ll were superbly unaware.

Winny's face pressed closer and closer to the lattice. One of her little
feet went tap-tapping on the gravel, beating the measure of the waltz.
For at the sound of the music, at the sight of the locked and whirling
couples, her memory revived; she heard again the beating of the measure
old as time; she felt in her limbs the start and strain of the wild
energy; and instinct, savage and shy, moved in the rhythm of her blood,
and desire for the joy of the swift running, of the lacing arms and
flying feet.

In her body she was standing outside the Dancing Saloon at the Earl's
Court Exhibition, with her face pressed to the lattice; she was
twenty-seven last birthday in her body; but in her soul she was
seventeen, and she stood on the floor of the Polytechnic Gymnasium,
beating time to the thud of the barbell. She was Winny of the short
tunic and the knickers, and the long black stockings, and had her hair
(tied by a great bow of ribbon) in a door-knocker plat.

"Oh, Ranny--" She looked at him with her shining eyes, half tender and
half wild. "If we only _could_--"

Something gave way in him and dissolved, and he was weak as water when
he looked at her.

The violins gave forth a penetrating, excruciating cry. And he felt in
him the tumult evoked, long ago, one Sunday evening by the music in the
Mission Church of St. Matthias's.

Only he knew now what it meant.

His voice went thick in his throat.

"I mustn't, Winky. I daren't. Some day--you and I--"

It was the supreme temptation of the great Enchantress; and they fled
from it. The violins shrieked out and cried their yearning as they went.

* * * * *

A scud of rain lashed the carriage windows as their train shot out of
the Underground at Walham Green. When they stepped out onto the platform
at Southfields, the big drops leaped up at them.

"Well, I never," said Winny. "Who'd have thought it would have done
that?"

They scuttled into shelter.

"It'll be a score for Mother. She said it would come, and I said it
wouldn't."

"It'll ruin your new suit."

"And there won't be much left of your dress."

"My dress'll iron out again. It's me poor hat."

(The Peggy hat was not made for rain.)

"I'll take it off and pin it up in me skirt. It's you I'm thinking of."

She felt his coat to see what resistance it would offer to the rain. It
offered none. It made no pretense about it.

"It'll be soaked, an