Darrow, late that evening, threw himself into an armchairbefore his fire and mused.

　　The room was propitious to meditation. The red-veiled lamp,the corners of shadow, the splashes of firelight on thecurves of old full-bodied wardrobes and cabinets, gave it anair of intimacy increased by its faded hangings, itsslightly frayed and threadbare rugs. Everything in it washarmoniously shabby, with a subtle sought-for shabbiness inwhich Darrow fancied he discerned the touch of Fraser Leath.

　　But Fraser Leath had grown so unimportant a factor in thescheme of things that these marks of his presence caused theyoung man no emotion beyond that of a faint retrospectiveamusement.

　　The afternoon and evening had been perfect.

　　After a moment of concern over her step-son's departure,Anna had surrendered herself to her happiness with animpetuosity that Darrow had never suspected in her. Earlyin the afternoon they had gone out in the motor, traversingmiles of sober-tinted landscape in which, here and there, ascarlet vineyard flamed, clattering through the streets ofstony villages, coming out on low slopes above the river, orwinding through the pale gold of narrow wood-roads with theblue of clear-cut hills at their end. Over everything lay afaint sunshine that seemed dissolved in the still air, andthe smell of wet roots and decaying leaves was merged in thepungent scent of burning underbrush. Once, at the turn of awall, they stopped the motor before a ruined gateway and,stumbling along a road full of ruts, stood before a littleold deserted house, fantastically carved and chimneyed,which lay in a moat under the shade of ancient trees. Theypaced the paths between the trees, found a mouldy Temple ofLove on an islet among reeds and plantains, and, sitting ona bench in the stable-yard, watched the pigeons circlingagainst the sunset over their cot of patterned brick. Thenthe motor flew on into the dusk...

　　When they came in they sat beside the fire in the oakdrawing-room, and Darrow noticed how delicately her headstood out against the sombre panelling, and mused on theenjoyment there would always be in the mere fact of watchingher hands as they moved about among the tea-things...

　　They dined late, and facing her across the table, with itslow lights and flowers, he felt an extraordinary pleasure inseeing her again in evening dress, and in letting his eyesdwell on the proud shy set of her head, the way her darkhair clasped it, and the girlish thinness of her neck abovethe slight swell of the breast. His imagination was struckby the quality of reticence in her beauty. She suggested afine portrait kept down to a few tones, or a Greek vase onwhich the play of light is the only pattern.

　　After dinner they went out on the terrace for a look at themoon-misted park. Through the crepuscular whiteness thetrees hung in blotted masses. Below the terrace, the gardendrew its dark diagrams between statues that stood likemuffled conspirators on the edge of the shadow. Fartheroff, the meadows unrolled a silver-shot tissue to themantling of mist above the river; and the autumn starstrembled overhead like their own reflections seen in dimwater.

　　He lit his cigar, and they walked slowly up and down theflags in the languid air, till he put an arm about her,saying: "You mustn't stay till you're chilled"; then theywent back into the room and drew up their chairs to thefire.

　　It seemed only a moment later that she said: "It must beafter eleven," and stood up and looked down on him, smilingfaintly. He sat still, absorbing the look, and thinking:

　　"There'll be evenings and evenings"--till she came nearer,bent over him, and with a hand on his shoulder said: "Goodnight."He got to his feet and put his arms about her.

　　"Good night," he answered, and held her fast; and they gaveeach other a long kiss of promise and communion.

　　The memory of it glowed in him still as he sat over hiscrumbling fire; but beneath his physical exultation he felta certain gravity of mood. His happiness was in some sortthe rallying-point of many scattered purposes. He summed itup vaguely by saying to himself that to be loved by a womanlike that made "all the difference"...He was a little tiredof experimenting on life; he wanted to "take a line", tofollow things up, to centralize and concentrate, and produceresults. Two or three more years of diplomacy--with herbeside him!--and then their real life would begin: study,travel and book-making for him, and for her--well, the joy,at any rate, of getting out of an atmosphere of bric-a-bracand card-leaving into the open air of competing activities.

　　The desire for change had for some time been latent in him,and his meeting with Mrs. Leath the previous spring hadgiven it a definite direction. With such a comrade to focusand stimulate his energies he felt modestly but agreeablysure of "doing something". And under this assurance was thelurking sense that he was somehow worthy of his opportunity.

　　His life, on the whole, had been a creditable affair. Outof modest chances and middling talents he had built himselfa fairly marked personality, known some exceptional people,done a number of interesting and a few rather difficultthings, and found himself, at thirty-seven, possessed of anintellectual ambition sufficient to occupy the passage to arobust and energetic old age. As for the private andpersonal side of his life, it had come up to the currentstandards, and if it had dropped, now and then, below a moreideal measure, even these declines had been brief,parenthetic, incidental. In the recognized essentials hehad always remained strictly within the limit of hisscruples.

　　From this reassuring survey of his case he came back to thecontemplation of its crowning felicity. His mind turnedagain to his first meeting with Anna Summers and took up oneby one the threads of their faintly sketched romance. Hedwelt with pardonable pride on the fact that fate had soearly marked him for the high privilege of possessing her:

　　it seemed to mean that they had really............