py?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"I encountered Mr. Colston, junior, a few minutes ago. He was on his way
to Eastthorpe. I am afraid I was rather rude to him, for, to tell you
the truth, I did not want his society. He is not an interesting young
man. Do you care anything for him?"

"Nothing."

"I should like to see the picture you have formed of the man for whom you
would care. I do not remember"--speaking slowly and dreamily--"ever to
have seen a woman who would frame a loftier ideal."

He unconsciously came nearer to her; his arm moved into hers, and she did
not resist.

"What is the use of painting pictures when reality is unattainable?"

"Unattainable! Yes, just what I imagined: you paint something
unattainable to ordinary mortality. It is strange that most men and
women, even those who more or less in all they do strive after
perfection, seem to be satisfied with so little when it comes to love and
marriage. The same sculptor, who unweariedly refines day after day to
put in marble the image which haunts him, forms no such image of a woman
whom he seeks unceasingly, or, if he does, he descends on one of the
first twenty he meets and thinks he adores her. There is some strong
thwarting power which prevents his search after the best, and it is as if
nature had said that we should not pick and choose. But the consequences
are tremendous. I honour you for your aspirations."

"You give me credit for a strength I do not possess, Mr. Cardew. I said
'unattainable.' That was all. I did not say how."

They had come to a gate which led out of the field into the road, and
they paused there. They leaned against the gate, and Mr. Cardew,
although his arm was withdrawn from Catharine's, had placed it upon the
top rail so that she felt it. The pressure would not have moved an ounce
weight; there were half a dozen thicknesses of wool and linen between the
arm and her shoulder, but the encircling touch sent a quiver through
every nerve in her and shook her like electricity. She stood gazing on
the ground, digging up the blades of grass with her foot.

"Do you mean," said Mr. Cardew, "that you have ever seen him, and that--"

The pressure behind her was a little more obvious; he bent his head
nearer to hers, looked in her face, and she leaned back on the arm
heavily. Suddenly, without a word, she put both her hands to her head,
pushed aside her hair, and stood upright as a spear.

"Good-bye," she said, with