him　a　shilling；　and　knew　he　would　have　paid　it。　　〃Same　as　silly
  fool！〃　she　called　herself　as　she　pocketed　the　money。
  He　gave　them　to　her　with　a　fine　lordly　air；　and　watched　her　while
  she　pinned　them　to　her　blouse；　and　a　squirrel　halting　in　the　middle
  of　the　walk　watched　her　also　with　his　head　on　one　side；　wondering
  what　was　the　good　of　them　that　she　should　store　them　with　so　much
  care。　　She　did　not　thank　him　in　words；　but　there　were　tears　in　her
  eyes　when　she　turned　her　face　to　his；　and　one　of　the　little　fawn
  gloves　stole　out　and　sought　his　hand。　　He　took　it　in　both　his；　and
  would　have　held　it；　but　she　withdrew　it　almost　hurriedly。
  They　appealed　to　him；　her　gloves；　in　spite　of　their　being　old　and
  much　mended；　and　he　was　glad　they　were　of　kid。　　Had　they　been　of
  cotton；　such　as　girls　of　her　class　usually　wore；　the　thought　of
  pressing　his　lips　to　them　would　have　put　his　teeth　on　edge。　　He
  loved　the　little　brown　shoes；　that　must　have　been　expensive　when
  new；　for　they　still　kept　their　shape。　　And　the　fringe　of　dainty
  petticoat；　always　so　spotless　and　with　never　a　tear；　and　the　neat；
  plain　stockings　that　showed　below　the　closely　fitting　frock。　　So
  often　he　had　noticed　girls；　showily；　extravagantly　dressed；　but　with
  red　bare　hands　and　sloppy　shoes。　　Handsome　girls；　some　of　them；
  attractive　enough　if　you　were　not　of　a　finicking　nature；　to　whom　the
  little　accessories　are　almost　of　more　importance　than　the　whole。
  He　loved　her　voice；　so　different　from　the　strident　tones　that　every
  now　and　then；　as　some　couple；　laughing　and　talking；　passed　them；
  would　fall　upon　him　almost　like　a　blow；　her　quick；　graceful
  movements　that　always　brought　back　to　his　memory　the　vision　of　hill
  and　stream。　　In　her　little　brown　shoes　and　gloves　and　the　frock
  which　was　also　of　a　shade　of　brown　though　darker；　she　was　strangely
  suggestive　to　him　of　a　fawn。　　The　gentle　look；　the　swift；　soft
  movements　that　have　taken　place　before　they　are　seen；　the　haunting
  suggestion　of　fear　never　quite　conquered；　as　if　the　little　nervous
  limbs　were　always　ready　for　sudden　flight。　　He　called　her　that　one
  day。　　Neither　of　them　had　ever　thought　to　ask　one　another's　names；
  it　did　not　seem　to　matter。
  〃My　little　brown　fawn；〃　he　had　whispered；　〃I　am　always　expecting　you
  to　suddenly　dig　your　little　heels　into　the　ground　and　spring　away〃；
  and　she　had　laughed　and　drawn　a　little　closer　to　him。　　And　even　that
  was　just　the　movement　of　a　fawn。　　He　had　known　them；　creeping　near
  to　them　upon　the　hill…sides　when　he　was　a　child。
  There　was　much　in　common　between　them；　so　they　found。　　Though　he
  could　claim　a　few　distant　relatives　scattered　about　the　North；　they
  were　both；　for　all　practical　purposes；　alone　in　the　world。　　To　her；
  also；　home　meant　a　bed…sitting　room〃over　there；〃　as　she　indicated
  with　a　wave　of　the　little　fawn　glove　embracing　the　north…west
  district　generally；　and　he　did　not　press　her　for　any　more　precise
  address。
  It　was　easy　enough　for　him　to　picture　it：　　the　mean；　close…smelling
  street　somewhere　in　the　neighbourhood　of　Lisson　Grove；　or　farther　on
  towards　the　Harrow　Road。　　Always　he　preferred　to　say　good…bye　to　her
  at　some　point　in　the　Outer　Circle；　with　its　peaceful　vista　of　fine
  trees　and　stately　houses；　watching　her　little　fawn…like　figure
  fading　away　into　the　twilight。
  No　friend　or　relative　had　she　ever　known；　except　the　pale；
  girlish…looking　mother　who　had　died　soon　after　they　had　come　to
  London。　　The　elderly　landlady　had　let　her　stay　on；　helping　in　the
  work　of　the　house；　and　when　even　this　last　refuge　had　failed　her；
  well…meaning　folk　had　interested　themselves　and　secured　her
  employment。　　It　was　light　and　fairly　well　paid；　but　there　were
  objections　to　it；　so　he　gathered；　more　from　her　halting　silences
  than　from　what　she　said。　　She　had　tried　for　a　time　to　find　something
  else；　but　it　was　so　difficult　without　help　or　resources。　　There　was
  nothing　really　to　complain　about　it；　except　　And　then　she　paused
  with　a　sudden　clasp　of　the　gloved　hands；　and；　seeing　the　troubled
  look　in　her　eyes；　he　had　changed　the　conversation。
  It　did　not　matter；　he　would　take　her　away　from　it。　　It　was　very
  sweet　to　him；　the　thought　of　putting　a　protective　arm　about　this
  little　fragile　creature　whose　weakness　gave　him　strength。　　He　was
  not　always　going　to　be　a　clerk　in　an　office。　　He　was　going　to　write
  poetry；　books；　plays。　　Already　he　had　earned　a　little。　　He　told　her
  of　his　hopes；　and　her　great　faith　in　him　gave　him　new　courage。　　One
  evening；　finding　a　seat　where　few　people　ever　passed；　he　read　to
  her。　　And　she　had　understood。　　All　unconsciously　she　laughed　in　the
  right　places；　and　when　his　own　voice　trembled；　and　he　found　it
  difficult　to　continue　for　the　lump　in　his　own　throat；　glancing　at
  her　he　saw　the　tears　were　in　her　eyes。　　It　was　the　first　time　he　had
  tasted　sympathy。
  And　so　spring　grew　to　summer。　　And　then　one　evening　a　great　thing
  happened。　　He　could　not　make　out　at　first　what　it　was　about　her：
  some　little　added　fragrance　that　made　itself　oddly　felt；　while　she
  herself　seemed　to　be　conscious　of　increased　dignity。　　It　was　not
  until　he　took　her　hand　to　say　good…bye　that　he　discovered　it。　　There
  was　something　different　about　the　feel　of　her；　and；　looking　down　at
  the　little　hand　that　lay　in　his；　he　found　the　reason。　　She　had　on　a
  pair　of　new　gloves。　　They　were　still　of　the　same　fawn　colour；　but　so
  smooth　and　soft　and　cool。　　They　fitted　closely　without　a　wrinkle；
  displaying　the　slightness　and　the　gracefulness　of　the　hands　beneath。
  The　twilight　had　almost　faded；　and；　save　for　the　broad　back　of　a
  disappearing　policeman；　they　had　the　Outer　Circle　to　themselves；
  and；　the　sudden　impulse　coming　to　him；　he　dropped　on　one　knee；　as
  they　do　in　plays　and　story　books　and　sometimes　elsewhere；　and
  pressed　the　little　fawn　gloves　to　his　lips　in　a　long；　passionate
  kiss。　　The　sound　of　approaching　footsteps　made　him　rise　hurriedly。
  She　did　not　move；　but　her　whole　body　was　trembling；　and　in　her　eyes
  was　a　look　that　was　almost　of　fear。　　The　approaching　footsteps　came
  nearer；　but　a　bend　of　the　road　still　screened　them。　　Swiftly　and　in
  silence　she　put　her　arms　about　his　neck　and　kissed　him。　　It　was　a
  strange；　cold　kiss；　but　almost　fierce；　and　then　without　a　word　she
  turned　and　walked　away；　and　he　watched　her　to　the　corner　of　Hanover
  Gate；　but　she　did　not　look　back。
  It　was　almost　as　if　it　had　raised　a　barrier　between　them；　that　kiss。
  The　next　evening　she　came　to　meet　him　with　a　smile　as　usual；　but　in
  her　eyes　was　still　that　odd　suggestion　of　lurking　fear；　and　when；
  seated　beside　her；　he　put　his　hand　on　hers　it　seemed　to　him　she
  shrank　away　from　him。　　It　was　an　unconscious　movement。　　It　brought
  back　to　him　that　haunting　memory　of　hill　and　stream　when　some　soft…
  eyed　fawn；　strayed　from　her　fellows；　would　let　him　approach　quite
  close　to　her；　and　then；　when　he　put　out　his　hand　to　caress　her；
  would　start　away　with　a　swift；　quivering　movement。
  〃Do　you　always　wear　gloves？〃　he　asked　her　one　evening　a　little
  later。
  〃Yes；〃　she　answered；　speaking　low；　〃when　I'm　out　of　doors。〃
  〃But　this　is　not　out　of　doors；〃　he　had　pleaded。　　〃We　have　come　into
  the　garden。　　Won't　you　take　them　off？〃
  She　had　looked　at　him　from　under　bent　brows；　as　if　trying　to　read
  him。　　She　did　not　answer　him　then。　　But　on　the　way　out；　on　the　last
  seat　close　to　the　gate；　she　had　sat　down；　motioning　him　to　sit
  beside　her。　　Quietly　she　unbuttoned　the　fawn　gloves；　drew　each　one
  off　and　laid　them　aside。　　And　then；　for　the　first　time；　he　saw　her
  hands。
  Had　he　looked　at　her；　seen　the　faint　hope　die　out；　the　mute　agony　in
  the　quiet　eyes　watching　him；　he　would　have　tried　to　hide　the
  disgust；　the　physical　repulsion　that　showed　itself　so　plainly　in　his
  face；　in　the　involuntary　movement　with　which　he　drew　away　from　her。
  They　were　small　and　shapely　with　rounded　curves；　but　raw　and　seared
  as　with　hot　irons；　with　a　growth　of　red；　angry…coloured　warts；　and
  the　nails　all　worn　away。
  〃I　ought　to　have　shown　them　to　you　before；〃　she　said　simply　as　she
  drew　the　gloves　on　again。　　〃It　was　silly　of　me。　　I　ought　to　have
  known。〃
  He　tried　to　comfort　her；　but　his　phrases　came　meaningless　and
  halting。
  It　was　the　work；　she　explained　as　they　walked　on。　　It　made　your
  hands　like　that　after　a　time。　　If　only　she　could　have　got　out　of　it
  earlier！　　But　now！　　It　was　no　good　worrying　about　it　now。
  They　parted　near　to　the　Hanover　Gate；　but　to…night　he　did　not　stand
  watching　her　as　he　had　always　done　till　she　waved　a　last　good…bye　to
  him　just　before　disappearing；　so　whether　she　turned　or　not　he　never
  knew。
  He　did　not　go　to　meet　her　the　next　evening。　　A　dozen　times　his
  footsteps　led　him　unconsciously　almost　to　the　gate。　　Then　he　would
  hurry　away　again；　pace　the　mean　streets；　jostling　stupidly　against
  the　passers…by。　　The　pale；　sweet　face；　the　little　nymph…like　figure；
  the　little　brown　shoes　kept　calling　to　him。　　If　only　there　would
  pass　away　the　horror　of　those　hands！　　All　the　artist　in　him
  shuddered　at　the　memory　of　them。　　Always　he　had　imagined　them　under
  the　neat；　smooth　gloves　as　fitting　in　with　all　the　rest　of　her；
  dreaming　of　the　time　when　he　would　hold　them　in　his　own；　caressing
  them；　kissing　them。　　Would　it　be　possible　to　forget　them；　to