touching her, and she was aware of his influence upon
her. But she was glad. It excited her to feel the press of him
upon her, as if his being were urging her to something.

As they drove home, he sat near to her. And when he swayed to
the cart, he swayed in a voluptuous, lingering way, against her,
lingering as he swung away to recover balance. Without speaking,
he took her hand across, under the wrap, and with his unseeing
face lifted to the road, his soul intent, he began with his one
hand to unfasten the buttons of her glove, to push back her
glove from her hand, carefully laying bare her hand. And the
close-working, instinctive subtlety of his fingers upon her hand
sent the young girl mad with voluptuous delight. His hand was so
wonderful, intent as a living creature skilfully pushing and
manipulating in the dark underworld, removing her glove and
laying bare her palm, her fingers. Then his hand closed over
hers, so firm, so close, as if the flesh knitted to one thing
his hand and hers. Meanwhile his face watched the road and the
ears of the horse, he drove with steady attention through the
villages, and she sat beside him, rapt, glowing, blinded with a
new light. Neither of them spoke. In outward attention they were
entirely separate. But between them was the compact of his flesh
with hers, in the hand-clasp.

Then, in a strange voice, affecting nonchalance and
superficiality he said to her:

"Sitting in the church there reminded me of Ingram."

"Who is Ingram?" she asked.

She also affected calm superficiality. But she knew that
something forbidden was coming.

"He is one of the other men with me down at Chatham--a
subaltern--but a year older than I am."

"And why did the church remind you of him?"

"Well, he had a girl in Rochester, and they always sat in a
particular corner in the cathedral for their love-making."

"How nice!" she cried, impulsively.

They misunderstood each other.

"It had its disadvantages though. The verger made a row about
it."

"What a shame! Why shouldn't they sit in a cathedral?"

"I suppose they all think it a profanity--except you and
Ingram and the girl."

"I don't think it a profanity--I think it's right, to
make love in a cathedral."

She said this almost defiantly, in despite of her own
soul.

He was silent.

"And was she nice?"

"Who? Emily? Yes, she was rather nice. She was a milliner,
and she wouldn't be seen in the streets with Ingram. It was
rather