irresistibly--a crashing,
monumental hand. She delighted in his great, solid head as it swung
slowly from side to side, and his calm, proud eye--a governing,
compelling and determined eye. She had never met his glance yet: she
withered away before it as a mouse withers and shrinks and falls to
its den before a cat's huge glare. She used to look at him from the
curbstone in front of the chemist's shop, or on the opposite side of
the road, while pretending to wait for a tram; and at the pillar-box
beside the optician's she found time for one furtive twinkle of a
glance that shivered to his face and trembled away into the traffic.
She did not think he noticed her, but there was nothing he did not
notice. His business was noticing: he caught her in his mental
policeman's note-book the very first day she came; he saw her each
day beside, and at last looked for her coming and enjoyed her
strategy. One day her shy, creeping glance was caught by his; it held
her mesmerized for a few seconds, it looked down into her--for a
moment the whole world seemed to have become one immense eye--she
could scarcely get away from it.

When she remembered again she was standing by the pond in St.
Stephen's Green Park, with a queer frightened exaltation lightening
through her blood. She did not go home that night by Grafton Street,
she did not dare venture within reach of that powerful organism, but
went a long way round, and still the way seemed very short.

That night her mother, although very tired, was the more talkative of
the two. She offered in exchange for her daughter's thoughts pennies
that only existed in her imagination. Mary Makebelieve professed that
it was sleep and not thought obsessed her, and exhibited voucher yawns
which were as fictitious as her reply. When they went to bed that
night it was a long time before she slept. She lay looking into the
deep gloom of the chamber, and scarcely heard the fierce dreams of her
mother, who was demanding from a sleep world the things she lacked in
the wide-awake one.

V

This is the appearance of Mary Makebelieve at that time:--She had fair
hair, and it was very soft and very thick; when she unwound this it
fell, or rather flowed, down to her waist, and when she walked about
the room with her hair unloosened it curved beautifully about her
head, snuggled into the hollow of her neck, ruffled out broadly again
upon her shoulders, and swung into and out of her figure with every