one to caution: the slope was steep, one might break one's neck.
What was wrong with these people, he wondered? They had become like
young kittens after a dose of cat-nip. He himself felt a certain
kittenishness sporting within him; but it was, like all his emotions,
rather a theoretical feeling; it did not overmasteringly seek to express
itself in a practical demonstration of kittenishness.

"Be careful," he shouted once more, and hardly were the words out of his
mouth when, thump! there was the sound of a heavy fall in front of
him, followed by the long "F-f-f-f-f" of a breath indrawn with pain and
afterwards by a very sincere, "Oo-ooh!" Denis was almost pleased; he had
told them so, the idiots, and they wouldn't listen. He trotted down the
slope towards the unseen sufferer.

Mary came down the hill like a runaway steam-engine. It was tremendously
exciting, this blind rush through the dark; she felt she would never
stop. But the ground grew level beneath her feet, her speed insensibly
slackened, and suddenly she was caught by an extended arm and brought to
an abrupt halt.

"Well," said Ivor as he tightened his embrace, "you're caught now,
Anne."

She made an effort to release herself. "It's not Anne. It's Mary."

Ivor burst into a peal of amused laughter. "So it is!" he exclaimed. "I
seem to be making nothing but floaters this evening. I've already made
one with Jenny." He laughed again, and there was something so jolly
about his laughter that Mary could not help laughing too. He did not
remove his encircling arm, and somehow it was all so amusing and natural
that Mary made no further attempt to escape from it. They walked along
by the side of the pool, interlaced. Mary was too short for him to be
able, with any comfort, to lay his head on her shoulder. He rubbed his
cheek, caressed and caressing, against the thick, sleek mass of her
hair. In a little while he began to sing again; the night trembled
amorously to the sound of his voice. When he had finished he kissed her.
Anne or Mary: Mary or Anne. It didn't seem to make much difference which
it was. There were differences in detail, of course; but the general
effect was the same; and, after all, the general effect was the
important thing.

Denis made his way down the hill.

"Any damage done?" he called out.

"Is that you, Denis? I've hurt my ankle so--and my knee, and my hand.
I'm all in pieces."

"My poor Anne," he said. "But then," he couldn't help addin