ge of
the cliff and her foothold might give way. He intended to signal to her
and to point out a safe road through the cornfields, before he turned
himself again to loneliness, the sky, and the sea that was soon to
engulf him.

* * * * *

This self-obliterating immensity of mood was contracted and ruffled next
morning by the trivial difficulties that stood in the way of his
determination. He went to Kitty's boudoir--and, in spite of immensities,
he knew that his heart beat heavily under the burden of its project, how
careful he must be, how delicate--to find her interviewing the cook. In
the garden, she was talking to the gardener, and afterwards, in her
room, she was trying on a tea-gown before the mirror. Actually he felt
some irritation.

"When can I see you, Kitty?" he asked.

Her eyes in the glass met his with surprise at his tone; but surprise
was all. "See me? Here I am. What is it?--No, Cecile, the sash must
knot, so; tie it more to the side."

"I want to talk over something with you."

"I'm rather busy this morning. Will after lunch do? Don't you see,
Cecile, like this."

"No, it won't. I must see you now," said Holland, almost querulously.

She turned her head to look at him and a shadow crossed her face.
Suddenly, he saw it, she was a little frightened.

"Of course, directly. I'll come to the library."

Seeing that fear, and smitten with compunction, a rather silly impulse
made him smile at her and say:--"Don't bother to hurry. I can wait." But
he did want her to hurry. He felt that he could wait no longer.

He walked up and down the library. The weariness of the day before was
gone; the sweetness, of course, was gone, and the inhuman immensity was
gone too. He felt oddly normal and reasonable, detached yet implicated;
almost like a friendly family doctor come to break the fatal news to the
ignorant wife. It was just the anxiety that the doctor might feel, the
grave trouble and the twinge of awkwardness.

He had only waited for ten minutes when Kitty appeared in the doorway.

Kitty Holland was still a young woman and looked younger than her years.
The roundness and blueness and steady gaze of her eyes, the bloom of her
cheeks and innocent lustre of her golden hair gave an infantile quality
to her loveliness. She was not a vain woman, but she was conscious of
these advantages and the consciousness had touched the childlike
candour and confidingness with a little a