d Shelton went from these comments on Christianity to the station
of Charing Cross. There, as he stood waiting in the shadow, his heart
was in his mouth; and it struck him as odd that he should have come to
this meeting fresh from a vagabond's society.

Presently, amongst the stream of travellers, he saw Antonia. She was
close to her mother, who was parleying with a footman; behind them were a
maid carrying a bandbox and a porter with the travelling-bags. Antonia's
figure, with its throat settled in the collar of her cape, slender, tall,
severe, looked impatient and remote amongst the bustle. Her eyes,
shadowed by the journey, glanced eagerly about, welcoming all she saw; a
wisp of hair was loose above her ear, her cheeks glowed cold and rosy.
She caught sight of Shelton, and bending her neck, stag-like, stood
looking at him; a brilliant smile parted her lips, and Shelton trembled.
Here was the embodiment of all he had desired for weeks. He could not
tell what was behind that smile of hers--passionate aching or only some
ideal, some chaste and glacial intangibility. It seemed to be shining
past him into the gloomy station. There was no trembling and
uncertainty, no rage of possession in that brilliant smile; it had the
gleam of fixedness, like the smiling of a star. What did it matter? She
was there, beautiful as a young day, and smiling at him; and she was his,
only divided from him by a space of time. He took a step; her eyes fell
at once, her face regained aloofness; he saw her, encircled by mother,
footman, maid, and porter, take her seat and drive away. It was over; she
had seen him, she had smiled, but alongside his delight lurked another
feeling, and, by a bitter freak, not her face came up before him but the
face of that lady in the restaurant--short, round, and powdered, with
black-circled eyes. What right had we to scorn them? Had they mothers,
footmen, porters, maids? He shivered, but this time with physical
disgust; the powdered face with dark-fringed eyes had vanished; the fair,
remote figure of the railway-station came back again.

He sat long over dinner, drinking, dreaming; he sat long after, smoking,
dreaming, and when at length he drove away, wine and dreams fumed in his
brain. The dance of lamps, the cream-cheese moon, the rays of clean wet
light on his horse's harness, the jingling of the cab bell, the whirring
wheels, the night air and the branches--it was all so good! He threw
back th