nlay, "but it is dislocating. My books and I had just succeeded in
making room for one another."

"But you will have to move, in any case, in the early spring."

"I suppose I will. I had--I might have remembered that."

"Have you found a house yet?" Advena asked him.

"No."

"Have you been looking?" It was a gentle, sensible reminder.

"I'm afraid I haven't." He moved in his chair as if in physical
discomfort. "Do you think I ought--so soon? There are always plenty
of--houses, aren't there?"

"Not plenty of desirable ones. Do you think you must live in East
Elgin?"

"It would be rather more convenient."

"Because there are two semidetached in River Street, just finished, that
look very pretty and roomy. I thought when I saw them that one of them
might be what you would like."

"Thank you," he said, and tried not to say it curtly.

"They belong to White, the grocer. River Street isn't East Elgin, but it
is that way, and it would be a great deal pleasanter for--for her."

"I must consider that, of course. You haven't been in them? I should
hope for a bright sitting-room, and a very private study."

If Advena was aware of any unconscious implication, the pair of eyes she
turned upon him showed no trace of satisfaction in it.

"No, I haven't. But if I could be of any use I should be very glad to go
over them with you, and--"

She stopped involuntarily, checked by the embarrassment in his face,
though she had to wait for his words to explain it.

"I should be most grateful. But--but might it not be misunderstood?"

She bent her head over her work, and one of those instants passed
between them which he had learned to dread. They were so completely
the human pair as they sat together, withdrawn in comfort and shelter,
absorbed in homely matters and in each other; it was easy to forget that
they were only a picture, a sham, and that the reality lay further on,
in the early spring. It must have been hard for him to hear without
resentment that she was ready to help him to make a home for that
reality. He was fast growing instructed in women, although by a
post-graduate course.

Advena looked up. "Possibly," she said, calmly, and their agitation
lay still between them. He was silently angry; the thing that stirred
without their leave had been sweet.

"No," said Advena, "I can't go, I suppose. I'm sorry. I should have
liked so much to be of use." She looked up at him appealingly, and
sudden tears came and s