er, little toleration in his heart at this hour as he
lay staring at the photograph, and then suddenly looked round the room
he had made so beautiful for himself. It was just as usual, every
detail complete, satisfactory, balanced, redeemed too from its own
beauty by its strange freedom from detail and its emptiness.

It pleased him well as a rule, but this evening that same emptiness
seemed to emphasise his own isolation. He was suddenly conscious of a
sense of incompleteness, of some detail left out that should be
there--a want he could not measure or define. It was a sort of
culminating point in his own grey thoughts. In a gust of his old
imperious temper he caught up the photograph and tore it in half, and
flung it from him: tried to fling into the fire and failed even in
that. The box of photographs fell and scattered on the floor. He
turned his head sharply and hid his face in the cushions.

It was very quiet in the room, the fire burnt steadily, and outside
the dusk had already fallen. There was a very little knock at the
door, but he did not hear it; the door opened with a breath of fresh
cold air and a faint scent of violets as Renata entered.

She saw she was unobserved, saw his attitude, and her whole being
seemed to melt into an expression of longing compassion. Nevil or his
father would have gone away unseen in respect for his known weakness,
but Renata for all her shyness had the courage of her instincts.

"May I come and warm myself, Aymer? You always have the best fire in
the house."

He did not move for a moment.

Renata knelt by the fire with her back to him and took off her long
soft gloves, her bracelets making a little jangling sound. Then she
saw the torn picture and picked it up and shook her head
disapprovingly. The overturned box lay nearer the sofa. She picked
that up too, and began replacing its contents in a matter-of-fact
way.

"You can't possibly see things in this light," she remarked. "It is
getting quite dark. Do you want a light, Aymer?"

"No," said Aymer abruptly, turning so that he could see her.

She sat down in a big chair the other side of the hearth and began
chatting of the very serious At Home she had just attended in
Winchester.

The black mood slipped from him, and with it the sense of need and
incompleteness. It had melted as snow before a fire the moment he had
heard the swish of her dress across the floor, and the breath of
violets reached him. He forgot even t