gets outamongst peopleI don't know what I shall do。 Old
Johnny's no good to look after her。〃
The young man's face was very red； he was forgetting to hide it
now。 Then it went white； and he said through clenched teeth： 〃She
sends me mad！ I don't know how not to If I don't get her； I
shall shoot myself。 I shall； you knowI'm that sort。 It's her
eyes。 They draw you right out of yourselfand leave you〃 And
from his gloved hand the smoked…out cigarette…end fell to the
floor。 〃They say her mother was like that。 Poor old Johnny！
D'you think I've got a chance； Mr。 Lennan？ I don't mean now； this
minute； I know she's too young。〃
Lennan forced himself to answer。
〃I dare say； my dear fellow； I dare say。 Have you talked with my
wife？〃
Oliver shook his head。
〃She's so goodI don't think she'd quite understand my sort of
feeling。〃
A queer little smile came up on Lennan's lips。
〃Ah； well！〃 he said； 〃you must give the child time。 Perhaps when
she comes back from Ireland； after the summer。〃
The young man answered moodily：
〃Yes。 I've got the run of that； you know。 And I shan't be able to
keep away。〃 He took up his hat。 〃I suppose I oughtn't to have
come and bored you about this； but Nell thinks such a lot of you；
and； you being different to most peopleI thought you wouldn't
mind。〃 He turned again at the door。 〃It wasn't gas what I said
just nowabout not getting her。 Fellows say that sort of thing；
but I mean it。〃
He put on that shining hat and went。
And Lennan stood； staring at the statuette。 So！ Passion broke
down even the defences of Dromoredom。 Passion！ Strange hearts it
chose to bloom in！
'Being different to most peopleI thought you wouldn't mind'！ How
had this youth known that Sylvia would not understand passion so
out of hand as this？ And what had made it clear that he （Lennan）
would？ Was there； then； something in his face？ There must be！
Even Johnny Dromoremost reticent of creatureshad confided to
him that one hour of his astute existence； when the wind had swept
him out to sea！
Yes！ And that statuette would never be any good； try as he might。
Oliver was rightit was her eyes！ How they had smokedin their
childish angerif eyes could be said to smoke； and how they had
drawn and pleaded when she put her face to his in her still more
childish entreaty！ If they were like this now； what would they be
when the woman in her woke？ Just as well not to think of her too
much！ Just as well to work； and take heed that he would soon be
forty…seven！ Just as well that next week she would be gone to
Ireland！
And the last evening before she went they took her to see 〃Carmen〃
at the Opera。 He remembered that she wore a nearly high white
frock； and a dark carnation in the ribbon tying her crinkly hair；
that still hung loose。 How wonderfully entranced she sat； drunk on
that opera that he had seen a score of times； now touching his arm；
now Sylvia's； whispering questions： 〃Who's that？〃 〃What's coming
now？〃 The Carmen roused her to adoration； but Don Jose was 'too
fat in his funny little coat；' till； in the maddened jealousy of
the last act； he rose superior。 Then； quite lost in excitement；
she clutched Lennan's arm； and her gasp； when Carmen at last fell
dead； made all their neighbours jump。 Her emotion was far more
moving than that on the stage； he wanted badly to stroke； and
comfort her and say： 〃There； there； my dear； it's only make…
believe！〃 And； when it was over； and the excellent murdered lady
and her poor fat little lover appeared before the curtain； finally
forgetting that she was a woman of the world； she started forward
in her seat and clapped； and clapped。 Fortunate that Johnny
Dromore was not there to see！ But all things coming to an end；
they had to get up and go。 And； as they made their way out to the
hall； Lennan felt a hot little finger crooked into his own； as if
she simply must have something to squeeze。 He really did not know
what to do with it。 She seemed to feel this half…heartedness； soon
letting it go。 All the way home in the cab she was silent。 With
that same abstraction she ate her sandwiches and drank her
lemonade； took Sylvia's kiss； and； quite a woman of the world once
more； begged that they would not get up to see her offfor she was
to go at seven in the morning； to catch the Irish mail。 Then；
holding out her hand to Lennan； she very gravely said：
〃Thanks most awfully for taking me to…night。 Good…bye！〃
He stayed full half an hour at the window； smoking。 No street lamp
shone just there； and the night was velvety black above the plane…
trees。 At last； with a sigh； he shut up； and went tiptoe…ing
upstairs in darkness。 Suddenly in the corridor the white wall
seemed to move at him。 A warmth； a fragrance； a sound like a tiny
sigh； and something soft was squeezed into his hand。 Then the wall
moved back； and he stood listeningno sound； no anything！ But in
his dressing…room he looked at the soft thing in his hand。 It was
the carnation from her hair。 What had possessed the child to give
him that？ Carmen！ Ah！ Carmen！ And gazing at the flower； he held
it away from him with a sort of terror； but its scent arose。 And
suddenly he thrust it； all fresh as it was； into a candle…flame；
and held it； burning； writhing； till it blackened to velvet。 Then
his heart smote him for so cruel a deed。 It was still beautiful；
but its scent was gone。 And turning to the window he flung it far
out into the darkness。
VIII
Now that she was gone； it was curious how little they spoke of her；
considering how long she had been with them。 And they had from her
but one letter written to Sylvia； very soon after she left； ending：
〃Dad sends his best respects； please； and with my love to you and
Mr。 Lennan； and all the beasts。NELL。
〃Oliver is coming here next week。 We are going to some races。〃
It was difficult； of course； to speak of her； with that episode of
the flower； too bizarre to be toldthe sort of thing Sylvia would
see out of all proportionas； indeed； any woman might。 Yetwhat
had it really been； but the uncontrolled impulse of an emotional
child longing to express feelings kindled by the excitement of that
opera？ What but a child's feathery warmth； one of those flying
peeps at the mystery of passion that young things take？ He could
not give away that pretty foolishness。 And because he would not
give it away； he was more than usually affectionate to Sylvia。
They had made no holiday plans； and he eagerly fell in with her
suggestion that they should go down to Hayle。 There； if anywhere；
this curious restlessness would leave him。 They had not been down
to the old place for many years； indeed； since Gordy's death it was
generally let。
They left London late in August。 The day was closing in when they
arrived。 Honeysuckle had long been improved away from that station
paling； against which he had stood twenty…nine years ago； watching
the train carrying Anna Stormer away。 In the hired fly Sylvia
pressed close to him； and held his hand beneath the ancient dust…
rug。 Both felt the same excitement at seeing again this old home。
Not a single soul of the past days would be there nowonly the
house and the trees； the owls and the stars； the river； park； and
logan stone！ It was dark when they arrived； just their bedroom and
two sitting…rooms had been made ready； with fires burning； though
it was still high summer。 The same old execrable Heatherleys
looked down from the black oak panellings。 The same scent of
apples and old mice clung here and there about the dark corridors
with their unexpected stairways。 It was all curiously unchanged；
as old houses are when they are let furnished。
Once in the night he woke。 Through the wide…open； uncurtained
windows the night was simply alive with stars； such swarms of them
swinging and trembling up there； and； far away； rose the
melancholy； velvet…soft hooting of an owl。
Sylvia's voice； close to him； said：
〃Mark； that night when your star caught in my hair？ Do you
remember？〃
Yes； he remembered。 And in his drowsy mind just roused from
dreams； there turned and turned the queer nonsensical refrain： 〃I
neverneverwill desert Mr。 Micawber。 。 。 。〃
A pleasant month thatof reading； and walking with the dogs the
country round； of lying out long hours amongst the boulders or
along the river banks； watching beasts and birds。
The little old green…house temple of his early masterpieces was
still extant； used now to protect watering pots。 But no vestige of
impulse towards work came to him down there。 He was marking time；
not restless； not bored； just waitingbut for what； he had no
notion。 And Sylvia； at any rate； was happy； blooming in these old
haunts； losing her fairness in the sun； even taking again to a
sunbonnet； which made her look extraordinarily young。 The trout
that poor old Gordy had so harried were left undisturbed。 No gun
was fired； rabbits； pigeons； even the few partridges enjoyed those
first days of autumn unmolested。 The bracken and leaves turned
very early； so that the park in the hazy September sunlight had an
almost golden hue。 A gentle mellowness reigned over all that
holiday。 And from Ireland came no further news； save one picture
postcard with the words： 〃This is our house。NELL。〃
In the last week of September they went back to London。 And at
once there began in him again that restless； unreasonable aching
that sense of being drawn away out of himself； so that he once more
took to walking the Park for hours； over grass already strewn with
leaves； always lookingcravingand for what？
At Dromore's the confidential man did not know when his master
would be back； he had gone to Scotland with Miss Nell after the St。
Leger。 Was Lennan disappointed？ Not sorelieved； rather。 But
his ache was there all the time； feeding on its secrecy and
loneliness； unmentionable feeling that it was。 Why had he not
realized long ago that youth was over； passion done with； autumn
upon him？ How never grasped the fact that 'Time steals away'？
And； as before； the only refuge was in work。 The sheepdogs and
'The Girl on the Magpie Horse' were finished。 He began a fanta