lt this in him she redoubled her affection towards
him, but she thought that he noticed this and knew her effort.

Her thoughts went often now to Francis Breton, not as to anyone whom she
would ever see again--but she hoped that he was happy, wondered whether
there was anyone to look after him, wished that he had some friend so
that she might know that he was safe. Her pride did not allow her to
speak to Lizzie Rand about him; they had had one talk when Lizzie had
taken her letter, but that was all.

Then, as February drew to a close, she was unwell; that was so unusual
for her that she might have been disturbed had it been anything more
material than headaches, strange fits of indifference to everything and
a general failure of energy. She thought that she was indoors too much
and was now in the air as often as her duties to Roddy allowed her.

But the indifference persisted. Her feelings for Roddy were an odd
confusion; there were times, when she was away from him, and the thought
of him made her heart beat--"This is love--at last." There were times
again when, as she sat beside him, she could have beaten her hands
against the walls for very boredom and for his impenetrable taciturnity
as he read _The Times_ from the Births and Marriages on the front page
to the advertisements on the last and flung her details--"London
Scottish won their game at Richmond--That Fettes man got over three
times," or "I wouldn't give a button for that horse of old Tranty
Stummits they're all so gone on. You mark my words...." "I'd like to see
that new piece of Edwardes'"--"They've got a girl in it who dances on
her nose--jolly pretty she is, too, so Massiter says. He's been five
times and there's a song about moonlight or some old rot that they say
is spiffin'----" How to adjust this horrible stupidity with the courage,
the humour, the affection, even the poetry that she found in him at
other times?

There were days when she cared for him with a new thrilling emotion,
something that had in it a quality of curiosity as though he were coming
before her as someone unknown and unexpected. There were other days when
she wondered how he could have remained, through all the crisis, so
precisely the same Roddy.

Meanwhile between all these uncertainties she lost touch with herself.
It was as though her soul flew, like some bird in a strange country,
from point to point, restless, unsatisfied....

II

Then those few hurried words with Ch