hour or so, this fear of approach,
this hyperaesthesia of contact and communication. Yet not for anything
could he kiss her good night and, mumbling a few bearish excuses, he
vanished as soon as dinner was over, vowing that he would cure himself
of this mood by walking through the pine trees and blowy darkness of the
cliffs.

As he passed through the hotel lounge, he saw the good-looking girl,
whom his mother had stigmatized as common, waiting there wrapped up in a
feathery cloak. He decided that he would sit down and observe her until
the sister came down. He wished he knew this girl, since it would be
pleasant after dinner to stroll out either upon the pier or to listen to
the music in the Winter Garden in such attractive company. Michael
fancied that the girl, as she walked slowly up and down the lounge, was
conscious of his glances, and he felt an adventurous excitement at his
heart. It would be a daring and delightful novelty to speak to her. Then
the sister came down, and the two girls went out through the swinging
doors of the hotel, leaving Michael depressed and lonely. Was it a trick
of the lamplight, or did he really perceive her head turn outside to
regard him for a moment?

During his walk along the cliffs Michael played with this idea. By the
time he went to bed his mind was full of this girl, and it was certainly
thrilling to come down to breakfast next morning and see what blouse she
was wearing. Mrs. Fane always had breakfast in her room, so Michael was
free to watch this new interest over the cricket matches in The
Sportsman. He grew almost jealous of the plates and forks and cups which
existed so intimately upon her table, and he derived a sentimental
pleasure from the thought that nothing was more likely than that
to-morrow there would be an exchange of cups between his table and hers.
He conceived the idea of chipping a piece out of his own cup and
watching every morning on which table it would be laid, until it reached
her.

At lunch Michael, as nonchalantly as he could speak, asked his mother
whether she did not think the pretty girl dressed rather well.

"Very provincial," Mrs. Fane judged.

"But prettily, I think," persisted Michael. "And she wears a different
dress every day."

"Do you want to know her?" asked Mrs. Fane.

"Oh, mother, of course not," said Michael, blushing hotly.

"I dare say they're very pleasant people," Mrs. Fane remarked. "I'll
speak to them after lunch, and tell t