was tempted. One did not read
letters. Then the full import of those few words struck into her: "Dear
Bryan. But I say--you ARE wasting yourself." A letter in a chain of
correspondence, then! A woman's hand; but not his mother's, nor his
sisters'--she knew their writings. Who had dared to say he was wasting
himself? A letter in a chain of letters! An intimate correspondent,
whose name she did not know, because--he had not told her! Wasting
himself--on what?--on his life with her down here? And was he? Had she
herself not said that very night that he had lost his laugh? She began
searching her memory. Yes, last Christmas vacation--that clear, cold,
wonderful fortnight in Florence, he had been full of fun. It was May
now. Was there no memory since--of his old infectious gaiety? She could
not think of any. "But I say--you ARE wasting yourself." A sudden hatred
flared up in her against the unknown woman who had said that thing--and
fever, running through her veins, made her ears burn. She longed to
snatch forth and tear to pieces the letter, with its guardianship
of which that bust seemed mocking her; and she turned away with the
thought: 'I'll go and meet him; I can't wait here.'

Throwing on a cloak she walked out into the moonlit garden, and went
slowly down the whitened road toward the station. A magical, dewless
night! The moonbeams had stolen in to the beech clump, frosting the
boles and boughs, casting a fine ghostly grey over the shadow-patterned
beech-mast. Gyp took the short cut through it. Not a leaf moved in
there, no living thing stirred; so might an earth be where only trees
inhabited! She thought: 'I'll bring him back through here.' And she
waited at the far corner of the clump, where he must pass, some little
distance from the station. She never gave people unnecessary food for
gossip--any slighting of her irritated him, she was careful to spare
him that. The train came in; a car went whizzing by, a cyclist, then the
first foot-passenger, at a great pace, breaking into a run. She saw that
it was he, and, calling out his name, ran back into the shadow of the
trees. He stopped dead in his tracks, then came rushing after her. That
pursuit did not last long, and, in his arms, Gyp said:

"If you aren't too hungry, darling, let's stay here a little--it's so
wonderful!"

They sat down on a great root, and leaning against him, looking up at
the dark branches, she said:

"Have you had a hard day?"

"Yes; got h