ought that passed within him, lest it should by
the slightest sign betray him; to regulate and veil every look and every
word he spoke to her; never for a second to forget that these other
persons were actual and dangerous, not merely the insignificant and
grotesque shadows that they seemed. It would be perhaps for ever a part
of his love for her to seem not to love her. He did not dare dream
of fulfilment. He was to be her friend, and try to bring her
happiness--burn and long for her, and not think about reward. This
was his first real overwhelming passion--so different to the loves of
spring--and he brought to it all that naivete, that touching quality of
young Englishmen, whose secret instinct it is to back away from the full
nature of love, even from admitting that it has that nature. They two
were to love, and--not to love! For the first time he understood a
little of what that meant. A few stolen adoring minutes now and then,
and, for the rest, the presence of a world that must be deceived.
Already he had almost a hatred of that orderly, brown-faced Colonel,
with his eyes that looked so steady and saw nothing; of that flat,
kindly lady, who talked so pleasantly throughout dinner, saying things
that he had to answer without knowing what they signified. He realized,
with a sense of shock, that he was deprived of all interests in life but
one; not even his work had any meaning apart from HER. It lit no fire
within him to hear Mrs. Ercott praise certain execrable pictures in the
Royal Academy, which she had religiously visited the day before leaving
home. And as the interminable meal wore on, he began even to feel grief
and wonder that Olive could be so smiling, so gay, and calm; so, as
it seemed to him, indifferent to this intolerable impossibility of
exchanging even one look of love. Did she really love him--could she
love him, and show not one little sign of it? And suddenly he felt her
foot touch his own. It was the faintest sidelong, supplicating pressure,
withdrawn at once, but it said: 'I know what you are suffering; I, too,
but I love you.' Characteristically, he felt that it cost her dear to
make use of that little primitive device of common loves; the touch
awoke within him only chivalry. He would burn for ever sooner than cause
her the pain of thinking that he was not happy.

After dinner, they sat out on a balcony. The stars glowed above the
palms; a frog was croaking. He managed to draw his chair so that h