To Let

r passion was the prospect in front of her windows, the cool clear light on the green Downs. It was England again, at last! England more be

lane and wander along towards Chanctonbury or Amberley, was still a delight which she hardly attempted to share with Val, whose admiration

mised herself that the first use she would make of Jon would be to

it to Robin Hill, soon after their arrival home, had yielded no sight of him-he was still at school; so tha

did not escape one who had much subtle instinct; above all, the presence of her stepmother, whom she could still vaguely remember as the "lady in grey" of days when she was little and grandfather alive and Mademoiselle Beauce so

n she left him, with lips whi

only you could have brought Jolly back with you! I say, can you stand t

y divined that he had let the cat out of

more they manifest the more they pr

said

erial for light and shade to fall on before you can take a photograph. No, it'l

u believe in

d the sad whimsicality of hi

ife of me I can't find anything that telepathy, subconsciousness, and emanation from the storehouse of this

feeling that it confirmed his theory that all matter was

ad ever seen. Irene, lost as it were in the letter of her boy, stood at a window where the light fell on her face and her fine grey hair; her lips were moving, smiling, her dark

tion. He was a little like Jolly, that long-lost idol of her childhood, but eager-looking and less formal, wi

a car at Robin Hill since the war, of course, and he had only driven once, and landed up a bank, so she oughtn't to mind his trying. His laugh, soft and infectious, was very attractive, though that word, she h

DE

amily history. His mother and I think he is too young at present.

ing fath

wed in Holly an uneasy re

ilkwort and liverwort starred the green slope, the larks sang, and thrushes in the brake, and now and then a gull flighting inland would wheel very white against the pal

nly: "I say, this is wonderful! There's no fa

sheep-bells! You'

si

olly!

sed to at

oo; but I'm so rotten. Have y

een married nineteen years. I only

ut in South Africa, importing them from Hatchus and Bumphards; and quite good-oh! quite; much better than she had been herself! But then poetry had only really come in since her day-with motor-cars. Another long talk after dinner over a wood fire in the low hall, and there seemed little left to know about Jon except anything of real importance. Holly parted from him at his bedroom door, having seen twice over that he had everything, with the conviction that she would love him, an

on the paper and rubbed them out and wrote them in again, and did all that was necessary for the completion of a work of art; and he had a feeling such as the winds of Spring must have, trying their first songs among the coming blossom. Jon was one of those boys (not many) in whom a home-trained love of beauty had survived school life. He had had to keep it to himself, of course, so that not even the dra