d not touch it. The pictures danced and dithered. Then
he took her hand in his. It was large and firm; it filled his grasp. He
held it fast. She neither moved nor made any sign. When they came out
his train was due. He hesitated.

"Good-night," she said. He darted away across the road.

The next day he came again, talking to her. She was rather superior with
him.

"Shall we go a walk on Monday?" he asked.

She turned her face aside.

"Shall you tell Miriam?" she replied sarcastically.

"I have broken off with her," he said.

"When?"

"Last Sunday."

"You quarrelled?"

"No! I had made up my mind. I told her quite definitely I should
consider myself free."

Clara did not answer, and he returned to his work. She was so quiet and
so superb!

On the Saturday evening he asked her to come and drink coffee with him
in a restaurant, meeting him after work was over. She came, looking
very reserved and very distant. He had three-quarters of an hour to
train-time.

"We will walk a little while," he said.

She agreed, and they went past the Castle into the Park. He was afraid
of her. She walked moodily at his side, with a kind of resentful,
reluctant, angry walk. He was afraid to take her hand.

"Which way shall we go?" he asked as they walked in darkness.

"I don't mind."

"Then we'll go up the steps."

He suddenly turned round. They had passed the Park steps. She stood
still in resentment at his suddenly abandoning her. He looked for her.
She stood aloof. He caught her suddenly in his arms, held her strained
for a moment, kissed her. Then he let her go.

"Come along," he said, penitent.

She followed him. He took her hand and kissed her finger-tips. They went
in silence. When they came to the light, he let go her hand. Neither
spoke till they reached the station. Then they looked each other in the
eyes.

"Good-night," she said.

And he went for his train. His body acted mechanically. People talked to
him. He heard faint echoes answering them. He was in a delirium. He felt
that he would go mad if Monday did not come at once. On Monday he would
see her again. All himself was pitched there, ahead. Sunday intervened.
He could not bear it. He could not see her till Monday. And Sunday
intervened--hour after hour of tension. He wanted to beat his head
against the door of the carriage. But he sat still. He drank some whisky
on the way home, but it only made it worse. His mother must not be
upset, that was a