They　were　silent；　seeming　to　examine　the　night；　then　the　girl　said：
  〃I　wanted　to　see　you　awfully。　　You're　not　like　what　I　thought。〃
  〃Oh！　　And　what　DID　you　think？〃
  〃I　thought　you　would　have　dark　eyes；　and　Venetian　red　hair；　and　not
  be　quite　so　tall。　　Of　course；　I　haven't　any　imagination。〃
  They　were　at　the　door　again　when　the　girl　said　that；　and　the　hall
  light　was　falling　on　her；　her　slip　of　a　white　figure　showed　clear。
  Younghow　young　she　looked！　　Everything　she　saidso　young！
  And　Anna　murmured：　〃And　you　aremore　than　I　thought；　too。〃
  Just　then　the　men　came　out　from　the　dining…room；　her　husband　with
  the　look　on　his　face　that　denoted　he　had　been　well　listened　to；
  Squire　Trusham　laughing　as　a　man　does　who　has　no　sense　of　humour；
  Gordy　having　a　curly；　slightly　asphyxiated　air；　and　the　boy　his
  pale；　brooding　look；　as　though　he　had　lost　touch　with　his
  surroundings。　　He　wavered　towards　her；　seemed　to　lose　himself；　went
  and　sat　down　by　the　old　governess。　　Was　it　because　he　did　not　dare
  to　come　up　to　her；　or　only　because　he　saw　the　old　lady　sitting
  alone？　　It　might　well　be　that。
  And　the　evening；　so　different　from　what　she　had　dreamed　of；　closed
  in。　　Squire　Trusham　was　gone　in　his　high　dog…cart；　with　his　famous
  mare　whose　exploits　had　entertained　her　all　through　dinner。　　Her
  candle　had　been　given　her；　she　had　said　good…night　to　all　but　Mark。
  What　should　she　do　when　she　had　his　hand　in　hers？　　She　would　be
  alone　with　him　in　that　grasp；　whose　strength　no　one　could　see。　　And
  she　did　not　know　whether　to　clasp　it　passionately；　or　to　let　it　go
  coolly　back　to　its　owner；　whether　to　claim　him　or　to　wait。　　But　she
  was　unable　to　help　pressing　it　feverishly。　　At　once　in　his　face　she
  saw　again　that　troubled　look；　and　her　heart　smote　her。　　She　let　it
  go；　and　that　she　might　not　see　him　say　good…night　to　the　girl；
  turned　and　mounted　to　her　room。
  Fully　dressed；　she　flung　herself　on　the　bed；　and　there　lay；　her
  handkerchief　across　her　mouth；　gnawing　at　its　edges。
  XV
  Mark's　nineteenth　birthday　rose　in　grey　mist；　slowly　dropped　its
  veil　to　the　grass；　and　shone　clear　and　glistening。　　He　woke　early。
  From　his　window　he　could　see　nothing　in　the　steep　park　but　the　soft
  blue…grey；　balloon…shaped　oaks　suspended　one　above　the　other　among
  the　round…topped　boulders。　　It　was　in　early　morning　that　he　always
  got　his　strongest　feeling　of　wanting　to　model　things；　then　and
  after　dark；　when；　for　want　of　light；　it　was　no　use。　　This　morning
  he　had　the　craving　badly；　and　the　sense　of　not　knowing　how　weighed
  down　his　spirit。　　His　drawings；　his　modelsthey　were　all　so　bad；
  so　fumbly。　　If　only　this　had　been　his　twenty…first　birthday；　and　he
  had　his　money；　and　could　do　what　he　liked。　　He　would　not　stay　in
  England。　　He　would　be　off　to　Athens；　or　Rome；　or　even　to　Paris；　and
  work　till　he　COULD　do　something。　　And　in　his　holidays　he　would
  study　animals　and　birds　in　wild　countries　where　there　were　plenty
  of　them；　and　you　could　watch　them　in　their　haunts。　　It　was　stupid
  having　to　stay　in　a　place　like　Oxford；　but　at　the　thought　of　what
  Oxford　meant；　his　roaming　fancy；　like　a　bird　hypnotized　by　a　hawk；
  fluttered；　stayed　suspended；　and　dived　back　to　earth。　　And　that
  feeling　of　wanting　to　make　things　suddenly　left　him。　　It　was　as
  though　he　had　woken　up；　his　real　self；　thenlost　that　self　again。
  Very　quietly　he　made　his　way　downstairs。　　The　garden　door　was　not
  shuttered；　not　even　lockedit　must　have　been　forgotten　overnight。
  Last　night！　　He　had　never　thought　he　would　feel　like　this　when　she
  cameso　bewildered；　and　confused；　drawn　towards　her；　but　by
  something　held　back。　　And　he　felt　impatient；　angry　with　himself；
  almost　with　her。　　Why　could　he　not　be　just　simply　happy；　as　this
  morning　was　happy？　　He　got　his　field…glasses　and　searched　the
  meadow　that　led　down　to　the　river。　　Yes；　there　were　several　rabbits
  out。　　With　the　white　marguerites　and　the　dew　cobwebs；　it　was　all
  moon…flowery　and　white；　and　the　rabbits　being　there　made　it
  perfect。　　He　wanted　one　badly　to　model　from；　and　for　a　moment　was
  tempted　to　get　his　rook　riflebut　what　was　the　good　of　a　dead
  rabbitbesides；　they　looked　so　happy！　　He　put　the　glasses　down　and
  went　towards　his　greenhouse　to　get　a　drawing　block；　thinking　to　sit
  on　the　wall　and　make　a　sort　of　Midsummer　Night's　Dream　sketch　of
  flowers　and　rabbits。　　Someone　was　there；　bending　down　and　doing
  something　to　his　creatures。　　Who　had　the　cheek？　　Why；　it　was
  Sylviain　her　dressing…gown！　　He　grew　hot；　then　cold；　with　anger。
  He　could　not　bear　anyone　in　that　holy　place！　　It　was　hateful　to
  have　his　things　even　looked　at；　and　sheshe　seemed　to　be　fingering
  them。　　He　pulled　the　door　open　with　a　jerk；　and　said：　〃What　are　you
  doing？〃　　He　was　indeed　so　stirred　by　righteous　wrath　that　he　hardly
  noticed　the　gasp　she　gave；　and　the　collapse　of　her　figure　against
  the　wall。　　She　ran　past　him；　and　vanished　without　a　word。　　He　went
  up　to　his　creatures　and　saw　that　she　had　placed　on　the　head　of　each
  one　of　them　a　little　sprig　of　jessamine　flower。　　Why！　　It　was
  idiotic！　　He　could　see　nothing　at　first　but　the　ludicrousness　of
  flowers　on　the　heads　of　his　beasts！　　Then　the　desperation　of　this
  attempt　to　imagine　something　graceful；　something　that　would　give
  him　pleasure　touched　him；　for　he　saw　now　that　this　was　a　birthday
  decoration。　　From　that　it　was　only　a　second　before　he　was　horrified
  with　himself。　　Poor　little　Sylvia！　　What　a　brute　he　was！　　She　had
  plucked　all　that　jessamine；　hung　out　of　her　window　and　risked
  falling　to　get　hold　of　it；　and　she　had　woken　up　early　and　come　down
  in　her　dressing…gown　just　to　do　something　that　she　thought　he　would
  like！　　Horriblewhat　he　had　done！　　Now；　when　it　was　too　late；　he
  saw；　only　too　clearly；　her　startled　white　face　and　quivering　lips；
  and　the　way　she　had　shrunk　against　the　wall。　　How　pretty　she　had
  looked　in　her　dressing…gown　with　her　hair　all　about　her；　frightened
  like　that！　　He　would　do　anything　now　to　make　up　to　her　for　having
  been　such　a　perfect　beast！　　The　feeling；　always　a　little　with　him；
  that　he　must　look　after　herdating；　no　doubt；　from　days　when　he
  had　protected　her　from　the　bulls　that　were　not　there；　and　the
  feeling　of　her　being　so　sweet　and　decent　to　him　always；　and　some
  other　feeling　tooall　these　suddenly　reached　poignant　climax。　　He
  simply　must　make　it　up　to　her！　　He　ran　back　into　the　house　and
  stole　upstairs。　　Outside　her　room　he　listened　with　all　his　might；
  but　could　hear　nothing；　then　tapped　softly　with　one　nail；　and；
  putting　his　mouth　to　the　keyhole；　whispered：　〃Sylvia！〃　　Again　and
  again　he　whispered　her　name。　　He　even　tried　the　handle；　meaning　to
  open　the　door　an　inch；　but　it　was　bolted。　　Once　he　thought　he　heard
  a　noise　like　sobbing；　and　this　made　him　still　more　wretched。　　At
  last　he　gave　it　up；　she　would　not　come；　would　not　be　consoled。　　He
  deserved　it；　he　knew；　but　it　was　very　hard。　　And　dreadfully
  dispirited　he　went　up　to　his　room；　took　a　bit　of　paper；　and　tried
  to　write：
  〃DEAREST　SYLVIA；
  〃It　was　most　awfully　sweet　of　you　to　put　your　stars　on　my　beasts。
  It　was　just　about　the　most　sweet　thing　you　could　have　done。　　I　am
  an　awful　brute；　but；　of　course；　if　I　had　only　known　what　you　were
  doing；　I　should　have　loved　it。　　Do　forgive　me；　I　deserve　it；　I
  knowonly　it　IS　my　birthday。
  〃Your　sorrowful
  〃MARK。〃
  He　took　this　down；　slipped　it　under　her　door；　tapped　so　that　she
  might　notice　it；　and　stole　away。　　It　relieved　his　mind　a　little；
  and　he　went　downstairs　again。
  Back　in　the　greenhouse；　sitting　on　a　stool；　he　ruefully
  contemplated　those　chapletted　beasts。　　They　consisted　of　a　crow；　a
  sheep；　a　turkey；　two　doves；　a　pony；　and　sundry　fragments。　　She　had
  fastened　the　jessamine　sprigs　to　the　tops　of　their　heads　by　a　tiny
  daub　of　wet　clay；　and　had　evidently　been　surprised　trying　to　put　a
  sprig　into　the　mouth　of　one　of　the　doves；　for　it　hung　by　a　little
  thread　of　clay　from　the　beak。　　He　detached　it　and　put　it　in　his
  buttonhole。　　Poor　little　Sylvia！　she　took　things　awfully　to　heart。
  He　would　be　as　nice　as　ever　he　could　to　her　all　day。　　And；
  balancing　on　his　stool；　he　stared　fixedly　at　the　wall　against　which
  she　had　fallen　back；　the　line　of　her　soft　chin　and　throat　seemed
  now　to　be　his　only　memory。　　It　was　very　queer　how　he　could　see
  nothing　but　that；　the　way　the　throat　moved；　swallowedso　white；　so
  soft。　　And　HE　had　made　it　go　like　that！　　It　seemed　an　unconscionable
  time　till　breakfast。
  As　the　hour　approached　he　haunted　the　hall；　hoping　she　might　be
  first　down。　　At　last　he　heard　footsteps；　and　waited；　hidden　behind
  the　door　of　the　empty　dining…room；　lest　at　sight　of　him　she　should
  turn　back。　　He　had　rehearsed　what　he　was　going　to　dobend　down　and
  kiss　her　hand　and　say：　〃Dulcinea　del　Toboso　is　the　most　beautiful
  lady　in　the　world；　and　I　the　most　unfortunate　knight　upon　the
  earth；〃　from　his　favourite　passage　out　of　his　favourite　book；　'Don
  Quixote。'　　She　would　surely　forgive　him　then；　and　his　heart　would
  no　longer　hurt　him。　　Certainly　she　could　never　go　on　making　him　so
  miserable　if　she　knew　his　feelings！　　She　was　too　soft　and　gentle
  for　that。　　Alas！　it　was　not　Sylvia　who　came；　but　Anna；　fresh　from
  sleep；　with　her　ice…green　eyes　and　bright　hair；　and　in　sudden
  strange　antipathy　to　her；　that　strong；　v