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Clare looked at her curiously. "Perhaps you're right," she said. "Physical love when that's all there is, is terribly disappointing��an awful sell. I could have been a friend of yours if I'd been younger. There! Get up a moment��stand over there. I want to look at you!"

"I learn from my brother that he has told you?" she said, blinking her eyes that were always watering at him.

Then Ellen discovered. She faced Millie in Victoria's sitting-room, her face graven and moulded like a mask.

"I didn't know you knew him," said Henry.

"I think," said Henry, "that I always knew that this moment would come. When I was a boy in the country and was always being scolded for something I did wrong or stupidly I used to dream of this. I thought it would come in the War but it didn't. And then when I was in London I would stop sometimes in the street and expect the heavens to open and some miracle to happen. And now the miracle has happened because I love you and you are my friend, and you are here in my shabby room and no one can ever prevent us thinking of one another till we die."

A good pal, but how far away, what infinite distance!

She was fighting her own misery, staring in front of her, her hands clenched on her lap, when she heard her name called. At first the voice seemed to call from far away: "Millie! Millie!" Then quite close to her. Some one, sitting almost opposite to her was leaning forward and speaking to her. She raised her head out of her own troubles and looked and saw that it was Peter.

"Yes, more and more miserable as time went on. But not so miserable as they are now. I know. But what you're feeling[Pg 312] now is loneliness. And soon you won't be lonely with your prettiness and health and love of life."

"What do you say to taking Christina out to tea, Mr. Trenchard? It won't do her any harm?"

Now you're quite different; I don't mean that your way of being in love isn't just as good as mine, but it's different. With you it's all in the romantic idea. I believe you like it better when she slips away from you, always just is beyond you, so that you can keep your idea without tarnishing it by contact. You want yours to be beautiful��I want mine to be real. And Bunny is real. There's no doubt about it at all.

"Only love us enough and we shall live. Everything lives by love. Touch us with some of your own enchantment. You are calling us back to life by caring for us. . . ." He stopped, his head up, his pen arrested, listening��as though he did in very truth hear voices coming to him from different parts of the room.

Henry, trembling with sympathy, and a blind eagerness to help, leant forward. Could he change seats? He had wished to sit with his back to the horses but Duncombe had insisted on his present place.

"It's the most extraordinary thing," said Henry. "I suppose you'll laugh at me. Anybody would. But I just couldn't help myself. It didn't seem like myself doing it."