y liable to colds."

"N-no!" he said, enchanted, beside himself in an ecstasy of pleasure.
"I shall expect you to-morrow about three."

"Thank you," she said simply. "I'll come."

They shook hands.

"Now do go in!"

She vanished round the corner.

All the evening he neither read nor spoke.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A CATASTROPHE.

At half-past two on the following afternoon he was waiting for the
future in order to recommence living. During this period, to a greater
extent even than the average individual in average circumstances, he was
incapable of living in the present. Continually he looked either
forward or back. All that he had achieved, or that had been achieved
for him--the new house with its brightness and its apparatus of luxury,
his books, his learning, his friends, his experience: not long since
regarded by him as the precious materials of happiness--all had become
negligible trifles, nothings, devoid of import. The sole condition
precedent to a tolerable existence was now to have sight and speech of
Hilda Lessways. He was intensely unhappy in the long stretches of time
which separated one contact with her from the next. And in the brief
moments of their companionship he was far too distraught, too
apprehensive, too desirous, too puzzled, to be able to call himself
happy. Seeing her apparently did naught to assuage the pain of his
curiosity about her--not his curiosity concerning the details of her
life and of her person, for these scarcely interested him, but his
curiosity concerning the very essence of her being. At seven o'clock on
the previous day, he had esteemed her visit as possessing a decisive
importance which covered the whole field of his wishes. The visit had
occurred, and he was not a whit advanced; indeed he had retrograded, for
he was less content and more confused, and more preoccupied. The
medicine had aggravated the disease. Nevertheless, he awaited a second
dose of it in the undestroyed illusion of its curative property.

In the interval he had behaved like a very sensible man. Without
appetite, he had still forced himself to eat, lest his relatives should
suspect. Short of sleep, he had been careful to avoid yawning at
breakfast, and had spoken in a casual tone of Hilda's visit. He had
even said to his father: "I suppose the big Columbia will be running off
those overseer notices this afternoon?" And on the old man asking why
he was thus interested,