down with
his head on her lap. He had laid it there for a moment before he went
out to die, and she had not let him take it away.

"I prayed you might not be a woman," he whispered.

"Darling, I am very much a woman. I do not vanish into groves and trees.
I thought you would never come."

"Did you expect--?"

"I hoped. I called hoping."

Inside the dell it was neither June nor January. The chalk walls barred
out the seasons, and the fir-trees did not seem to feel their passage.
Only from time to time the odours of summer slipped in from the wood
above, to comment on the waxing year. She bent down to touch him with
her lips.

He started, and cried passionately, "Never forget that your greatest
thing is over. I have forgotten: I am too weak. You shall never forget.
What I said to you then is greater than what I say to you now. What he
gave you then is greater than anything you will get from me."

She was frightened. Again she had the sense of something abnormal. Then
she said, "What is all this nonsense?" and folded him in her arms.

VIII

Ansell stood looking at his breakfast-table, which was laid for four
instead of two. His bedmaker, equally peevish, explained how it had
happened. Last night, at one in the morning, the porter had been awoke
with a note for the kitchens, and in that note Mr. Elliot said that all
these things were to be sent to Mr. Ansell's.

"The fools have sent the original order as well. Here's the lemon-sole
for two. I can't move for food."

"The note being ambiguous, the Kitchens judged best to send it all."
She spoke of the kitchens in a half-respectful, half-pitying way, much
as one speaks of Parliament.

"Who's to pay for it?" He peeped into the new dishes. Kidneys entombed
in an omelette, hot roast chicken in watery gravy, a glazed but pallid
pie.

"And who's to wash it up?" said the bedmaker to her help outside.

Ansell had disputed late last night concerning Schopenhauer, and was a
little cross and tired. He bounced over to Tilliard, who kept opposite.
Tilliard was eating gooseberry jam.

"Did Elliot ask you to breakfast with me?"

"No," said Tilliard mildly.

"Well, you'd better come, and bring every one you know."

So Tilliard came, bearing himself a little formally, for he was not
very intimate with his neighbour. Out of the window they called to
Widdrington. But he laid his hand on his stomach, thus indicating it was
too late.

"Who's to pay for it?" repeated