he gave work as
clerks--work that scarcely encouraged them to grow into other men.
"However, they have their own lives and interests. Let's get on."

He turned as he spoke, and prepared to see her back to The Bays. The
business was over. His hotel was in the opposite direction, and if he
accompanied her his letters would be late for the post. She implored him
not to come, but he was obdurate.

"A nice beginning, if your aunt saw you slip in alone!"

"But I always do go about alone. Considering I've walked over the
Apennines, it's common sense. You will make me so angry. I don't the
least take it as a compliment."

He laughed, and lit a cigar. "It isn't meant as a compliment, my dear. I
just won't have you going about in the dark. Such people about too! It's
dangerous."

"Can't I look after myself? I do wish--"

"Come along, Margaret; no wheedling."

A younger woman might have resented his masterly ways, but Margaret
had too firm a grip of life to make a fuss. She was, in her own way, as
masterly. If he was a fortress she was a mountain peak, whom all might
tread, but whom the snows made nightly virginal. Disdaining the heroic
outfit, excitable in her methods, garrulous, episodical, shrill,
she misled her lover much as she had misled her aunt. He mistook her
fertility for Weakness. He supposed her "as clever as they make them,"
but no more, not realising that she was penetrating to the depths of his
soul, and approving of what she found there.

And if insight were sufficient, if the inner life were the whole of
life, their happiness had been assured.

They walked ahead briskly. The parade and the road after it were well
lighted, but it was darker in Aunt Juley's garden. As they were going
up by the side-paths, through some rhododendrons, Mr. Wilcox, who was
in front, said "Margaret" rather huskily, turned, dropped his cigar, and
took her in his arms.

She was startled, and nearly screamed, but recovered herself at once,
and kissed with genuine love the lips that were pressed against her own.
It was their first kiss, and when it was over he saw her safely to the
door and rang the bell for her but disappeared into the night before the
maid answered it. On looking back, the incident displeased her. It was
so isolated. Nothing in their previous conversation had heralded it,
and, worse still, no tenderness had ensued. If a man cannot lead up to
passion he can at all events lead down from it, and she had hoped,
af