worse, Anthony began to feel that he was an impostor.

He walked with her to the village and sent his telegram. Later they
dined together. They dared not go far away, and the landlord of a
neighbouring inn was persuaded to serve eggs and bacon. This he did
with an ill grace, and, that there might be no mistake about his
annoyance, charged for it in the bill. Anthony paid the amount as if
it were nothing, and Valerie French writhed....

Afterwards they strolled in the garden and sat upon the veranda. The
hours which should have been so wonderful went by lack-lustre. Between
the two a phantom barrier had been set up.

As ten o'clock was striking, Valerie was fetched.

When the summons came, they were in the garden, and she left Anthony
without a word. Desperately sorry for her, miserably fearful for
himself, he followed as far as the steps of the veranda....

Twenty-five minutes passed, perhaps half an hour. Then there was
movement in the chamber. A door was opened. The lights, which had
been low, were turned up.

A moment later Valerie appeared at the window, putting on her gloves.

As she came to the steps, Anthony rose out of the shadows.

"May I see you back to the village?" he said.

She just inclined her head.

They passed in silence out of the starlit garden on to a pale grey
road. The hedgerows on either side loomed up out of the darkness,
blacker than night. A lane led down to the village, leaving the road
on the left. It was the shortest path. As Lyveden started to turn,
Valerie laid a hand on his arm.

"Not that way," she said unsteadily. "It was our last walk
together--Joe's and mine."

Then she burst into tears.

In a flash the barrier that had stood between them was done away.

Anthony put his arm about her instinctively. She caught at his shabby
lapel and clung to it, sobbing piteously. They must have stood so for
five minutes or more.

When she was better, they walked on slowly, Anthony talking as
naturally as if she had been his sister. All his constraint was gone.

"Don't I know how you feel? Oh, my dear, I'm so grieved for you. I
know, I know.... Everything you do, every way you turn, calls up some
piteous memory. But it'll pass, dear, very soon.... Time's very
merciful...."

They came to the sleeping village and the door of the house where she
was to pass the night.

"Sleep well," said Anthony, and put her hand to his lips.

Valerie dared not speak. For a