a thin haze hung, and the acrid fragrance from little
bonfires of fallen leaves. What was there about that scent of
burned-leaf smoke that had always moved him so? Symbol of parting!--that
most mournful thing in all the world. For what would even death be, but
for parting? Sweet, long sleep, or new adventure. But, if a man loved
others--to leave them, or be left! Ah! and it was not death only that
brought partings!

He came to the opening of the street where Dromore lived. She would be
there, sitting by the fire in the big chair, playing with her kitten,
thinking, dreaming, and--alone! He passed on at such a pace that people
stared; till, turning the last corner for home, he ran almost into the
arms of Oliver Dromore.

The young man was walking with unaccustomed indecision, his fur coat
open, his opera-hat pushed up on his crisp hair. Dark under the eyes, he
had not the proper gloss of a Dromore at this season of the year.

"Mr. Lennan! I've just been round to you."

And Lennan answered dazedly:

"Will you come in, or shall I walk your way a bit?"

"I'd rather--out here, if you don't mind."

So in silence they went back into the Square. And Oliver said:

"Let's get over by the rails."

They crossed to the railings of the Square's dark garden, where nobody
was passing. And with every step Lennan's humiliation grew. There was
something false and undignified in walking with this young man who had
once treated him as a father confessor to his love for Nell. And
suddenly he perceived that they had made a complete circuit of the Square
garden without speaking a single word.

"Yes?" he said.

Oliver turned his face away.

"You remember what I told you in the summer. Well, it's worse now. I've
been going a mucker lately in all sorts of ways to try and get rid of it.
But it's all no good. She's got me!"

And Lennan thought: You're not alone in that! But he kept silence. His
chief dread was of saying something that he would remember afterwards as
the words of Judas.

Then Oliver suddenly burst out:

"Why can't she care? I suppose I'm nothing much, but she's known me all
her life, and she used to like me. There's something--I can't make out.
Could you do anything for me with her?"

Lennan pointed across the street.

"In every other one of those houses, Oliver," he said, "there's probably
some creature who can't make out why another creature doesn't care.
Passion comes when it will, goes when