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It
showed
that
she
was
a
child
after
all
;
and
all
he
could
do
—
all
he
had
ever
meant
to
do
—
was
to
give
her
a
child
’
s
holiday
to
look
back
to
.
For
a
moment
he
fancied
she
was
crying
;
but
the
next
she
was
on
her
feet
and
had
swept
round
on
him
a
face
she
must
have
turned
away
only
to
hide
the
first
rush
of
her
pleasure
.
For
a
while
they
shone
on
each
other
without
speaking
;
then
she
sprang
to
him
and
held
out
both
hands
.
“
Is
it
true
?
Is
it
really
true
?
Is
it
really
going
to
happen
to
me
?
”
He
felt
like
answering
:
“
You
’
re
the
very
creature
to
whom
it
was
bound
to
happen
”
;
but
the
words
had
a
double
sense
that
made
him
wince
,
and
instead
he
caught
her
proffered
hands
and
stood
looking
at
her
across
the
length
of
her
arms
,
without
attempting
to
bend
them
or
to
draw
her
closer
.
He
wanted
her
to
know
how
her
words
had
moved
him
;
but
his
thoughts
were
blurred
by
the
rush
of
the
same
emotion
that
possessed
her
,
and
his
own
words
came
with
an
effort
.
He
ended
by
giving
her
back
a
laugh
as
frank
as
her
own
,
and
declaring
,
as
he
dropped
her
hands
:
“
All
that
and
more
too
—
you
’
ll
see
!
”
All
day
,
since
the
late
reluctant
dawn
,
the
rain
had
come
down
in
torrents
.
It
streamed
against
Darrow
’
s
high
-
perched
windows
,
reduced
their
vast
prospect
of
roofs
and
chimneys
to
a
black
oily
huddle
,
and
filled
the
room
with
the
drab
twilight
of
an
underground
aquarium
.
The
streams
descended
with
the
regularity
of
a
third
day
’
s
rain
,
when
trimming
and
shuffling
are
over
,
and
the
weather
has
settled
down
to
do
its
worst
.
There
were
no
variations
of
rhythm
,
no
lyrical
ups
and
downs
:
the
grey
lines
streaking
the
panes
were
as
dense
and
uniform
as
a
page
of
unparagraphed
narrative
.
George
Darrow
had
drawn
his
armchair
to
the
fire
.
The
time
-
table
he
had
been
studying
lay
on
the
floor
,
and
he
sat
staring
with
dull
acquiescence
into
the
boundless
blur
of
rain
,
which
affected
him
like
a
vast
projection
of
his
own
state
of
mind
.
Then
his
eyes
travelled
slowly
about
the
room
.
It
was
exactly
ten
days
since
his
hurried
unpacking
had
strewn
it
with
the
contents
of
his
portmanteaux
.
His
brushes
and
razors
were
spread
out
on
the
blotched
marble
of
the
chest
of
drawers
.
A
stack
of
newspapers
had
accumulated
on
the
centre
table
under
the
“
electrolier
”
,
and
half
a
dozen
paper
novels
lay
on
the
mantelpiece
among
cigar
-
cases
and
toilet
bottles
;
but
these
traces
of
his
passage
had
made
no
mark
on
the
featureless
dulness
of
the
room
,
its
look
of
being
the
makeshift
setting
of
innumerable
transient
collocations
.
