me! Rot! A woman without the pluck to trust
herself to the lover talks of love. It means nothing, this love of
yours. It's just a silly fancy. Love hasn't widened your horizon. Love
hasn't given your life any great impetus. Look at me--absolutely
possessed by my love for you. That's passion."

"I don't think it's much else, I don't," said Jenny.

"How like a girl! How exactly like every other girl! Good Lord, and I
thought you were different. I thought you wouldn't be so blind as to
separate love from passion."

"I don't. I do love you. I do want you," she whispered. "Just as much as
you want me, but not now. Oh, Maurice, I wish you could understand."

"Well, I can't," he said coldly. "Look here, you've quarreled with your
mother. That's one obstacle out of the way."

"But it isn't. She's still alive."

"You've known me long enough to be sure I'm not likely to turn out a
rotter. You needn't worry about money, and--you love me or pretend to.
Now why in the name of fortune can't you be sensible?"

"But there'll come a moment, Maurice darling, and I think it will come
soon, when I shall say 'yes' of my own accord. And whatever you said or
done before that moment couldn't make me say 'yes' now."

"And meanwhile I'm to go on wearing myself out with asking?"

"No," she murmured, afire with blushes at such revelation of himself.
"No, I'll say 'Maurice' and then you'll know."

"And I'm to go off to Spain with nothing to hope for but 'one day, one
day'?"

"You'll have other things to think about there."

"You're rather amusing with your proposed diversions for my imagination.
But, seriously, will it be 'yes' when I come back, say, in a fortnight?"

"No, not yet. Not for a little while. Oh, don't ask me any more; you are
unkind."

Maurice seemed to give up the pursuit suddenly.

"I sha'n't see you for some time," he said.

"Never mind," Jenny consoled him. "Think how lovely it will be when we
do see each other."

"Good-bye," said Maurice bluntly.

"Oh, what an unnatural way to say good-bye."

"Well, I've got to pack up and catch the 6.30 down to Claybridge. I'll
write to you."

"You needn't trouble," she told him, chilled by his manner.

"Don't be foolish, I must write. Good-bye, Jenny."

He seemed to offer his embrace more from habit than desire.

"I've got to change first," she said, making no movement towards the
enclosure of his arms. It struck them both that they had passed through
a thousand em