'Aunt says she can't bring herself to discuss such a delicate matter
before you. I dare say it's quite natural.'

'Very well, but I don't think I'll go into the drawing-room. I feel as
if a walk would do me good. You mustn't be frightened if I am a little
late,' he said; 'if I don't get back before your aunt goes, say good-bye
to her for me.'

He strolled into the main road, where the trams were humming to and fro.
He was still confused and perplexed, and he tried to account for a
certain relief he felt in removing himself from the presence of Mrs.
Nixon. He told himself that her grief at her husband's ruffianly conduct
was worthy of all pitiful respect, but at the same time, to his shame,
he had felt a certain physical aversion from her as she sat in his
garden in her dingy black, dabbing her red-rimmed eyes with a damp
pocket-handkerchief. He had been to the Zoo when he was a lad, and he
still remembered how he had shrunk with horror at the sight of certain
reptiles slowly crawling over one another in their slimy pond. But he
was enraged at the similarity between the two sensations, and he walked
briskly on that level and monotonous road, looking about him at the
unhandsome spectacle of suburban London keeping Sunday.

There was something in the tinge of antiquity which still exists in
Acton that soothed his mind and drew it away from those unpleasant
contemplations, and when at last he had penetrated rampart after rampart
of brick, and heard no more the harsh shrieks and laughter of the people
who were enjoying themselves, he found a way into a little sheltered
field, and sat down in peace beneath a tree, whence he could look out on
a pleasant valley. The sun sank down beneath the hills, the clouds
changed into the likeness of blossoming rose-gardens; and he still sat
there in the gathering darkness till a cool breeze blew upon him, and
he rose with a sigh, and turned back to the brick ramparts and the
glimmering streets, and the noisy idlers sauntering to and fro in the
procession of their dismal festival. But he was murmuring to himself
some words that seemed a magic song, and it was with uplifted heart that
he let himself into his house.

Mrs. Nixon had gone an hour and a half before his return, Mary told him.
Darnell sighed with relief, and he and his wife strolled out into the
garden and sat down side by side.

They kept silence for a time, and at last Mary spoke, not without a
nervous tremor in her voice.