This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1894. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XXIV. THE WOMAN IN THE GLASS. Maet walked rapidly round the Regent's Park. Over yonder, where the sombre trees massed themselves against the pale evening sky, came the sounds and scents of the oncoming summer; children's shrill voices calling to each other near the ornamental water; the tread of sweethearts' feet on the gravel path; the delicate aroma of newly cut grass. All around her were simple human joys. But they were not for her. She had left all that behind her in that little room in Bulstrode Street, where sat the one man in the world that she cared for--the one man, now, who cared for her. There was no one else; there never could be anyone else. But it behooved her henceforward to be sensible--to be strong for both of them. She must never see him again, must above all try and think of Vincent as she used to, before that afternoon in Harley Street--how many years ago, now?--when lie had first made love to her and asked her to wait for him. How it spoiled everything--this eternal question of sex. . . It was almost impossible for a woman to see a man as he really is. And in pursuance of the plan of being sensible, she went deliberately over Hemming's faults. They were obvious enough. He was weak, vacillating; his phrases were absurd. His ambitions, after all, were but vulgar ones, and he had not the will-power to carry out even his most cherished plans. He was all that, and j^et he was the only man in the world that she loved. The only man in the world, now, who desired her as a woman. And yet she must walk on, get as far away from him as possible. Here, at the North Gate, the slim young poplars detached themselves tremblingly against the pinkish sky, while in front of her stretched the long, white Avenue Road, with its square snug houses, holding ...