nt
they have drooped to mope beneath the damp bushes. It is ever yearning
for and trembling at the future; in its secret places all the countless
shapes of things that are to be are taking stealthy counsel of how to
grow up without letting their gown of mystery fall. They rustle, whisper,
shriek suddenly, and as suddenly fall into a delicious silence. From the
first hazel-bush to the last may-tree it is an unending meeting-place of
young solemn things eager to find out what they are, eager to rush forth
to greet the kisses of the wind and sun, and for ever trembling back and
hiding their faces. The spirit of that wood seems to lie with her ear
close to the ground, a pale petal of a hand curved like a shell behind
it, listening for the whisper of her own life. There she lies, white and
supple, with dewy, wistful eyes, sighing: 'What is my meaning? Ah, I am
everything! Is there in all the world a thing so wonderful as I?... Oh,
I am nothing--my wings are heavy; I faint, I die!'

When Thyme, attended by the grey girl, emerged from the abyss at the top,
her cheeks were flushed and her hands clenched. She said nothing. The
grey girl, too, was silent, with a look such as a spirit divested of its
body by long bathing in the river of reality might bend on one who has
just come to dip her head. Thyme's quick eyes saw that look, and her
colour deepened. She saw, too, the glance of the Jewish youth when
Martin joined them in the doorway.

'Two girls now,' he seemed to say. 'He goes it, this young man!'

Supper was laid in her new friend's room--pressed beef, potato salad,
stewed prunes, and ginger ale. Martin and the grey girl talked. Thyme
ate in silence, but though her eyes seemed fastened on her plate, she saw
every glance that passed between them, heard every word they said. Those
glances were not remarkable, nor were those words particularly important,
but they were spoken in tones that seemed important to Thyme. 'He never
talks to me like that,' she thought.

When supper was over they went out into the streets to walk, but at the
door the grey girl gave Thyme's arm a squeeze, her cheek a swift kiss,
and turned back up the stairs.

"Aren't you coming?" shouted Martin.

Her voice was heard answering from above: "No, not tonight."

With the back of her hand Thyme rubbed off the kiss. The two cousins
walked out amongst the traffic.

The evening was very warm and close; no breeze fanned the reeking town.