ned Dick.

"You know this," she said. "I'll play it for you."

CHAPTER XII

THE SHOOTING PUNT

On the morning after her interview with Jim, Evelyn sat in front of a
writing-table by a window at Whitelees. She had meant to tell a friend
about her lover, but now did not know if she would or not. For one
thing, the morning was cold and dreary and she felt dull. Composition
was difficult; the glowing phrases she had thought to use would not
come. It was raining outside, the lawn was strewn with wet dead
leaves, and the bare trees tossed their branches in the wind. Shallow
pools spread about the terrace and the hills were blurred by mist.
Winter had begun and Evelyn did not like winter in the country.

She put down her pen. Last night's thrill had gone and she was
languid. When she had broken his reserve, Jim was the ardent and
romantic lover she had thought; but she had been forced to break down
his reserve and this carried a sting. For some hours she had been
dazzled by the glamor of romance and had rejoiced in her rashness, but
the light was getting dim. Things looked different in the morning.

Jim loved her and she was flattered by his exaggerated notion of her
worth. She had meant to justify his confidence, but she knew this
would be hard, because she knew herself. In a sense, Jim was not her
kind, and by and by they might jar. She had self-control, but she was
not patient. Moreover, it looked as if Jim were poor, and although she
had some money she was not rich. Thrilled by keen excitement and
half-consciously acting, she had told him that poverty did not daunt
her, but when she came to think, it would be hard to go without the
expensive refinements she enjoyed.

With something of an effort, she banished her disturbing thoughts. She
was going to marry Jim. Perhaps she could mold him a little. Yet she
did not know; she did not want to conventionalize him; there was
something rather fine about his ruggedness. Then she began to wonder
why she had asked him to tell nobody yet. Girls she knew had found an
obvious satisfaction in exhibiting their lovers, but she had felt a
need for concealment. This was not because she feared her mother's
disapproval; it looked as if she had unconsciously tried to leave open
a way of escape. By and by a car rolled up the drive and Mordaunt came
in.

"I am going to the town and wondered whether you wanted anything I
could get for you," he said.

Evelyn