example, pleading
occupation of a vague kind. Mr. Sandys was enchanted at the prospect,
and they went off in the charge of Guthrie, who was free, promising to
return and have tea in his rooms. Guthrie, who was a friend of
Howard's, included him in the invitation, but Howard said that he could
not promise, but would look in if he could.

As a matter of fact, he went out for a lonely walk, ashamed of himself
for his stupidity. He could not put himself in the position, he
dismally thought, of competing for Maud's attention.

He walked off round by Madingley, hardly aware of what road he was
taking. By the little chalk-pit just outside the village a rustic pair,
a boy and girl, stood sheepishly clasped in a dull and silent embrace.
Howard, to whom public exhibitions of emotion were distasteful, walked
swiftly by with averted eyes, when suddenly a poignant thought came on
him, causing him to redden up to the roots of his hair, and walk faster
than ever. It was this, then, that was the matter with him--he was in
love, he was jealous, he was the victim of the oldest, simplest,
commonest, strongest emotion of humanity. His eyes were opened. How had
he not seen it before? His broodings over the thought of Maud, the
strange disturbance that came on him in her presence, that absurd
desire to do or say something impressive, coupled with that wretched
diffidence that kept him silent and helpless--it was love! He became
half dizzy with the thought of what it all meant; and at the same
instant, Maud seemed to recede from him as something impossibly pure,
sweet, and unapproachable. All that notion of a paternal close
friendship--how idiotic it was! He wanted her, at every moment, to
share every thought with her, to claim every thought of hers, to see
her, to clasp her close; and then at the same moment came the terrible
disillusionment; how was he, a sober, elderly, stiff-minded
professional person, to recommend himself? What was there in him that
any girl could find even remotely attractive--his middle-aged habits,
his decorous and conventional mind, his clumsy dress, his grizzled
hair? He felt of himself that he was ravaged with age and decrepitude,
and yet in his folly he had suggested this visit, and he had thrown the
girl he loved out of her lonely life, craving for sympathy and
interest, into a set of young men all apt for passion and emotion. The
thought of Guthrie with his charm, his wealth, his aplomb, fell cold on
his heart