n of having to keep up with his pace I began to
dislike him actively. I begged sarcastically to know whether he could
tell me if we were engaged in a farce or in a tragedy. I wanted to
regulate my feelings which, I told him, were in an unbecoming state of
confusion.

But Fyne was as impervious to sarcasm as a turtle. He tramped on, and
all he did was to ejaculate twice out of his deep chest, vaguely,
doubtfully.

"I am afraid.--I am afraid..."

This was tragic. The thump of his boots was the only sound in a shadowy
world. I kept by his side with a comparatively ghostly, silent tread.
By a strange illusion the road appeared to run up against a lot of low
stars at no very great distance, but as we advanced new stretches of
whitey-brown ribbon seemed to come up from under the black ground. I
observed, as we went by, the lamp in my parlour in the farmhouse still
burning. But I did not leave Fyne to run in and put it out. The
impetus of his pedestrian excellence carried me past in his wake before
I could make up my mind.

"Tell me, Fyne," I cried, "you don't think the girl was mad--do you?"

He answered nothing. Soon the lighted beacon-like window of the cottage
came into view. Then Fyne uttered a solemn: "Certainly not," with
profound assurance. But immediately after he added a "Very highly
strung young person indeed," which unsettled me again. Was it a
tragedy?

"Nobody ever got up at six o'clock in the morning to commit suicide," I
declared crustily. "It's unheard of! This is a farce."

As a matter of fact it was neither farce nor tragedy.

Coming up to the cottage we had a view of Mrs Fyne inside still sitting
in the strong light at the round table with folded arms. It looked as
though she had not moved her very head by as much as an inch since we
went away. She was amazing in a sort of unsubtle way; crudely amazing--
I thought. Why crudely? I don't know. Perhaps because I saw her then
in a crude light. I mean this materially--in the light of an unshaded
lamp. Our mental conclusions depend so much on momentary physical
sensations--don't they? If the lamp had been shaded I should perhaps
have gone home after expressing politely my concern at the Fynes'
unpleasant predicament.

Losing a girl-friend in that manner is unpleasant. It is also
mysterious. So mysterious that a certain mystery attaches to the people
to whom such a thing does happen. Moreover I had never really
understood the F