the day and
call at Cockspur Street. I must apologize again for calling at such an
unearthly hour. Good-bye," and Gladys smilingly took her departure.

CHAPTER IX

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

Shortly after Gladys reached home after her visit to the Vicarage, a
young man with a serious expression somewhat out of keeping with his
jaunty walk, entered the gate of Pine Cottage, and came to an abrupt
halt.

"Well," he ejaculated, "this is a pretty place, and what's more--for
dozens of houses and gardens are pretty--it's artistic!" In front of
him stretched a miniature avenue of chestnut trees, which was rendered
striking, even to the most casual observer, probably, not only on
account of the irregular mounds of moss-covered stones that occupied
its intervening spaces, but also, by reason of the masses of wild
flowers (great clumps of which were springing up in the crevices of
this impromptu wall) that lent to it an appearance half negligent, but
wholly and entrancingly picturesque. Here, undoubtedly, was art. That
did not astonish the young man. All avenues, in the ordinary sense,
are works of art; and the mere excess of art he saw manifested did not
surprise him; it was the character of the art that had brought him to
a standstill and held him spellbound. And the longer he looked the
more he became convinced, that whoever had superintended the
arrangement of this scenery was an artist--an artist with a scrupulous
eye for form.

The greatest care had been taken to keep the balance between neatness
and gracefulness on the one hand and picturesqueness on the other.
There were few straight lines, and no long uninterrupted ones; whilst
at no one point of view did the same effect of curvature or colour
appear twice. Variety in uniformity was the keynote.

At last tearing himself away from this one spot--where he felt he
could have spent centuries--he turned to the right and then again to
the left--for the path had now become serpentine, and at no moment
could be traced for more than two or three paces in advance. Presently
the sound of water fell gently on his ear, and in the shadiest of
diminutive forests, amidst the interlacing branches of elm and beech,
he caught the glimpse of a fountain. For an instant the wild thought
of forcing his way through it, of plunging his burning forehead in its
cooling spray, well-nigh mastered him. But his better sense conquered,
and he kept to the path. Another turn, and he caught his