so
bad as you thought me this morning. Your son has just asked me to marry
him.'

Mrs Holt dropped Victoria's hand; her face was distorted by a spasm.

'I refused him,' said Victoria.

She stepped into the cab and directed the cabman to Portsea Place. As
they turned into the road she looked back. At the head of the steps Mrs
Holt stood frozen and amazed. Victoria almost smiled but, her eyes
wandering upwards, she saw, at her dormer window, Jack's head and
shoulders. His blue eyes were fixed upon her with unutterable longing. A
few strands of hair had blown down upon his forehead. For the space of a
second they gazed into each other's eyes. Then the wall blotted him out
suddenly. Victoria sighed softly and sank back upon the seat of the cab.

At the moment she had no thought. She was at such a point as one may be
who has turned the last page of the first volume of a lengthy book: the
next page is blank. Nothing remained even of that last look in which
Jack's blue eyes had pitifully retold his sorry tale. She was like a
rope which has parted with many groans and wrenchings; broken and its
strands scattering, its ends float lazily at the mercy of the waves,
preparing to sink. She was going more certainly into the unknown than if
she had walked blindfold into the darkest night.

The horse trotted gently, the brakes gritting on the wheels as it picked
its way down the steep. The fresh air of April drove into the cab,
stinging a little and yet balmy with the freshness of latent spring.
Victoria sat up, clasped her hands on the doors and craned out to see.
There was a little fever in her blood again; the spirit of adventure was
raising its head. As fitful gleams of sunshine lit up and irradiated the
puddles a passionate interest in the life around seemed to overpower
her. She looked almost greedily at the spire, far down the Wellington
Road, shining white like molten metal with almost Italian brilliancy
against a sky pale as shallow water. The light, the young wind, the
scents of earth and buds, the men and women who walked with springy
step intent on no business, all this, and even the horse who seemed to
toss his head and swish his tail in sheer glee, told her that the world
was singing its alleluia, for, behold, spring was born unto it in
gladness, with all its trappings and its sumptuous promise.

Everything was beautiful; not even the dreary waste of wall which
conceals Lords from the vulgar, nor the thousand tombs