Page 580 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

Gould added to the grace of her seated figure the charm of
art, of an attitude caught and interpreted for ever. Turning
abruptly, the doctor took his leave.
Mrs. Gould leaned back in the shade of the big trees
planted in a circle. She leaned back with her eyes closed
and her white hands lying idle on the arms of her seat. The
half-light under the thick mass of leaves brought out the
youthful prettiness of her face; made the clear, light fab-
rics and white lace of her dress appear luminous. Small and
dainty, as if radiating a light of her own in the deep shade
of the interlaced boughs, she resembled a good fairy, weary
with a long career of well-doing, touched by the withering
suspicion of the uselessness of her labours, the powerless-
ness of her magic.
Had anybody asked her of what she was thinking, alone
in the garden of the Casa, with her husband at the mine
and the house closed to the street like an empty dwelling,
her frankness would have had to evade the question. It had
come into her mind that for life to be large and full, it must
contain the care of the past and of the future in every pass-
ing moment of the present. Our daily work must be done to
the glory of the dead, and for the good of those who come
after. She thought that, and sighed without opening her
eyes—without moving at all. Mrs. Gould’s face became set
and rigid for a second, as if to receive, without flinching, a
great wave of loneliness that swept over her head. And it
came into her mind, too, that no one would ever ask her
with solicitude what she was thinking of. No one. No one,
but perhaps the man who had just gone away. No; no one