little spiritual
face, the little brown shoes pointed downwards, their toes just
touching the ground; the little fawn gloves folded upon her lap. He
was not conscious of having noticed her with any particular attention:
a plainly dressed, childish-looking figure alone on a seat between him
and the setting sun. Even had he felt curious his shyness would have
prevented his deliberately running the risk of meeting her eyes. Yet
immediately he had passed her he saw her again, quite clearly: the
pale oval face, the brown shoes, and, between them, the little fawn
gloves folded one over the other. All down the Broad Walk and across
Primrose Hill, he saw her silhouetted against the sinking sun. At
least that much of her: the wistful face and the trim brown shoes and
the little folded hands; until the sun went down behind the high
chimneys of the brewery beyond Swiss Cottage, and then she faded.

She was there again the next evening, precisely in the same place.
Usually he walked home by the Hampstead Road. Only occasionally, when
the beauty of the evening tempted him, would he take the longer way by
Regent Street and through the Park. But so often it made him feel sad,
the quiet Park, forcing upon him the sense of his own loneliness.

He would walk down merely as far as the Great Vase, so he arranged with
himself. If she were not there--it was not likely that she would
be--he would turn back into Albany Street. The newsvendors' shops with
their display of the cheaper illustrated papers, the second-hand
furniture dealers with their faded engravings and old prints, would
give him something to look at, to take away his thoughts from himself.
But seeing her in the distance, almost the moment he had entered the
gate, it came to him how disappointed he would have been had the seat
in front of the red tulip bed been vacant. A little away from her he
paused, turning to look at the flowers. He thought that, waiting his
opportunity, he might be able to steal a glance at her undetected.
Once for a moment he did so, but venturing a second time their eyes
met, or he fancied they did, and blushing furiously he hurried past.
But again she came with him, or, rather, preceded him. On each empty
seat between him and the sinking sun he saw her quite plainly: the
pale oval face and the brown shoes, and, between them, the fawn gloves
folded one upon the other.

Only this evening, about the small, sensitive mouth there seemed to be