhaverefrained，thinkingitbestthatthingsshouldtaketheirway，thewaterracingbecausetheearthwasshapedtomakeitrace。