he nearest
flower shop. A Frenchwoman kept it.

What had she?

What did Monsieur desire? "Des oeillets rouges? J'en ai de bien beaux ce
soir."

No--not those. White flowers!

"Une belle azalee?"

Yes, that would do--to be sent at once--at once!

Next door was a jeweller's. He had never really known if Sylvia cared
for jewels, since one day he happened to remark that they were vulgar.
And feeling that he had fallen low indeed, to be trying to atone with
some miserable gewgaw for never having thought of her all day, because
he had been thinking of another, he went in and bought the only ornament
whose ingredients did not make his gorge rise, two small pear-shaped
black pearls, one at each end of a fine platinum chain. Coming out with
it, he noticed over the street, in a clear sky fast deepening to indigo,
the thinnest slip of a new moon, like a bright swallow, with wings bent
back, flying towards the ground. That meant--fine weather! If it could
only be fine weather in his heart! And in order that the azalea might
arrive first, he walked up and down the Square which he and Oliver had
patrolled the night before.

When he went in, Sylvia was just placing the white azalea in the window
of the drawing-room; and stealing up behind her he clasped the little
necklet round her throat. She turned round and clung to him. He could
feel that she was greatly moved. And remorse stirred and stirred in him
that he was betraying her with his kiss.

But, even while he kissed her, he was hardening his heart.

XI

Next day, still following the lead of her words about fresh air and his
tired look, he told her that he was going to ride, and did not say with
whom. After applauding his resolution, she was silent for a little--then
asked:

"Why don't you ride with Nell?"

He had already so lost his dignity, that he hardly felt disgraced in
answering:

"It might bore her!"

"Oh, no; it wouldn't bore her."

Had she meant anything by that? And feeling as if he were fencing with
his own soul, he said:

"Very well, I will."

He had perceived suddenly that he did not know his wife, having always
till now believed that it was she who did not quite know him.

If she had not been out at lunch-time, he would have lunched out
himself--afraid of his own face. For feverishness in sick persons mounts
steadily with the approach of a certain hour. And surely his face, to
anyone who could have seen him being conveyed to Piccadilly, w