ng to meet you. And when I saw
you about---"

"You noticed me?"

"Who could help it? I'm in luck."

"What do you mean?" she asked lightly.

"Meeting with you down here."

Thus they talked for quite a long while. Long before they separated for
the day, Mavis's eyes had been smiling into his.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

MAVIS AND HAROLD

"You're late!"

"I always am. I've been trying to make myself charming."

"That wouldn't be difficult."

"You think so?"

"I'm sure of it."

Mavis spoke lightly, but Harold's voice was eloquent of conviction.

"I'm sure of it," he repeated, as if to himself.

"Am I so perfect?" she asked, as her eyes sought the ground.

"In my eyes. But, then, I'm different from other men."

"You are."

"You needn't remind me of it."

"Isn't it nice to be different from others?"

"And wheel myself about because I can't walk?"

"Is that what you meant? Believe me, I didn't mean that. I was thinking
how different you were to talk to, to other men I've met."

"You flatter me."

"It's the truth."

"Then, since I'm so exceptional, will you do something for me?"

"Perhaps."

"Never be later than you can help. I worry, fearing something's
happened to you."

"Not really?"

"You are scarcely a subject I should fib about."

This was the beginning of a conversation that took place a fortnight
after Mavis's first meeting with Harold by the sea. During this time,
they had seen each other for the best part of every day when the
weather was fine enough for Harold to be out of doors; as it was an
exceptionally fine spring, they met constantly. Mavis was still moved
by an immense hatred of the Devitt family, whom, more than ever before,
she believed to be responsible for the wrongs and sufferings she had
endured. In her determination to injure this family by making Harold
infatuated with her, she was not a little surprised at the powers of
dissimulation which she had never before suspected that she possessed.
She was both ashamed and proud of this latent manifestation of her
individuality--proud because she was inclined to rejoice in the power
that it conferred. But, at times, this elation was diluted with
self-reproaches, chiefly when she was with Harold, but not looking at
him; then his deep, rich voice would awaken strange tremors in her
being.

However much Mavis was occasionally moved to pity his physical
misfortune, the recollection of her griefs was more than enough to