〃I　may　be　exaggerating　to　myself；〃　he　answered。　　〃But　I　am　not　sure
  that　I　could　go　on　with　my　work　without　hernot　now。〃
  〃You　forgot　her；〃　flashed　Ann；　〃till　we　happened　to　quarrel　in　the
  cab。〃
  〃I　often　do；〃　he　confessed。　　〃Till　something　goes　wrong。　　Then　she
  comes　to　me。　　As　she　did　on　that　first　evening；　six　years　ago。　　You
  see；　I　have　been　more　or　less　living　with　her　since　then；〃　he　added
  with　a　smile。
  〃In　dreamland；〃　Ann　corrected。
  〃Yes；　but　in　my　case；〃　he　answered；　〃the　best　part　of　my　life　is
  passed　in　dreamland。〃
  〃And　when　you　are　not　in　dreamland？〃　she　demanded。　　〃When　you're
  just　irritable；　short…tempered；　cranky　Matthew　Pole。　　What's　she
  going　to　do　about　you　then？〃
  〃She'll　put　up　with　me；〃　said　Matthew。
  〃No　she　won't；〃　said　Ann。　　〃She'll　snap　your　head　off。　　Most　of　the
  'putting　up　with'　you'll　have　to　do。〃
  He　tried　to　get　between　her　and　the　window；　but　she　kept　her　face
  close　to　the　pane。
  〃You　make　me　tired　with　Sylvia；〃　she　said。　　〃It's　about　time　you　did
  know　what　she's　like。　　She's　just　the　commonplace；　short…tempered；
  disagreeable…if…she…doesn't…get…her…own…way；　unreasonable　woman。
  Only　more　so。〃
  He　drew　her　away　from　the　window　by　brute　force。
  〃So　you're　Sylvia；〃　he　said。
  〃I　thought　that　would　get　it　into　your　head；〃　said　Ann。
  It　was　not　at　all　the　way　she　had　meant　to　break　it　to　him。　　She　had
  meant　the　conversation　to　be　chiefly　about　Sylvia。　　She　had　a　high
  opinion　of　Sylvia；　a　much　higher　opinion　than　she　had　of　Ann
  Kavanagh。　　If　he　proved　to　be　worthy　of　herof　Sylvia；　that　is；
  then；　with　the　whimsical　smile　that　she　felt　belonged　to　Sylvia；　she
  would　remark　quite　simply；　〃Well；　what　have　you　got　to　say　to　her？〃
  What　had　happened　to　interfere　with　the　programme　was　Ann　Kavanagh。
  It　seemed　that　Ann　Kavanagh　had　disliked　Matthew　Pole　less　than　she
  had　thought　she　did。　　It　was　after　he　had　sailed　away　that　little
  Ann　Kavanagh　had　discovered　this。　　If　only　he　had　shown　a　little
  more　interest　in；　a　little　more　appreciation　of；　Ann　Kavanagh！　　He
  could　be　kind　and　thoughtful　in　a　patronising　sort　of　way。　　Even
  that　would　not　have　mattered　if　there　had　been　any　justification　for
  his　airs　of　superiority。
  Ann　Kavanagh；　who　ought　to　have　taken　a　back　seat　on　this　occasion；
  had　persisted　in　coming　to　the　front。　　It　was　so　like　her。
  〃Well；〃　she　said；　〃what　are　you　going　to　say　to　her？〃　　She　did　get
  it　in；　after　all。
  〃I　was　going；〃　said　Matthew；　〃to　talk　to　her　about　Art　and
  Literature；　touching；　maybe；　upon　a　few　other　subjects。　　Also；　I
  might　have　suggested　our　seeing　each　other　again　once　or　twice；　just
  to　get　better　acquainted。　　And　then　I　was　going　away。〃
  〃Why　going　away？〃　asked　Ann。
  〃To　see　if　I　could　forget　you。〃
  She　turned　to　him。　　The　fading　light　was　full　upon　her　face。
  〃I　don't　believe　you　couldagain；〃　she　said。
  〃No；〃　he　agreed。　　〃I'm　afraid　I　couldn't。〃
  〃You're　sure　there's　nobody　else；〃　said　Ann；　〃that　you're　in　love
  with。　　Only　us　two？〃
  〃Only　you　two；〃　he　said。
  She　was　standing　with　her　hand　on　old　Abner's　empty　chair。　　〃You've
  got　to　choose；〃　she　said。　　She　was　trembling。　　Her　voice　sounded
  just　a　little　hard。
  He　came　and　stood　beside　her。　　〃I　want　Ann；〃　he　said。
  She　held　out　her　hand　to　him。
  〃I'm　so　glad　you　said　Ann；〃　she　laughed。
  THE　FAWN　GLOVES。
  Always　he　remembered　her　as　he　saw　her　first：　　the　little　spiritual
  face；　the　little　brown　shoes　pointed　downwards；　their　toes　just
  touching　the　ground；　the　little　fawn　gloves　folded　upon　her　lap。　　He
  was　not　conscious　of　having　noticed　her　with　any　particular
  attention：　　a　plainly　dressed；　childish…looking　figure　alone　on　a
  seat　between　him　and　the　setting　sun。　　Even　had　he　felt　curious　his
  shyness　would　have　prevented　his　deliberately　running　the　risk　of
  meeting　her　eyes。　　Yet　immediately　he　had　passed　her　he　saw　her
  again；　quite　clearly：　　the　pale　oval　face；　the　brown　shoes；　and；
  between　them；　the　little　fawn　gloves　folded　one　over　the　other。　　All
  down　the　Broad　Walk　and　across　Primrose　Hill；　he　saw　her　silhouetted
  against　the　sinking　sun。　　At　least　that　much　of　her：　　the　wistful
  face　and　the　trim　brown　shoes　and　the　little　folded　hands；　until　the
  sun　went　down　behind　the　high　chimneys　of　the　brewery　beyond　Swiss
  Cottage；　and　then　she　faded。
  She　was　there　again　the　next　evening；　precisely　in　the　same　place。
  Usually　he　walked　home　by　the　Hampstead　Road。　　Only　occasionally；
  when　the　beauty　of　the　evening　tempted　him；　would　he　take　the　longer
  way　by　Regent　Street　and　through　the　Park。　　But　so　often　it　made　him
  feel　sad；　the　quiet　Park；　forcing　upon　him　the　sense　of　his　own
  loneliness。
  He　would　walk　down　merely　as　far　as　the　Great　Vase；　so　he　arranged
  with　himself。　　If　she　were　not　thereit　was　not　likely　that　she
  would　behe　would　turn　back　into　Albany　Street。　　The　newsvendors'
  shops　with　their　display　of　the　cheaper　illustrated　papers；　the
  second…hand　furniture　dealers　with　their　faded　engravings　and　old
  prints；　would　give　him　something　to　look　at；　to　take　away　his
  thoughts　from　himself。　　But　seeing　her　in　the　distance；　almost　the
  moment　he　had　entered　the　gate；　it　came　to　him　how　disappointed　he
  would　have　been　had　the　seat　in　front　of　the　red　tulip　bed　been
  vacant。　　A　little　away　from　her　he　paused；　turning　to　look　at　the
  flowers。　　He　thought　that；　waiting　his　opportunity；　he　might　be　able
  to　steal　a　glance　at　her　undetected。　　Once　for　a　moment　he　did　so；
  but　venturing　a　second　time　their　eyes　met；　or　he　fancied　they　did；
  and　blushing　furiously　he　hurried　past。　　But　again　she　came　with
  him；　or；　rather；　preceded　him。　　On　each　empty　seat　between　him　and
  the　sinking　sun　he　saw　her　quite　plainly：　　the　pale　oval　face　and
  the　brown　shoes；　and；　between　them；　the　fawn　gloves　folded　one　upon
  the　other。
  Only　this　evening；　about　the　small；　sensitive　mouth　there　seemed　to
  be　hovering　just　the　faintest　suggestion　of　a　timid　smile。　　And　this
  time　she　lingered　with　him　past　Queen's　Crescent　and　the　Malden
  Road；　till　he　turned　into　Carlton　Street。　　It　was　dark　in　the
  passage；　and　he　had　to　grope　his　way　up　the　stairs；　but　with　his
  hand　on　the　door　of　the　bed…sitting　room　on　the　third　floor　he　felt
  less　afraid　of　the　solitude　that　would　rise　to　meet　him。
  All　day　long　in　the　dingy　back　office　in　Abingdon　Street；
  Westminster；　where　from　ten　to　six　each　day　he　sat　copying　briefs
  and　petitions；　he　thought　over　what　he　would　say　to　her；　tactful
  beginnings　by　means　of　which　he　would　slide　into　conversation　with
  her。　　Up　Portland　Place　he　would　rehearse　them　to　himself。　　But　at
  Cambridge　Gate；　when　the　little　fawn　gloves　came　in　view；　the　words
  would　run　away；　to　join　him　again　maybe　at　the　gate　into　the　Chester
  Road；　leaving　him　meanwhile　to　pass　her　with　stiff；　hurried　steps
  and　eyes　fixed　straight　in　front　of　him。　　And　so　it　might　have
  continued；　but　that　one　evening　she　was　no　longer　at　her　usual　seat。
  A　crowd　of　noisy　children　swarmed　over　it；　and　suddenly　it　seemed　to
  him　as　if　the　trees　and　flowers　had　all　turned　drab。　　A　terror
  gnawed　at　his　heart；　and　he　hurried　on；　more　for　the　need　of
  movement　than　with　any　definite　object。　　And　just　beyond　a　bed　of
  geraniums　that　had　hidden　his　view　she　was　seated　on　a　chair；　and
  stopping　with　a　jerk　absolutely　in　front　of　her；　he　said；　quite
  angrily：
  〃Oh！　there　you　are！〃
  Which　was　not　a　bit　the　speech　with　which　he　had　intended　to
  introduce　himself；　but　served　his　purpose　just　as　wellperhaps
  better。
  She　did　not　resent　his　words　or　the　tone。
  〃It　was　the　children；〃　she　explained。　　〃They　wanted　to　play；　so　I
  thought　I　would　come　on　a　little　farther。〃
  Upon　which；　as　a　matter　of　course；　he　took　the　chair　beside　her；　and
  it　did　not　occur　to　either　of　them　that　they　had　not　known　one
  another　since　the　beginning；　when　between　St。　John's　Wood　and　Albany
  Street　God　planted　a　garden。
  Each　evening　they　would　linger　there；　listening　to　the　pleading
  passion　of　the　blackbird's　note；　the　thrush's　call　to　joy　and　hope。
  He　loved　her　gentle　ways。　　From　the　bold　challenges；　the　sly　glances
  of　invitation　flashed　upon　him　in　the　street　or　from　some
  neighbouring　table　in　the　cheap　luncheon　room　he　had　always　shrunk
  confused　and　awkward。　　Her　shyness　gave　him　confidence。　　It　was　she
  who　was　half　afraid；　whose　eyes　would　fall　beneath　his　gaze；　who
  would　tremble　at　his　touch；　giving　him　the　delights　of　manly
  dominion；　of　tender　authority。　　It　was　he　who　insisted　on　the
  aristocratic　seclusion　afforded　by　the　private　chair；　who；　with　the
  careless　indifference　of　a　man　to　whom　pennies　were　unimportant；
  would　pay　for　them　both。　　Once　on　his　way　through　Piccadilly　Circus
  he　had　paused　by　the　fountain　to　glance　at　a　great　basket　of　lilies
  of　the　valley；　struck　suddenly　by　the　thought　how　strangely　their
  little　pale　petals　seemed　suggestive　of　her。
  〃'Ere　y'　are；　honey。　　Her　favourite　flower！〃　cried　the　girl；　with　a
  grin；　holding　a　bunch　towards　him。
  〃How　much？〃　he　had　asked；　vainly　trying　to　keep　the　blood　from
  rushing　to　his　face。
  The　girl　paused　a　moment；　a　coarse；　kindly　creature。
  〃Sixpence；〃　she　demanded；　and　he　bought　them。　　She　had　meant　to　ask
  him　a　shilling；　and　knew　he　would　have　paid　it。　　〃Same　as　silly
  fool！〃