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drawingdrawing him！ She was a witch； a grey…eyed； brown…haired
witcheven unto her love of red。 She had the witch's power of
lighting fever in the veins。 And he simply wondered at himself；
that he had not； as she stood there in the firelight； knelt； and
put his arms round her and pressed his face against her waist。 Why
had he not？ But he did not want to think； the moment thought began
he knew he must be torn this way and that； tossed here and there
between reason and desire； pity and passion。 Every sense struggled
to keep him wrapped in the warmth and intoxication of this
discovery that he； in the full of Autumn； had awakened love in
Spring。 It was amazing that she could have this feeling； yet there
was no mistake。 Her manner to Sylvia just now had been almost
dangerously changed； there had been a queer cold impatience in her
look； frightening from one who but three months ago had been so
affectionate。 And； going away； she had whispered； with that old
trembling…up at him； as if offering to be kissed： 〃I may come；
mayn't I？ And don't be angry with me； please； I can't help it。〃 A
monstrous thing at his age to let a young girl love himcompromise
her future！ A monstrous thing by all the canons of virtue and
gentility！ And yetwhat future？with that naturethose eyes
that originwith that father； and that home？ But he would not
simply must not think！
Nevertheless； he showed the signs of thought； and badly； for after
dinner Sylvia； putting her hand on his forehead； said：
〃You're working too hard； Mark。 You don't go out enough。〃
He held those fingers fast。 Sylvia！ No； indeed he must not think！
But he took advantage of her words； and said that he would go out
and get some air。
He walked at a great paceto keep thought awaytill he reached
the river close to Westminster； and； moved by sudden impulse；
seeking perhaps an antidote； turned down into that little street
under the big Wren church； where he had never been since the summer
night when he lost what was then more to him than life。 There SHE
had lived； there was the housethose windows which he had stolen
past and gazed at with such distress and longing。 Who lived there
now？ Once more he seemed to see that face out of the past； the
dark hair； and dark soft eyes； and sweet gravity； and it did not
reproach him。 For this new feeling was not a love like that had
been。 Only once could a man feel the love that passed all things；
the love before which the world was but a spark in a draught of
wind； the love that； whatever dishonour； grief； and unrest it might
come through； alone had in it the heart of peace and joy and
honour。 Fate had torn that love from him； nipped it off as a sharp
wind nips off a perfect flower。 This new feeling was but a fever；
a passionate fancy； a grasping once more at Youth and Warmth。 Ah；
well！ but it was real enough！ And； in one of those moments when a
man stands outside himself； seems to be lifted away and see his own
life twirling； Lennan had a vision of a shadow driven here and
there； a straw going round and round； a midge in the grip of a mad
wind。 Where was the home of this mighty secret feeling that sprang
so suddenly out of the dark； and caught you by the throat？ Why did
it come now and not then； for this one and not that other？ What
did man know of it； save that it made him spin and hoverlike a
moth intoxicated by a light； or a bee by some dark sweet flower；
save that it made of him a distraught； humble； eager puppet of its
fancy？ Had it not once already driven him even to the edge of
death； and must it now come on him again with its sweet madness；
its drugging scent？ What was it？ Why was it？ Why these
passionate obsessions that could not decently be satisfied？ Had
civilization so outstripped man that his nature was cramped into
shoes too smalllike the feet of a Chinese woman？ What was it？
Why was it？
And faster than ever he walked away。
Pall Mall brought him back to that counterfeit presentment of the
realreality。 There； in St。 James's Street； was Johnny Dromore's
Club； and； again moved by impulse； he pushed open its swing door。
No need to ask； for there was Dromore in the hall； on his way from
dinner to the card…room。 The glossy tan of hard exercise and good
living lay on his cheeks as thick as clouted cream。 His eyes had
the peculiar shine of superabundant vigour； a certain sub…festive
air in face and voice and movements suggested that he was going to
make a night of it。 And the sardonic thought flashed through
Lennan： Shall I tell him？
〃Hallo； old chap！ Awfully glad to see you！ What you doin' with
yourself？ Workin' hard？ How's your wife？ You been away？ Been
doin' anything great？〃 And then the question that would have given
him his chance； if he had liked to be so cruel：
〃Seen Nell？〃
〃Yes； she came round this afternoon。〃
〃What d'you think of her？ Comin' on nicely； isn't she？〃
That old query； half furtive and half proud； as much as to say： 'I
know she's not in the stud…book； but； dn it； I sired her！' And
then the old sudden gloom； which lasted but a second； and gave way
again to chaff。
Lennan stayed very few minutes。 Never had he felt farther from his
old school…chum。
No。 Whatever happened； Johnny Dromore must be left out。 It was a
position he had earned with his goggling eyes； and his astute
philosophy； from it he should not be disturbed。
He passed along the railings of the Green Park。 On the cold air of
this last October night a thin haze hung； and the acrid fragrance
from little bonfires of fallen leaves。 What was there about that
scent of burned…leaf smoke that had always moved him so？ Symbol of
parting！that most mournful thing in all the world。 For what
would even death be； but for parting？ Sweet； long sleep； or new
adventure。 But； if a man loved othersto leave them； or be left！
Ah！ and it was not death only that brought partings！
He came to the opening of the street where Dromore lived。 She
would be there； sitting by the fire in the big chair； playing with
her kitten； thinking； dreaming； andalone！ He passed on at such a
pace that people stared； till； turning the last corner for home； he
ran almost into the arms of Oliver Dromore。
The young man was walking with unaccustomed indecision； his fur
coat open； his opera…hat pushed up on his crisp hair。 Dark under
the eyes； he had not the proper gloss of a Dromore at this season
of the year。
〃Mr。 Lennan！ I've just been round to you。〃
And Lennan answered dazedly：
〃Will you come in； or shall I walk your way a bit？〃
〃I'd ratherout here； if you don't mind。〃
So in silence they went back into the Square。 And Oliver said：
〃Let's get over by the rails。〃
They crossed to the railings of the Square's dark garden； where
nobody was passing。 And with every step Lennan's humiliation grew。
There was something false and undignified in walking with this
young man who had once treated him as a father confessor to his
love for Nell。 And suddenly he perceived that they had made a
complete circuit of the Square garden without speaking a single
word。
〃Yes？〃 he said。
Oliver turned his face away。
〃You rememb