ther cynically, and that he had somehow
hurt and checked the girl. He did not like the thought; but he felt
that he had spoken sensibly in not allowing the situation to become
sentimental. There was a little silence; and then Maud said, rather
timidly: "Do you like going back?"

"No," said Howard, "I don't. I have become curiously interested in this
place, and I am lazy. Just now the life of the Don seems to me rather
intolerable. I don't want to teach Greek prose, I don't want to go to
meetings; I don't want to gossip about appointments, and little
intrigues, and bonfires, and College rows. I want to live here, and
walk on the Downs and write my book. I don't want to be stuffy, as Jack
said. But it will be all right, when I have taken the plunge; and after
I have been back a week, this will all fade into a sort of impossibly
pleasant dream."

He was again conscious that he had somehow hurt the girl. She looked at
him with a troubled face, and then said, "Yes, that is the advantage
which men have. I sometimes wonder if it would not be better for me to
have some work away from here. But there is nothing I could do; and I
can't leave papa."

"Oh, it will all come right!" said Howard feebly; "there are fifty
things that might happen. And now I must be off! Mind, you must let me
have the book some time; that will serve to remind me of Windlow in the
intervals of Greek prose."

He got up and shook hands. He felt he was behaving stupidly and
unkindly. He had meant to tell Maud how much he liked the feeling of
having made friends, and to have talked to her frankly and simply about
everything. He had an intense desire to say that and more; to make her
understand that she was and would be in his thoughts; to ascertain how
she felt towards him; to assure himself of their friendship. But he
would be wise and prudent; he would not be sentimental or priggish or
Jesuitical. He would just leave the impression that he was mildly
interested in Windlow, but that his heart was in his work. He felt
sustained by his delicate consideration, and by his judicious
chilliness. And so he turned and left her, though an unreasonable
impulse seized him to take the child in his arms, and tell her how
sweet and delicious she was. She had held the little book in her hand
as they sate, as if she had hoped he would ask to look at it; and as he
closed the door, he saw her put it down on the table with a half-sigh.

XIII

GIVING AWAY

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