onscious all at once of a
strange mixture of spicy perfumes, a faint sense of intoxication, of
weird, delicate emotions which caught at the breath in his throat and
sent the blood dancing through his veins, warmed to a new and wonderful
music. Her blue eyes were a little dimmed, the droop of her head a
little sad. Quite close to them was a thick bed of lavender. He looked
at the beans in his hand and his eyes sought the thickest part of the
clustering mass of foliage and blossom. She had lifted her eyes now and
it seemed to him that she had divined his purpose--approved of it, even.
Her slim, white-clad body swayed towards him. She appeared to have
abandoned finally the faint aloofness of her attitude. He raised his
hand. Then she stopped him. The moment, whatever its dangers may have
been, had passed.

"I do not know whether your story is an allegory or not," she said
softly. "It really doesn't matter, does it? You must come and see me
again--afterwards."

CHAPTER X

NO RECONCILIATION

Burton travelled down to Garden Green on the following morning by the
Tube, which he hated, and walked along the familiar avenue with loathing
at his heart. There was no doubt about Ellen's being at home. The few
feet of back yard were full of white garments of unlovely shape,
recently washed and fluttering in the breeze. The very atmosphere was
full of soapsuds. Ellen herself opened the door to him, her skirts
pinned up around her, and a clothes-peg in her mouth.

He greeted her with an effort at pleasantness. "Good morning, Ellen,"
he said. "I am glad to find you at home. May I come in?"

Ellen removed the clothes-peg from her mouth.

"It's your own house, isn't it?" she replied, with a suspicious little
quiver in her tone. "I don't suppose you've forgotten your way into the
parlor. Keep well away from me or you may get some soapsuds on your
fine clothes."

She raised her red arms above her head and flattened herself against the
wall with elaborate care. Burton, hating himself and the whole
situation, stepped into the parlor. Ellen followed him as far as the
threshold.

"What is it you want?" she demanded, still retaining one foot in the
passage. "I'm busy. You haven't forgotten that it's Friday morning,
have you?"

"I want to talk to you for a little while," he said, gently. "I have
something to propose which may improve our relations."

Ellen's attitude became one of fierce contempt mingled with a slight
tremulous