s schoolroom, devoted to her silkworms, dried lavender, music,
and other forms of instruction. Now, at the end of July, despite its
northern and eastern aspects, a warm and slumberous air came in between
the long-faded lilac linen curtains. To redeem a little the departed
glory, as of a field that is golden and gone, clinging to a room which
its master has left, Irene had placed on the paint-stained table a bowl
of red roses. This, and Jolyon's favourite cat, who still clung to
the deserted habitat, were the pleasant spots in that dishevelled, sad
workroom. Jon, at the north window, sniffing air mysteriously scented
with warm strawberries, heard a car drive up. The lawyers again about
some nonsense! Why did that scent so make one ache? And where did it
come from--there were no strawberry beds on this side of the house.
Instinctively he took a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket, and
wrote down some broken words. A warmth began spreading in his chest; he
rubbed the palms of his hands together. Presently he had jotted this:

"If I could make a little song A little song to soothe my heart! I'd
make it all of little things The plash of water, rub of wings, The
puffing-off of dandies crown, The hiss of raindrop spilling down, The
purr of cat, the trill of bird, And ev'ry whispering I've heard From
willy wind in leaves and grass, And all the distant drones that pass. A
song as tender and as light As flower, or butterfly in flight; And when
I saw it opening, I'd let it fly and sing!"

He was still muttering it over to himself at the window, when he
heard his name called, and, turning round, saw Fleur. At that amazing
apparition, he made at first no movement and no sound, while her clear
vivid glance ravished his heart. Then he went forward to the table,
saying, "How nice of you to come!" and saw her flinch as if he had
thrown something at her.

"I asked for you," she said, "and they showed me up here. But I can go
away again."

Jon clutched the paint-stained table. Her face and figure in its frilly
frock photographed itself with such startling vividness upon his eyes,
that if she had sunk through the floor he must still have seen her.

"I know I told you a lie, Jon. But I told it out of love."

"Yes, oh! yes! That's nothing!"

"I didn't answer your letter. What was the use--there wasn't anything to
answer. I wanted to see you instead." She held out both her hands, and
Jon grasped them across the table. He tried to s