, Anna in her moonlight-coloured
frock was sitting on the sofa talking to--Sylvia. He kept away from
them; they could neither of them want him. But it did seem odd to him,
who knew not too much concerning women, that she could be talking so
gaily, when only half an hour ago she had said: "Is it that girl?"

He sat next her at dinner. Again it was puzzling that she should be
laughing so serenely at Gordy's stories. Did the whispering in the
porch, then, mean nothing? And Sylvia would not look at him; he felt
sure that she turned her eyes away simply because she knew he was
going to look in her direction. And this roused in him a sore
feeling--everything that night seemed to rouse that feeling--of
injustice; he was cast out, and he could not tell why. He had not meant
to hurt either of them! Why should they both want to hurt him so? And
presently there came to him a feeling that he did not care: Let them
treat him as they liked! There were other things besides love! If they
did not want him--he did not want them! And he hugged this reckless,
unhappy, don't-care feeling to him with all the abandonment of youth.

But even birthdays come to an end. And moods and feelings that seem so
desperately real die in the unreality of sleep.

XVI

If to the boy that birthday was all bewildered disillusionment, to Anna
it was verily slow torture; SHE found no relief in thinking that
there were things in life other than love. But next morning brought
readjustment, a sense of yesterday's extravagance, a renewal of hope.
Impossible surely that in one short fortnight she had lost what she had
made so sure of! She had only to be resolute. Only to grasp firmly what
was hers. After all these empty years was she not to have her hour? To
sit still meekly and see it snatched from her by a slip of a soft girl?
A thousand times, no! And she watched her chance. She saw him about noon
sally forth towards the river, with his rod. She had to wait a little,
for Gordy and his bailiff were down there by the tennis lawn, but they
soon moved on. She ran out then to the park gate. Once through that
she felt safe; her husband, she knew, was working in his room; the girl
somewhere invisible; the old governess still at her housekeeping; Mrs.
Doone writing letters. She felt full of hope and courage. This old
wild tangle of a park, that she had not yet seen, was beautiful--a true
trysting-place for fauns and nymphs, with its mossy trees and boulders
and t