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He would not go in looking like a scarecrow； utterly done； and make
a scene。 He must pull himself together at the end； and stroll in
as if he had come for fun。 But howseeing that at any moment he
felt he might fall flat in the dust； and stay there for ever！ And；
as he ran； he made little desperate efforts to mop his face； and
brush his clothes。 There were the gates； at lasttwo hundred
yards away。 The train； he could hear no longer。 It must be
standing in the station。 And a sob came from his overdriven lungs。
He heard the guard's whistle as he reached the gates。 Instead of
making for the booking…office； he ran along the paling； where an
entrance to the goods'…shed was open； and dashing through he fell
back against the honeysuckle。 The engine was just abreast of him；
he snatched at his sleeve and passed it over his face； to wipe the
sweat away。 Everything was blurred。 He must seesurely he had
not come in time just not to see！ He pushed his hands over his
forehead and hair； and spied up dizzily at the slowly passing
train。 She was there； at a window！ Standing； looking out！ He
dared not step forward； for fear of falling； but he put out his
hand She saw him。 Yes； she saw him！ Wasn't she going to make a
sign？ Not one？ And suddenly he saw her tear at her dress； pluck
something out； and throw it。 It fell close to his feet。 He did
not pick it uphe wanted to see her face till she was gone。 It
looked wonderfulvery proud； and pale。 She put her hand up to her
lips。 Then everything went blurred again and when he could see
once more； the train had vanished。 But at his feet was what she
had thrown。 He picked it up！ All dry and dark； it was the flower
she had given him in the Tyrol； and stolen back from his
buttonhole。
Creeping out； past the goods'…shed； he made his way to a field； and
lay down with his face pressed to that withered thing which still
had its scent。 。 。 。
The asphyxiated speculation in his guardian's eyes had not been
without significance。 Mark did not go back to Oxford。 He went
instead to Rometo live in his sister's house； and attend a school
of sculpture。 That was the beginning of a time when nothing
counted except his work。
To Anna he wrote twice； but received no answer。 From his tutor he
had one little note：
〃MY DEAR LENNAN；
〃So！ You abandon us for Art？ Ah！ wellit was your moon； if I
rememberone of them。 A worthy moona little dusty in these
daysa little in her declinebut to you no doubt a virgin
goddess； whose hem； etc。
〃We shall retain the friendliest memories of you in spite of your
defection。
〃Once your tutor and still your friend；
〃HAROLD STORMER。〃
After that vacation it was longvery long before he saw Sylvia
again。
PART II
SUMMER
I
Gleam of a thousand lights； clack and mutter of innumerable voices；
laughter； footsteps； hiss and rumble of passing trains taking
gamblers back to Nice or Mentone； fevered wailing from the violins
of four fiddlers with dark…white skins outside the cafe； and above；
around； beyond； the dark sky； and the dark mountains； and the dark
sea； like some great dark flower to whose heart is clinging a
jewelled beetle。 So was Monte Carlo on that May night of 1887。
But Mark Lennan； at one of the little marble…topped tables； was in
too great maze and exaltation of spirit and of senses to be
conscious of its glare and babel； even of its beauty。 He sat so
very still that his neighbours； with the instinctive aversion of
the human creature to what is too remote from its own mood； after
one good stare； turned their eyes away； as from something
ludicrous； almost offensive。
He was lost； indeed； in memory of the minutes just gone by。 For it
had come at last； after all these weeks of ferment； after all this
strange time of perturbation。
Very stealthily it had been creeping on him； ever since that chance
introduction nearly a year ago； soon after he settled down in
London； following those six years of Rome and Paris。 First the
merest friendliness； because she was so nice about his work； then
respectful admiration； because she was so beautiful； then pity；
because she was so unhappy in her marriage。 If she had been happy；
he would have fled。 The knowledge that she had been unhappy long
before he knew her had kept his conscience still。 And at last one
afternoon she said： 〃Ah！ if you come out there too！〃 Marvelously
subtle； the way that one little outslipped saying had worked in
him； as though it had a life of its ownlike a strange bird that
had flown into the garden of his heart； and established itself with
its new song and flutterings； its new flight； its wistful and ever
clearer call。 That and one moment； a few days later in her London
drawing…room； when he had told her that he WAS coming； and she did
not； could not； he felt； look at him。 Queer； that nothing
momentous said； doneor even left undonehad altered all the
future！
And so she had gone with her uncle and aunt； under whose wing one
might be sure she would meet with no wayward or exotic happenings。
And he had received from her this little letter：
〃HOTEL COEUR D'OR；
〃MONTE CARLO。
〃MY DEAR MARK；
〃We've arrived。 It is so good to be in the sun。 The flowers are
wonderful。 I am keeping Gorbio and Roquebrune till you come。
〃Your friend；
〃OLIVE CRAMIER。〃
That letter was the single clear memory he had of the time between
her going and his following。 He received it one afternoon； sitting
on an old low garden wall with the spring sun shining on him
through apple…trees in blossom； and a feeling as if all the desire
of the world lay before him； and he had but to stretch out his arms
to take it。
Then confused unrest； all things vague； till at the end of his
journey he stepped out of the train at Beaulieu with a furiously
beating heart。 But why？ Surely he had not expected her to come
out from Monte Carlo to meet him！
A week had gone by since then in one long effort to be with her and
appear to others as though he did not greatly wish to be； two
concerts； two walks with her alone； when all that he had said
seemed as nothing said； and all her sayings but ghosts of what he
wished to hear； a week of confusion； day and night； until； a few
minutes ago； her handkerchief had fallen from her glove on to the
dusty road； and he had picked it up and put it to his lips。
Nothing could take away the look she had given him then。 Nothing
could ever again separate her from him utterly。 She had confessed
in it to the same sweet； fearful trouble that he himself was
feeling。 She had not spoken； but he had seen her lips part； her
breast rise and fall。 And HE had not spoken。 What was the use of
words？
He felt in the pocket of his coat。 There； against his fingers； was
that wisp of lawn and lace； soft； yet somehow alive； and stealthily
he took it out。 The whole of her； with her fragrance； seemed
pressed to his face in the touch of that lawn border； roughened by
little white stars。 More secretly than ever he put it back； and
for the first time looked round。 These people！ They belonged to a
world that he had left。 They gave him the same feeling that