endless. He was
absolutely happy, and Howat watched him with mingled longing and envy.
His affair, darker, more tragic in spite of a consummation that must be
joyous, seemed infinitely more mature. Caroline was a nice enough girl,
but Ludowika was supremely fascinating. David amused him:

"Caroline is a miracle. Of course there are prettier, and Mrs. Winscombe
has more air; but none has Caroline's charming manner. Of course, you
have noticed it. Even a thick-headed brother couldn't miss that. We have
plans for you, too. And it's no good your looking glum; we'll glum you."

The amusement faded from Howat's countenance, and he listened sullenly
to the end of the raillery. His temper was growing daily more uneven,
the delight had largely left his reflections. His passion had become too
insistent for happy conjecturing; the visions of Ludowika now only
tormented him. Her eyes were like burning sapphires, her warm palms
caressed his face; he was increasingly gaunt and shadowed. Once he gave
a note for her to the Italian servant, loathing the hand that adroitly
covered the folded sheet, the other's oblique smile; but she sent back
word that she was suffering from a headache. He began to plan so that he
would intercept her in unexpected places. She, too, was passionate in
her admissions; but, somehow, some one always stumbled toward them, or
they were summoned from beyond. He began to feel that this was not mere
chance, but desired, deliberately courted, by Ludowika. Very well, he
would end it all, as it were, with a shout when Felix Winscombe came
back.

When Felix Winscombe came back!

He was, too, increasingly aware of his mother's scrutiny. Howat was
certain that Isabel Penny had surmised a part of his feeling for
Ludowika. He didn't greatly care; any one might know, he thought
contemptuously. It had destroyed his sympathetic feeling for his mother,
the only considerate bond that had existed with his family.
Unconsciously he placed her on one side of a line, the other held only
Ludowika and himself.

He explained this to her in a sere reach of the garden. It was
afternoon, the sun low and a haze on the hills. Ludowika had on a
scarlet wrap, curiously vivid against the withered, brown aspect of the
faded flower stems. "You and me," he repeated. She gazed, without
answering, at the barrier of hills that closed in Myrtle Forge. From
the thickets came the clear whistling of partridges, intensifying the
unbroken tranquil