ardrobes and cabinets, gave it an air of intimacy increased by its
faded hangings, its slightly frayed and threadbare rugs. Everything in
it was harmoniously shabby, with a subtle sought-for shabbiness in which
Darrow fancied he discerned the touch of Fraser Leath. But Fraser Leath
had grown so unimportant a factor in the scheme of things that these
marks of his presence caused the young man no emotion beyond that of a
faint retrospective amusement.

The afternoon and evening had been perfect.

After a moment of concern over her step-son's departure, Anna had
surrendered herself to her happiness with an impetuosity that Darrow had
never suspected in her. Early in the afternoon they had gone out in the
motor, traversing miles of sober-tinted landscape in which, here and
there, a scarlet vineyard flamed, clattering through the streets of
stony villages, coming out on low slopes above the river, or winding
through the pale gold of narrow wood-roads with the blue of clear-cut
hills at their end. Over everything lay a faint sunshine that seemed
dissolved in the still air, and the smell of wet roots and decaying
leaves was merged in the pungent scent of burning underbrush. Once, at
the turn of a wall, they stopped the motor before a ruined gateway and,
stumbling along a road full of ruts, stood before a little old deserted
house, fantastically carved and chimneyed, which lay in a moat under the
shade of ancient trees. They paced the paths between the trees, found
a mouldy Temple of Love on an islet among reeds and plantains, and,
sitting on a bench in the stable-yard, watched the pigeons circling
against the sunset over their cot of patterned brick. Then the motor
flew on into the dusk...

When they came in they sat beside the fire in the oak drawing-room,
and Darrow noticed how delicately her head stood out against the sombre
panelling, and mused on the enjoyment there would always be in the mere
fact of watching her hands as they moved about among the tea-things...

They dined late, and facing her across the table, with its low lights
and flowers, he felt an extraordinary pleasure in seeing her again in
evening dress, and in letting his eyes dwell on the proud shy set of her
head, the way her dark hair clasped it, and the girlish thinness of her
neck above the slight swell of the breast. His imagination was struck
by the quality of reticence in her beauty. She suggested a fine portrait
kept down to a few tones, or a Gree