nging him
back to this voicelessness in which she could not any longer talk
nonsense? Here the least movement, the slightest gesture, the most
ordinary word, would be weighted for both of them with an importance
that seemed unlimited. For the first time the Rectory was strangely
frightening; and when through the silent passages they were walking
towards the nursery it was the exploration of a dream. Yet, however
undiscoverable the object that was leading them, she was glad to see the
nursery door, for there within would surely come back to her the ease of
an immemorial familiarity. Yet in that room of childhood, that room the
most bound up with the simple progress of her life, she found herself
counting the birds, berries, and daisies upon the walls, as if she were
beholding them vaguely for the first time. Why was she unpicking
Margaret's work or folding into this foolish elaboration of triangles
Monica's music. And why did Guy behave so oddly, taking up all sorts of
unnatural positions, leaning upon the rickety mantelshelf, balancing
himself upon the fender, pleating the curtains, and threading his way
with long legs in and out, in and out of the chairs?

"Pauline!"

He had stopped abruptly by the fireplace, and was not looking at her
when he spoke. Oh, he would never succeed in lifting even from the floor
that match which with one foot he was trying to lift on to the other
foot.

"Pauline!"

Now he was looking at her; and she must be looking at him, for there was
nothing on this settee which would give her a good reason not to look at
him. The room was so still that beyond the closed door the hoarse tick
of the cuckoo-clock was audible; and what was that behind her which was
fretting against the window-pane? And why was she holding with each hand
to the brocade, as if she feared to be swept altogether out of this
world?

"Pauline!"

Was it indeed her voice on earth that said "yes"?

"Pauline, I suppose you know I love you?"

And she was saying "yes."

"Pauline, do you love me?"

And again she had said "yes...."

Outside in the corridor the cuckoo snapped the half-hour; then it seemed
to tick faster and a thousand times faster. She must turn away from Guy,
and as she turned she saw that what had been fretting the window-pane
was a spray of yellow jasmine. Upon the cheek that was turned from him
the dipping sun shed a warm glow, but the one nearer was a flame of
fire.

"Pauline!"

He had knelt besid