With a light, mocking laugh, Sepia turned away, and left the
room.
Hesper did not move. If stillness indicates thought, then Hesper
was thinking; and surely of late she had suffered what might have
waked something like thought in what would then have been
something like a mind: all the machinery of thought was there--
sorely clogged, and rusty; but for a woman to hate her husband is
hardly enough to make a thinking creature of her. True as it was,
there was no little affectation in her saying what she did about
the worthlessness of her life. She was plump and fresh; her eye
was clear, her hand firm and cool; suffering would have to go a
good deal deeper before it touched in her the issues of life, or
the love of it. What set her talking so, was in great part the
_ennui_ of endeavor after enjoyment, and the reaction from
success in the pursuit. Her low moods were, however, far more
frequent than, even with such fatigue and reaction to explain
them, belonged to her years, her health, or her temperament.
The fire grew hot. Hesper thought of her complexion, and pushed
her chair back. Then she rose, and, having taken a hand-screen
from the chimney-piece, was fanning herself with it, when the
door opened, and a servant asked if she were at home to Mr.
Helmer. She hesitated a moment: what an unearthly hour for a
caller!
"Show him up," she answered: anything was better than her own
company.
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