d of love passed between them. She seemed not to desire
anything more than the companionship of those walks. Yet Philip was
positive that she was glad to be with him. She puzzled him as much as she
had done at the beginning. He did not begin to understand her conduct; but
the more he knew her the fonder he grew of her; she was competent and self
controlled, and there was a charming honesty in her: you felt that you
could rely upon her in every circumstance.

"You are an awfully good sort," he said to her once a propos of nothing
at all.

"I expect I'm just the same as everyone else," she answered.

He knew that he did not love her. It was a great affection that he felt
for her, and he liked her company; it was curiously soothing; and he had
a feeling for her which seemed to him ridiculous to entertain towards a
shop-girl of nineteen: he respected her. And he admired her magnificent
healthiness. She was a splendid animal, without defect; and physical
perfection filled him always with admiring awe. She made him feel
unworthy.

Then, one day, about three weeks after they had come back to London as
they walked together, he noticed that she was unusually silent. The
serenity of her expression was altered by a slight line between the
eyebrows: it was the beginning of a frown.

"What's the matter, Sally?" he asked.

She did not look at him, but straight in front of her, and her colour
darkened.

"I don't know."

He understood at once what she meant. His heart gave a sudden, quick beat,
and he felt the colour leave his cheeks.

"What d'you mean? Are you afraid that... ?"

He stopped. He could not go on. The possibility that anything of the sort
could happen had never crossed his mind. Then he saw that her lips were
trembling, and she was trying not to cry.

"I'm not certain yet. Perhaps it'll be all right."

They walked on in silence till they came to the corner of Chancery Lane,
where he always left her. She held out her hand and smiled.

"Don't worry about it yet. Let's hope for the best."

He walked away with a tumult of thoughts in his head. What a fool he had
been! That was the first thing that struck him, an abject, miserable fool,
and he repeated it to himself a dozen times in a rush of angry feeling. He
despised himself. How could he have got into such a mess? But at the same
time, for his thoughts chased one another through his brain and yet seemed
to stand together, in a hopeless confusion, like the p