rescent. The stars were bright in a very dark blue sky, and by their
light some lilacs had that mysterious colour of flowers by night which no
one can describe. Ashurst pressed his face against a spray; and before
his closed eyes Megan started up, with the tiny brown spaniel pup against
her breast. "I thought of a girl that I might have you know. I was glad
I hadn't got her on my mind!" He jerked his head away from the lilac,
and began pacing up and down over the grass, a grey phantom coming to
substance for a moment in the light from the lamp at either end. He was
with her again under the living, breathing white ness of the blossom, the
stream chattering by, the moon glinting steel-blue on the bathing-pool;
back in the rapture of his kisses on her upturned face of innocence and
humble passion, back in the suspense and beauty of that pagan night. He
stood still once more in the shadow of the lilacs. Here the sea, not the
stream, was Night's voice; the sea with its sigh and rustle; no little
bird, no owl, no night-Jar called or spun; but a piano tinkled, and the
white houses cut the sky with solid curve, and the scent from the lilacs
filled the air. A window of the hotel, high up, was lighted; he saw a
shadow move across the blind. And most queer sensations stirred within
him, a sort of churning, and twining, and turning of a single emotion on
itself, as though spring and love, bewildered and confused, seeking the
way, were baffled. This girl, who had called him Frank, whose hand had
given his that sudden little clutch, this girl so cool and pure--what
would she think of such wild, unlawful loving? He sank down on the
grass, sitting there cross-legged, with his back to the house, motionless
as some carved Buddha. Was he really going to break through innocence,
and steal? Sniff the scent out of a wild flower, and--perhaps--throw it
away? "Of a girl at Cambridge that I might have--you know!" He put his
hands to the grass, one on each side, palms downwards, and pressed; it
was just warm still--the grass, barely moist, soft and firm and friendly.
'What am I going to do?' he thought. Perhaps Megan was at her window,
looking out at the blossom, thinking of him! Poor little Megan! 'Why
not?' he thought. 'I love her! But do I really love her? or do I only
want her because she is so pretty, and loves me? What am I going to do?'
The piano tinkled on, the stars winked; and Ashurst gazed out before him
at the dark s