g-birds, ruby-throated, topaz-winged. The
parlour-maid's cap and apron were of snow, and the banisters of
sandalwood.

Michael went to bed early that he might meet her in dreams, but still
for a long time he sat by his window peering at the tawny moon, while at
intervals trains went quickly past sparkling and swift as lighted fuses.
The scent of the leaves lying in the gardens all along Carlington Road
was vital with the airs from which she had been evoked that afternoon,
and his only regret was that his bedroom looked out on precisely the
opposite direction from that where now she was sleeping. Then he himself
became envious of sleep, and undressed quickly like one who stands
hot-footed by a lake's edge, eager for the water's cool.

Michael met Lily next day by the dusky corner of a street whose gradual
loss of outline he had watched occur through a patient hour. It was not
that Lily was late, but that Michael was so early. Yet in his present
mood of elation he could enjoy communion even with bricks and mortar. He
used every guileful ruse to cheat time of his determined moment. He
would walk along with closed eyes for ten paces and with open eyes for
ten paces, the convention with himself, almost the wager, being that
Lily should appear while his eyes were closed. It would have been truly
disappointing had she swung round the corner while his eyes were open.
But as it still lacked half an hour of her appointment, there was not
much fear of that. Then, as really her time drew near, a tenser game was
played, by which Lily was to appear when his left foot was advanced.
This match between odd and even lasted until in all its straightness of
perfect division six o'clock was inscribed upon his watch. No other hour
could so well have suited her form.

Now began the best game of all, since it was played less with himself
than with fortune. Michael went to the next turning, and, hiding himself
from the view of Trelawny Road, only allowed himself to peep at each
decade. At a hundred and sixty-three he said "She's in sight," one
hundred and sixty-four, "She's coming." The century was eliminated, too
cumbersome for his fiery enumeration. Sixty-five, "I know she is."
Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine! One hundred and seventy
was said slowly with an exquisite dragging deliberation. Then Michael
could look, and there she was with muff signalling through the azure
mists of twilight.

"I say, I told mother about you,"