metimes they had tea there together, if visitors
came, so that the privilege of their few hours should not be infringed.
Nevertheless, the old sense of time and the world at their service was
lost. The dull November dusk came swiftly on; and out in the passage the
cuckoo with maddening reiteration proclaimed each fleeting fifteen
minutes. Often Guy was asked to dinner, but the old pleasure was mostly
gone, for in the evening he and Pauline were not expected to retire by
themselves; and there was always an implied reproach for his influence
when she refused to play her violin. Then there came a dreadful day,
because some cousins had arrived to stay at the Rectory; for these two
girls, like every one else, had been accustomed to adore Pauline, and
so were determined to take an extreme interest in her engagement.

"We seem to have a ghastly lure for them," Guy groaned in exasperation,
when Pauline had managed at last to secure the nursery for themselves.

"Guy, they're only staying a week."

"Well," he protested, "and for me to stay with you a week takes months
of these miserable little hours we have. Oh, Pauline, I must see more of
you!"

Then back came the adoring cousins, and Guy felt that no torture he
could imagine was bad enough for them. Their cordiality to him was so
great that he had to be superficially pleasant; and, as smile after
smile was wrung from him, by the end of the afternoon he felt sick with
the agony his politeness had cost.

"Hurry and dress! hurry! hurry!" he begged Pauline in a whisper when the
gong sounded. "Let us at least have five minutes alone before dinner
comes and I must go."

Pauline was scarcely five minutes in coming down again, but Guy counted
each tick of the clock with desperate heartsickness.

"Oh, my darling, my darling," he said, when she was held in the so
dearly longed for, the so terribly brief embrace. "I cannot bear the
torment of to-day."

She tried to soothe him; but Guy had reached the depths and this relief
after such effort was almost too late.

"Pauline, listen," he said, quickly. "You must come and say good night
to me in the garden. Do you hear? You must! You must! I sha'n't sleep
unless you do. You must!"

"Guy," she murmured, "I couldn't."

"You must! Promise ... you must. Come down and say good night to me on
the lawn. I shall wait there all night. I shall wait...."

The cuckoo burst out to cry seven o'clock.

"You must come. You must come. Promise."