Rose Lomas came slowly over the top of the hill. She was hatless, and
her short, curly hair blew about her face, for a slight breeze had
sprung up in the wake of the sunset. She wore a navy blue jacket over
a white muslin blouse with a deep V at the breast. There was a fair
stretch of plump leg, stockinged in black cashmere, between the edge of
her dark skirt and the beginning of the tall boots that had taken so
long to button up. She walked with her chin tilted upwards and her eyes
half closed, and her hands were thrust into the slanting pockets of her
jacket.
"Whoever was that person you were talking to?" she enquired, as soon as
they stood together.
"Oh, someone who had lost his way," said Arthur, carelessly. He felt
curiously disinclined to explain matters just at present. The Clockwork
man was disconcerting. He was a rather terrifying side-issue. Arthur
had a feeling that Rose would probably be frightened by him, for she
was a timid girl. He half hoped now that this strange being would turn
out to be some kind of monstrous hoax.
And so he said nothing. They remained by the stile, courting each
other and the silent on-coming of night. They were very ordinary
lovers, and behaved just exactly in the same way as other people in
the same condition. They kissed at intervals and examined each other's
faces with portentous gravity and microscopic care. Leaning against
the stile, they were frequently interrupted by pedestrians, some of
whom took special care to light their pipes as they passed. But the
disturbance scarcely affected them. Being lovers, they belonged to each
other; and the world about them also belonged to them, and seemed to
fashion its laws in accordance with their desires. They would not have
offered you twopence for a reformed House of Commons or an enlightened
civilisation.
"Oh, Arthur," said Rose, suddenly, "I want to be like this always,
don't you?"
"Yes," murmured Arthur, and then caught his breath sharply. For his
ear had detected a faint throbbing and palpitation in the distance.
It seemed to echo from the far-off hills, a sort of "chew chew,"
constantly repeated. And presently, another and more familiar sound
aroused his attention. It was the "toot-toot" of an automobile and the
jerk of a brake. And then the steady whine of the engine as the car
ascended a hill. Perhaps they were pursuing the Clockwork man. Arthur
hoped not. It seemed to him the troubles of that strange being were bad
enough without there being added to them the persecutions suffered by
those to whom existence represents an endless puzzle, full of snares
and surprises.