They sat down on the bench that was shaded by the old elderberry tree.
Visually, the situation had all the characteristics of an idyllic
courtship.
"I suppose it's Alicia's engagement," she said, smiling reflectively,
"that's put me off my game. They do upset you, those things do, and you
don't know why... It isn't as if Alicia was the first--I mean of us
girls. There was Marian; but then, of course, that was so long ago, and
I was only a chit."
"Yes," he murmured vaguely; and though she seemed to be waiting for him
to say more, he merely repeated, "Yes."
Such was his sole contribution to this topic, so suitable to the
situation, so promising, so easy of treatment. They were so friendly
that he was under no social obligation to talk for the sake of talking.
That was it: they were too friendly. She sat within a foot of him,
reclining against the sloping back of the bench, and idly dangling one
white-shod foot; her long hands lay on her knees. She was there in all
her perfection. But by some sinister magic, as she had approached him
and their paths had met at the bench, his vision had faded. Now, she
was no longer a woman and he a man. Now, the curvings of her drapery
from the elegant waistband were no longer a provocation. She was
immediately beneath his eye, and he recognised her again for what she
was--Janet! Precisely Janet--no less and no more! But her beauty, her
charm, her faculty for affection--surely... No! His instinct was deaf
to all `buts.' His instinct did not argue; it cooled. Fancy had
created a vision in an instant out of an idea, and in an instant the
vision had died. He remembered Hilda with painful intensity. He
remembered the feel of her frock under his hand in the cubicle, and the
odour of her flesh that was like fruit. His cursed constancy! ...
Could he not get Hilda out of his bones? Did she sleep in his bones
like a malady that awakes whenever it is disrespectfully treated?
He grew melancholy. Accustomed to savour the sadness of existence, he
soon accepted the new mood without resentment.
He resigned himself to the destruction of his dream. He was like a
captive whose cell has been opened in mistake, and who is too gentle to
rave when he sees it shut again. Only in secret he poured an
indifferent, careless scorn upon Auntie Hamps.
They played a whole interminable set, and then Edwin went home, possibly
marvelling at the variety of experience that a single hour may contain.