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better to think of the future than of the past; but at times,
as she listened to the murmur of the Mediterranean waves,
her glance took a backward flight. It rested upon two figures
which, in spite of increasing distance, were still sufficiently
salient; they were recognizable without difficulty as those
of Caspar Goodwood and Lord Warburton. It was strange
how quickly these images of energy had fallen into the
background of our young lady’s life. It was in her disposi-
tion at all times to lose faith in the reality of absent things;
she could summon back her faith, in case of need, with an
effort, but the effort was often painful even when the real-
ity had been pleasant. The past was apt to look dead and
its revival rather to show the livid light of a judgement-day.
The girl moreover was not prone to take for granted that she
herself lived in the mind of others—she had not the fatuity
to believe she left indelible traces. She was capable of being
wounded by the discovery that she had been forgotten; but
of all liberties the one she herself found sweetest was the
liberty to forget. She had not given her last shilling, senti-
mentally speaking, either to Caspar Goodwood or to Lord
Warburton, and yet couldn’t but feel them appreciably in
debt to her. She had of course reminded herself that she was
to hear from Mr. Goodwood again; but this was not to be
for another year and a half, and in that time a great many
things might happen. She had indeed failed to say to herself
that her American suitor might find some other girl more
comfortable to woo; because, though it was certain many
other girls would prove so, she had not the smallest belief
that this merit would attract him. But she reflected that she

316 The Portrait of a Lady