, of acts of devotion,
of treats, of sumptuous presents for her, of appeals she would
understand. If at times she was manifestly unintelligent, in her
ignorance became indisputable, I told myself her simple instincts were
worth all the education and intelligence in the world. And to this day
I think I wasn't really wrong about her. There was something
extraordinarily fine about her, something simple and high, that
flickered in and out of her ignorance and commonness and limitations
like the tongue from the mouth of a snake....

One night I was privileged to meet her and bring her home from an
entertainment at the Birkbeck Institute. We came back on the underground
railway and we travelled first-class--that being the highest class
available. We were alone in the carriage, and for the first time I
ventured to put my arm about her.

"You mustn't," she said feebly.

"I love you," I whispered suddenly with my heart beating wildly, drew
her to me, drew all her beauty to me and kissed her cool and unresisting
lips.

"Love me?" she said, struggling away from me, "Don't!" and then, as the
train ran into a station, "You must tell no one.... I don't know.... You
shouldn't have done that...."

Then two other people got in with us and terminated my wooing for a
time.

When we found ourselves alone together, walking towards Battersea, she
had decided to be offended. I parted from her unforgiven and terribly
distressed.

When we met again, she told me I must never say "that" again.

I had dreamt that to kiss her lips was ultimate satisfaction. But it was
indeed only the beginning of desires. I told her my one ambition was to
marry her.

"But," she said, "you're not in a position--What's the good of talking
like that?"

I stared at her. "I mean to," I said.

"You can't," she answered. "It will be years"

"But I love you," I insisted.

I stood not a yard from the sweet lips I had kissed; I stood within
arm's length of the inanimate beauty I desired to quicken, and I saw
opening between us a gulf of years, toil, waiting, disappointments and
an immense uncertainty.

"I love you," I said. "Don't you love me?"

She looked me in the face with grave irresponsive eyes.

"I don't know," she said. "I LIKE you, of course.... One has to be
sensibl..."

I can remember now my sense of frustration by her unresilient reply.
I should have perceived then that for her my ardour had no quickening
fire. But how was I to know? I had