an
impulse, I stretched out my hand, then seeing the flush upon her face,
drew it back hastily. But the next moment, changing her mind, she held
hers out to me, and I took it. It was the first clasp of a hand I had
felt since six months before I had said good-bye to Hal. She turned and
walked quickly away. I stood watching her; she never looked round, and I
never saw her again.

I take no credit to myself for keeping straight, as it is termed, during
these days. For good or evil, my shyness prevented my taking part in the
flirtations of the streets. Whether inviting eyes were ever thrown to me
as to others, I cannot say. Sometimes, fancying so--hoping so, I would
follow. Yet never could I summon up sufficient resolution to face the
possible rebuff before some less timid swain would swoop down upon the
quarry. Then I would hurry on, cursing myself for the poorness of my
spirit, fancying mocking contempt in the laughter that followed me.

On a Sunday I would rise early and take long solitary walks into the
country. One winter's day--I remember it was on the road between Edgware
and Stanmore--there issued from a by-road a little ahead of me a party
of boys and girls, young people about my own age, bound evidently on
a skating expedition. I could hear the musical ring of their blades,
clattering as they walked, and the sound of their merry laughter so
clear and bell-like through the frosty air. And an aching anguish fell
upon me. I felt a mad desire to run after them, to plead with them to
let me walk with them a little way, to let me laugh and talk with them.
Every now and then they would pirouette to cry some jest to one another.
I could see their faces: the girls' so sweetly alluring, framed by their
dainty hats and furs, the bright colour in their cheeks, the light
in their teasing eyes. A little further on they turned aside into a
by-lane, and I stood at the corner listening till the last echo of their
joyous voices died away, and on a stone that still remains standing
there I sat down and sobbed.

I would walk about the streets always till very late. I dreaded the
echoing clang of the little front door when I closed it behind me, the
climbing of the silent stairs, the solitude that waited for me in my
empty room. It would rise and come towards me like some living thing,
kissing me with cold lips. Often, unable to bear the closeness of its
presence, I would creep out into the streets. There, even though it
followed