fresh
and cool about her in the midst of all her passion----

Then he felt her releasing herself gently, but with determination.
"What's the use of beginning it all over again?" she said. "You know
there's nothing to be done. I aren't that sort. And you aren't
either. Don't you know she's got the bride-cake bought, poor girl?"

He could not speak. Her childish insistence on the wedding-cake having
been purchased was like a knife through his heart. If only he had left
her alone!

"I deserve to be shot for letting you in for this," he said hoarsely.
Then he broke out again. "I can't stand it! I must break off my
engagement--whatever it costs and however she suffers. You're
suffering. And I am! Good God, I should think I am."

But he spoke the last word to empty air--and the next moment he could
hear the click of the gate as she slipped away from him up the dark
drive.

_Chapter XV_

_The Cinema_

On Monday evening Caroline stood at the corner of Emerald Avenue, not
sure whether to go down it or not, for she had not visited the Creddles
since Mr. Creddle so ignominiously took her back to the Cottage at
midnight.

While she was hesitating a cab-load of sunburnt children, accompanied
by a stout, jolly-looking mother, went by on their way to the railway
station. It was the beginning of that exodus which would grow more
general every day during the next fortnight until the season was over.
Already cards had appeared in one or two windows, and those who had let
their houses furnished for "August month" while they found shelter in
tumble-down cottages, tents or converted railway carriages, were coming
back--glad now the money was in their pockets that they had borne the
discomfort, though each year on departing they said "Never again!" A
sea-gull flew across the sky with the pink sunset on its outspread
wings, and below, the grey church stood in a tender haze against a
sheet of gold. But this peaceful time at the end of summer only
increased Caroline's restlessness. There was nothing she wanted to do.
She neither liked to walk alone, nor to find friends.

So she stood there listlessly, trying to make up her mind whether she
should go to see Aunt Creddle or not; and as she did so a slim woman of
about forty who had been very pretty came down the Avenue. Caroline
remembered quite well what Mrs. Creddle had said about her. She had
gone into an office as typist instead of being in service like the