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。