e, and Ivor
sang a Neapolitan song: "Stretti, stretti"--close, close--with something
about the little Spanish girl to follow. The atmosphere began to
palpitate. Ivor put his arm round Anne's waist, dropped his head
sideways onto her shoulder, and in that position walked on, singing as
he walked. It seemed the easiest, the most natural, thing in the world.
Denis wondered why he had never done it. He hated Ivor.

"Let's go down to the pool," said Ivor. He disengaged his embrace and
turned round to shepherd his little flock. They made their way along the
side of the house to the entrance of the yew-tree walk that led down to
the lower garden. Between the blank precipitous wall of the house and
the tall yew trees the path was a chasm of impenetrable gloom. Somewhere
there were steps down to the right, a gap in the yew hedge. Denis, who
headed the party, groped his way cautiously; in this darkness, one
had an irrational fear of yawning precipices, of horrible spiked
obstructions. Suddenly from behind him he heard a shrill, startled,
"Oh!" and then a sharp, dry concussion that might have been the sound
of a slap. After that, Jenny's voice was heard pronouncing, "I am going
back to the house." Her tone was decided, and even as she pronounced the
words she was melting away into the darkness. The incident, whatever it
had been, was closed. Denis resumed his forward groping. From somewhere
behind Ivor began to sing again, softly:

"Phillis plus avare que tendre Ne gagnant rien a refuser, Un jour exigea
a Silvandre Trente moutons pour un baiser."

The melody drooped and climbed again with a kind of easy languor; the
warm darkness seemed to pulse like blood about them.

"Le lendemain, nouvelle affaire: Pour le berger le troc fut bon..."

"Here are the steps," cried Denis. He guided his companions over the
danger, and in a moment they had the turf of the yew-tree walk under
their feet. It was lighter here, or at least it was just perceptibly
less dark; for the yew walk was wider than the path that had led them
under the lea of the house. Looking up, they could see between the high
black hedges a strip of sky and a few stars.

"Car il obtint de la bergere..."

Went on Ivor, and then interrupted himself to shout, "I'm going to run
down," and he was off, full speed, down the invisible slope, singing
unevenly as he went:

"Trente baisers pour un mouton."

The others followed. Denis shambled in the rear, vainly exhorting
every