faint footfall and the swish of skirts behind him.     

       He felt as though his head was directed forward by a clutch of iron.     

       “Mr. Lewisham,” she said close to him, and he turned with a quality of movement that was almost convulsive. He raised his cap clumsily.     

       He took her extended hand by an afterthought, and held it until she withdrew it. “I am so glad to have met you,” she said.     

       “So am I,” said Lewisham simply.     

       They stood facing one another for an expressive moment, and then by a movement she indicated her intention to walk along the avenue with him.       “I wanted so much,” she said, looking down at her feet,       “to thank you for letting Teddy off, you know. That is why I wanted to see you.” Lewisham took his first step beside her. “And it’s odd, isn’t it,” she said, looking up into his face, “that I should meet you here in just the same place. I believe ... Yes. The very same place we met before.”     

       Mr. Lewisham was tongue-tied.     

       “Do you often come here?” she said.     

       “Well,” he considered—and his voice was most unreasonably hoarse when he spoke—“no. No.... That is—At least not often. Now and then. In fact, I like it rather for reading and that sort of thing. It’s so quiet.”     

       “I suppose you read a great deal?”     

       “When one teaches one has to.”     

       “But you ...”     

       “I’m rather fond of reading, certainly. Are you?”     

       “I love it.”     

       Mr. Lewisham was glad she loved reading. He would have been disappointed had she answered differently. But she spoke with real fervour. She loved reading! It was pleasant. She would understand him a little perhaps.       “Of course,” she went on, “I’m not clever like some people are. And I have to read books as I get hold of them.”     

       “So do I,” said Mr. Lewisham, “for the matter of that.... Have you read ... Carlyle?”     

 Prev. P 19/187 next