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her gaze. ‘It became impossible— from the moment that she saw you again.’

He looked at her, hard, for a moment longer and then he turned away. He went to the window, pushed aside the curtain and looked out into the night. ‘Of course you know what happened—at the beginning,’ he said. ‘At the beginning, when I first saw you —at Norah’s, in the wood—you were one of the sirens. You attracted me, at once; exceedingly; in spite of your age. I had never met a woman who attracted me more. Your type:—frost and sunlight; gaiety and hardness.—Your eyes, that darkest blue; the way your lip lifts when you smile; the arms of Helen of Troy.—I saw it all; at once. I see these things at once in women. And then, I don’t know why or how—perhaps merely because we are both over fifty—I became sober and reasonable. — No; better than that; far better.—You made me feel safe; healed; or, at all events, sheltered. I became quite sentimental over it; saw us growing old together; standing by the fountain with the little boy; looking at the blue anemones in spring; watching the yellow rose grow on the front of the house;—it’s there already, you know; and the anemones are planted. I would never have asked anything but the shelter. You may be sure