like
Halliday! He turned to swim in. The red cliffs looked a long way off.
If he were drowned they would find his clothes. The Hallidays would
know; but Megan perhaps never--they took no newspaper at the farm. And
Phil Halliday's words came back to him again: "A girl at Cambridge I
might have Glad I haven't got her on my mind!" And in that moment of
unreasoning fear he vowed he would not have her on his mind. Then his
fear left him; he swam in easily enough, dried himself in the sun, and
put on his clothes. His heart felt sore, but no longer ached; his body
cool and refreshed.

When one is as young as Ashurst, pity is not a violent emotion. And,
back in the Hallidays' sitting-room, eating a ravenous tea, he felt much
like a man recovered from fever. Everything seemed new and clear; the
tea, the buttered toast and jam tasted absurdly good; tobacco had never
smelt so nice. And walking up and down the empty room, he stopped here
and there to touch or look. He took up Stella's work-basket, fingered
the cotton reels and a gaily-coloured plait of sewing silks, smelt at the
little bag filled with woodroffe she kept among them. He sat down at the
piano, playing tunes with one finger, thinking: 'To-night she'll play; I
shall watch her while she's playing; it does me good to watch her.' He
took up the book, which still lay where she had placed it beside him, and
tried to read. But Megan's little, sad figure began to come back at
once, and he got up and leaned in the window, listening to the thrushes
in the Crescent gardens, gazing at the sea, dreamy and blue below the
trees. A servant came in and cleared the tea away, and he still stood,
inhaling the evening air, trying not to think. Then he saw the Hallidays
coming through the gate of the Crescent, Stella a little in front of Phil
and the children, with their baskets, and instinctively he drew back.
His heart, too sore and discomfited, shrank from this encounter, yet
wanted its friendly solace--bore a grudge against this influence, yet
craved its cool innocence, and the pleasure of watching Stella's face.
From against the wall behind the piano he saw her come in and stand
looking a little blank as though disappointed; then she saw him and
smiled, a swift, brilliant smile which warmed yet irritated Ashurst.

"You never came after us, Frank."

"No; I found I couldn't."

"Look! We picked such lovely late violets!" She held out a bunch.
Ashurst put his nose to