t love was glorious. She had a
novel wish to bring May to such a party, and wondered if May would enjoy
the experience. Time as an abstraction did not mean much to Jenny; but
as the plangent harmonies wrung the heart of the very night with
unattainable desires, she felt again the vague fear of age that used to
distress her before she met her lover. She caught his hand, clasping it
tightly, twisting his fingers in a passionate clutch as if he were
fading from her life into the shadows all around. She began to feel, so
sharply the music rent her imagination, a pleasure in the idea of
instant death, not because she disliked the living world, but because
she feared something that might spoil the perfection of love: they were
too happy. She knew the primitive emotion of joy in absolute quiescence,
the relief of Daphne avoiding responsibility. Why could not she and
Maurice stop still in an ecstasy and live like the statues opposite
glimmering faintly? Then, with a sudden ardor, life overpowered the
enchantment of repose; and she, leaping to meet the impulse of action,
conscious only of darkness and melody, spurred, perhaps, by one loud and
solitary chord, pulled Maurice down to her arms and kissed him wildly,
almost despairingly. The music went on from ballad to waltz, from waltz
to polonaise. Sometimes matches were lit for cigarettes, matches that
were typical of all the life in that room, a little flame in the sound
of music.

At last, on the delicate tinkle of a dying mazurka, Cunningham stopped
quite suddenly, and silence succeeded for a while. Outside in the street
was the sound of people walking with Sabbath footsteps. Out over the
river there was a hail from some distant loud-voiced waterman. The
church bell resumed its hurried monotone. Castleton got up and lit the
gas. The windows now looked gray and very dreary; it was pleasant to
veil them with crimson birds and vine-leaves. The fire was roused to a
roaring blaze; the girls began to arrange their hair; it was time to
think of supper. Such was Jenny's birthday--intolerably fugitive.

Chapter XIX: _The Gift of Opals_

Jenny did not see Maurice after the party until the following night,
when he waited in the court to take her out.

"Come quick," he said. "Quick. I've got something to show you."

"Well, don't run," she commanded, moderating the pace by tugging at his
coat. "You're like a young race-horse."

"First of all," asked Maurice eagerly, "do you l