es upon the roads, particularly
after sunset, when, without warning, he runs from clammy chill to a
hoard of unspent warmth in which the sweetness of hay and beanfield
is cherished, as if the sun still shone although the moon is up. He
hesitated; he shuddered; he walked elaborately to the window and laid
aside his coat. He balanced his stick most carefully against the folds
of the curtain. Thus occupied with his own sensations and preparations,
he had little time to observe what either of the other two was feeling.
Such symptoms of agitation as he might perceive (and they had left their
tokens in brightness of eye and pallor of cheeks) seemed to him well
befitting the actors in so great a drama as that of Katharine Hilbery's
daily life. Beauty and passion were the breath of her being, he thought.

She scarcely noticed his presence, or only as it forced her to adopt a
manner of composure, which she was certainly far from feeling. William,
however, was even more agitated than she was, and her first instalment
of promised help took the form of some commonplace upon the age of the
building or the architect's name, which gave him an excuse to fumble in
a drawer for certain designs, which he laid upon the table between the
three of them.

Which of the three followed the designs most carefully it would be
difficult to tell, but it is certain that not one of the three found for
the moment anything to say. Years of training in a drawing-room came at
length to Katharine's help, and she said something suitable, at the same
moment withdrawing her hand from the table because she perceived that it
trembled. William agreed effusively; Denham corroborated him, speaking
in rather high-pitched tones; they thrust aside the plans, and drew
nearer to the fireplace.

"I'd rather live here than anywhere in the whole of London," said
Denham.

("And I've got nowhere to live") Katharine thought, as she agreed aloud.

"You could get rooms here, no doubt, if you wanted to," Rodney replied.

"But I'm just leaving London for good--I've taken that cottage I was
telling you about." The announcement seemed to convey very little to
either of his hearers.

"Indeed?--that's sad.... You must give me your address. But you won't
cut yourself off altogether, surely--"

"You'll be moving, too, I suppose," Denham remarked.

William showed such visible signs of floundering that Katharine
collected herself and asked:

"Where is the cottage you've take