be
an obligation on his part to do so without delaying further; after
which these matters would of course pass entirely into the realm of
Wyndham's private affairs, where he was well content to leave them.
Alice's fortune, such as it was, had been placed under her own control
absolutely when she had attained the age of twenty-five, and probably
now, with certain accumulations, amounted to some thirty thousand
pounds. She was a wise and prudent child, well capable of controlling
those money matters that were naturally distasteful to so gifted an
artist, and in that way he would no doubt find her a most useful
companion. However, he now left it to him and Alice to plan out their
future together, and wished them all good luck. At the same time, if
Wyndham had no objection, he would like to give them as a
wedding-present any house they might fancy, and his wife desired to
furnish it or give them a cheque for that purpose.

Wyndham was in reality deeply moved by so much considerate kindness and
rare delicacy. He wrote Mr. Robinson a charming note of acknowledgment;
though he touched just briefly on the main theme, diverging into a
chatty account of his visit, and letting his pen run on and on till he
had covered several sheets.

Each morning during his visit a letter from Alice awaited him on the
breakfast-table. For a week or two the chant was timorous, uncertain; of
a pitch to soothe his self-complacency, to stir no ruffle in his
holiday mood. But towards the end of his time she found herself--she
tuned up, and adventured. And then followed Wyndham's awakening; taking
him with the force of cataclysm, and dashing him out of his drowsy mood
of contentment. Evidently the poor child was not living in this world.
If her feet touched earth, her head at any rate was in a heaven of its
own. She poured herself out with a lyric fervour that was like the song
of a lark for rapture. All the years of her life she had saved herself
for this, not frittered her emotions away in flirtations or frivolous
love-affairs--as the soberer Wyndham now reflected. Her ideals were as
unsullied as in her childhood. Her spirit soared up with a tremulous
eager joy--without doubts, without cynicism, with a simple sure faith in
love's paradise. Reserved, shrinking away from men, her heart yet held
rich store of treasure, and she poured all out at his feet. Timorousness
had vanished; the soul that had woven its own music in solitude had been
translated t