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where the voice should have predominated.

      “I say Lettie . . . ” he interrupted after a time.

      “Yes,” she replied, continuing to play.

      “It’s not very interesting . . . ”

      “No?”— she continued to play.

      “Nor very amusing . . . ”

      She did not answer. He bore it for a little time longer, then he said:

      “How much longer is it going to last, Lettie?”

      “What?”

      “That sort of business . . . ”

      “The piano? — I’ll stop playing if you don’t like it.” She did not, however, cease.

      “Yes — and all this dry business.”

      “I don’t understand.”

      “Don’t you? — you make me.”

      There she went on, tinkling away at “If I built a world for you, dear”.

      “I say, stop it, do!” he cried.

      She tinkled to the end of the verse, and very slowly closed the piano.

      “Come on — come and sit down,” he said.

      “No, I don’t want to — I’d rather have gone on playing.”

      “Go on with your damned playing then, and I’ll go where there’s more interest.”

      “You ought to like it.”

      He did not answer, so she turned slowly round on the stool, opened the piano, and laid her fingers on the keys. At the sound of the chord he started up, saying: “Then I’m going.”

      “‘t’s very early — why?” she said, through the calm jingle of “Meine Ruh is hin —”

      He stood biting his lips. Then he made one more appeal. “Lettie!”

      “Yes?”

      “Aren’t you going to leave off — and be-amiable?”

      “Amiable?”

      “You are a jolly torment. What’s upset you now?”

      “Nay, it’s not I who am upset.”

      “I’m glad to hear it — what do you call yourself?”

      “I? — nothing.”

      “Oh, well, I’m going then.”

      “Must you? — so early tonight?”

      He did not go, and she played more and more softly, languidly, aimlessly. Once she lifted her head to speak, but did not say anything.

      “Look here!” he ejaculated all at once, so that she started, and jarred the piano, “What do you mean by it?”

      She jingled leisurely a few seconds before answering, then she replied:

      “What a worry you are!”

      “I suppose you want me out of the way while you sentimentalise over that milkman. You needn’t bother. You can do it while I’m here. Or I’ll go and leave you in peace. I’ll go and call him back for you, if you like — if that’s what you want —”

      She turned on the piano stool slowly and looked at him, smiling faintly.

      “It is very good of you!” she said.

      He clenched his fists and grinned with rage.

      “You tantalising little —” he began, lifting his fists expressively. She smiled. Then he swung round, knocked several hats flying off the stand in the hall, slammed the door, and was gone.

      Lettie continued to play for some time, after which she went up to her own room.

      Leslie did not return to us the next day, nor the day after. The first day Marie came and told us he had gone away to Yorkshire to see about the new mines that were being sunk there, and was likely to be absent for a week or so. These business visits to the north were rather frequent. The firm, of which Mr Tempest was director and chief shareholder, were opening important new mines in the other county, as the seams at home were becoming exhausted or unprofitable. It was proposed that Leslie should live in Yorkshire when he was married, to superintend the new workings. He at first rejected the idea, but he seemed later to approve of it more.

      During the time he was away Lettie was moody and cross-tempered. She did not mention George nor the mill; indeed, she preserved her best, most haughty and ladylike manner.

      On the evening of the fourth day of Leslie’s absence we were out in the garden. The trees were “uttering joyous leaves”. My mother was in the midst of her garden, lifting the dusky faces of the auriculas to look at the velvet lips, or tenderly taking a young weed from the black soil. The thrushes were calling and clamouring all round. The japonica flamed on the wall as the light grew thicker; the tassels of white cherry-blossom swung gently in the breeze.

      “What shall I do, Mother?” said Lettie, as she wandered across the grass to pick at the japonica flowers. “What shall I do? There’s nothing to do.”

      “Well, my girl — what do you want to do? You have been moping about all day — go and see somebody.”

      “It’s such a long way to Eberwich.”

      “Is it? Then go somewhere nearer.”

      Lettie fretted about with restless, petulant indecision.

      “I don’t know what to do,” she said, “And I feel as if I might just as well never have lived at all as waste days like this. I wish we weren’t buried in this dead little hole — I wish we were near the town — it’s hateful having to depend on about two or three folk for your — your — your pleasure in life.”

      “I can’t help it, my dear — you must do something for yourself.”

      “And what can I do? — I can do nothing.”

      “Then I’d go to bed.”

      “That I won’t — with the dead weight of a wasted day on me. I feel as if I’d do something desperate.”

      “Very well, then,” said Mother, “do it, and have done.”

      “Oh, it’s no good talking to you — I don’t want —” She turned away, went to the laurestinus, and began pulling off it the long red berries. I expected she would fret the evening wastefully away. I noticed all at once that she stood still. It was the noise of a motor-car running rapidly down the hill towards Nethermere — a light, quick-clicking sound. I listened also. I could feel the swinging drop of the car as it came down the leaps of the hill. We could see the dust trail up among the trees. Lettie raised her head and listened expectantly. The car rushed along the edge of Nethermere — then there was the jar of brakes, as the machine slowed down and stopped. In a moment with a quick flutter of sound, it was passing the lodge gates and whirling up the drive, through the wood, to us. Lettie stood with flushed cheeks and brightened eyes. She went towards the bushes that shut off the lawn from the gravelled space in front of the house, watching. A car came racing through the trees. It was the small car Leslie used on the firm’s business — now it was white with dust. Leslie suddenly put on the brakes, and tore to a standstill in front of the house. He stepped to the ground. There he staggered a little, being giddy and cramped with the long drive. His motor-jacket and cap were thick with dust.

      Lettie called to him, “Leslie!”— and flew down to him. He took her into his arms, and clouds of dust rose round her. He kissed her, and they stood perfectly still for a moment. She looked up into his face — then she disengaged her arms to take off his disfiguring motor-spectacles. After she had looked at him a moment, tenderly, she kissed him again. He loosened his hold of her, and she said, in a voice full of tenderness:

      “You

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