d at her
inattention, and vented his annoyance on literature. "Every one writes
for money in these days."

"Oh, Cecil--!"

"It is so. I will inflict Joseph Emery Prank on you no longer."

Cecil, this afternoon seemed such a twittering sparrow. The ups and
downs in his voice were noticeable, but they did not affect her. She had
dwelt amongst melody and movement, and her nerves refused to answer to
the clang of his. Leaving him to be annoyed, she gazed at the black head
again. She did not want to stroke it, but she saw herself wanting to
stroke it; the sensation was curious.

"How do you like this view of ours, Mr. Emerson?"

"I never notice much difference in views."

"What do you mean?"

"Because they're all alike. Because all that matters in them is distance
and air."

"H'm!" said Cecil, uncertain whether the remark was striking or not.

"My father"--he looked up at her (and he was a little flushed)--"says
that there is only one perfect view--the view of the sky straight over
our heads, and that all these views on earth are but bungled copies of
it."

"I expect your father has been reading Dante," said Cecil, fingering the
novel, which alone permitted him to lead the conversation.

"He told us another day that views are really crowds--crowds of trees
and houses and hills--and are bound to resemble each other, like human
crowds--and that the power they have over us is sometimes supernatural,
for the same reason."

Lucy's lips parted.

"For a crowd is more than the people who make it up. Something gets
added to it--no one knows how--just as something has got added to those
hills."

He pointed with his racquet to the South Downs.

"What a splendid idea!" she murmured. "I shall enjoy hearing your father
talk again. I'm so sorry he's not so well."

"No, he isn't well."

"There's an absurd account of a view in this book," said Cecil. "Also
that men fall into two classes--those who forget views and those who
remember them, even in small rooms."

"Mr. Emerson, have you any brothers or sisters?"

"None. Why?"

"You spoke of 'us.'"

"My mother, I was meaning."

Cecil closed the novel with a bang.

"Oh, Cecil--how you made me jump!"

"I will inflict Joseph Emery Prank on you no longer."

"I can just remember us all three going into the country for the day and
seeing as far as Hindhead. It is the first thing that I remember."

Cecil got up; the man was ill-bred--he hadn't put on his coat after