e doves. Lennan watched
them going to him, the ring-doves, very dainty, and capricious, keeping
to themselves. In place of that old fellow, he was really seeing HER,
feeding from her hands those birds of Cypris. What a group he could have
made of her with them perching and flying round her! If she were his,
what could he not achieve--to make her immortal--like the old Greeks and
Italians, who, in their work, had rescued their mistresses from Time! . .

He was back in his rooms in London two hours before he dared begin
expecting her. Living alone there but for a caretaker who came every
morning for an hour or two, made dust, and departed, he had no need for
caution. And when he had procured flowers, and the fruits and cakes
which they certainly would not eat--when he had arranged the tea-table,
and made the grand tour at least twenty times, he placed himself with a
book at the little round window, to watch for her approach. There, very
still, he sat, not reading a word, continually moistening his dry lips
and sighing, to relieve the tension of his heart. At last he saw her
coming. She was walking close to the railings of the houses, looking
neither to right nor left. She had on a lawn frock, and a hat of the
palest coffee-coloured straw, with a narrow black velvet ribbon. She
crossed the side street, stopped for a second, gave a swift look round,
then came resolutely on. What was it made him love her so? What was the
secret of her fascination? Certainly, no conscious enticements. Never
did anyone try less to fascinate. He could not recall one single little
thing that she had done to draw him to her. Was it, perhaps, her very
passivity, her native pride that never offered or asked anything, a sort
of soft stoicism in her fibre; that and some mysterious charm, as close
and intimate as scent was to a flower?

He waited to open till he heard her footstep just outside. She came in
without a word, not even looking at him. And he, too, said not a word
till he had closed the door, and made sure of her. Then they turned to
each other. Her breast was heaving a little, under her thin frock, but
she was calmer than he, with that wonderful composure of pretty women in
all the passages of love, as who should say: This is my native air!

They stood and looked at each other, as if they could never have enough,
till he said at last:

"I thought I should die before this moment came. There isn't a minute
that I don'