l her plain. At this moment, she was looking her worst; the
heavy, blue-black lines beneath her eyes were deepened by crying; her
rough hair had been hastily coiled, unbrushed; and she was wearing a
shabby red blouse that was pinned across in front, where a button was
missing. There was nothing young or fresh about her; she looked her
twenty-eight years, every day of them--and more.

And yet, Madeleine knew that those who admired Louise would find her as
desirable at this moment as at any other. Hers was a nameless charm; it
was present in each gesture of the slim hands, in each turn of the
head, in every movement of, the broad, slender body. Strangers felt it
instantly; her very walk seemed provocative of notice; there was
something in the way her skirts clung, and moved with her, that was
different from the motion of other women's. And those whose type she
embodied went crazy about her. Madeleine remembered as though it were
yesterday, the afternoon on which Heinz had burst in to rave to her of
his discovery; and how he would have dragged her out hatless to see
this miracle. She remembered, too, after--days, when she had had him
there, pacing the floor, and pouring out his feelings to her,
infatuated, mad. An he was not the only one; they bowled over like
ninepins; an it would be the same for years to come--was there any
reason to wonder at Maurice Guest?

Meanwhile, as Madeleine sat thinking these and similar things, Maurice
was tramping through the ROSENTAL. The May afternoon, of lucent
sunshine and heaped, fleecy clouds, had tempted a host of people into
the great park, but he soon left them all behind him, for he walked as
though he were pursued. These people, placid, and content of face, and
the brightness of the day, jarred on him; he was out of patience with
himself, with Madeleine, with the World at large. Especially with
Madeleine, he bore her a grudge for her hints and innuendoes, for being
behind the scenes, as it were, and also for being so ready to enlighten
him; but, most of all, for a certain malicious gratification, which was
to be felt in ever word she said about Louise.

He went steadily on, against the level bars of the afternoon sun and,
by the time he had tired himself bodily, he had worked off his inward
vexation as well. As he walked back towards the town, he was almost
ready to smile at his previous heat. What did all these others matter
to him? They could not hinder him from carrying through