onger ached; his body cool and refreshed.

When one is as young as Ashurst, pity is not a violent emotion. And,
back in the Hallidays' sitting-room, eating a ravenous tea, he felt much
like a man recovered from fever. Everything seemed new and clear; the
tea, the buttered toast and jam tasted absurdly good; tobacco had never
smelt so nice. And walking up and down the empty room, he stopped here
and there to touch or look. He took up Stella's work-basket, fingered
the cotton reels and a gaily-coloured plait of sewing silks, smelt at
the little bag filled with woodroffe she kept among them. He sat down
at the piano, playing tunes with one finger, thinking: 'To-night she'll
play; I shall watch her while she's playing; it does me good to watch
her.' He took up the book, which still lay where she had placed it
beside him, and tried to read. But Megan's little, sad figure began to
come back at once, and he got up and leaned in the window, listening to
the thrushes in the Crescent gardens, gazing at the sea, dreamy and
blue below the trees. A servant came in and cleared the tea away, and he
still stood, inhaling the evening air, trying not to think. Then he saw
the Hallidays coming through the gate of the Crescent, Stella a little
in front of Phil and the children, with their baskets, and instinctively
he drew back. His heart, too sore and discomfited, shrank from this
encounter, yet wanted its friendly solace--bore a grudge against this
influence, yet craved its cool innocence, and the pleasure of watching
Stella's face. From against the wall behind the piano he saw her come
in and stand looking a little blank as though disappointed; then she
saw him and smiled, a swift, brilliant smile which warmed yet irritated
Ashurst.

"You never came after us, Frank."

"No; I found I couldn't."

"Look! We picked such lovely late violets!" She held out a bunch.
Ashurst put his nose to them, and there stirred within him vague
longings, chilled instantly by a vision of Megan's anxious face lifted
to the faces of the passers-by.

He said shortly: "How jolly!" and turned away. He went up to his room,
and, avoiding the children, who were coming up the stairs, threw himself
on his bed, and lay there with his arms crossed over his face. Now that
he felt the die really cast, and Megan given up, he hated himself,
and almost hated the Hallidays and their atmosphere of healthy, happy
English homes.

Why should they have chanced here, to drive