Part 41 (1/2)

”No one is old, Jimmy, who has even the least little bit of future towards which he looks! It's only those people whose doors are all shut, whoseblinds are all drawn to, who, nointo a distance towards which they ant to go--only those people are old!”

And as for Bulstrode, if Mrs Falconer's idea were right, he was a very young man still, for at the end of every path others opened and led rapidly away Scene gave on to scene, dissolved and gre again

Every door gave to roohtful, indefinite, and all followed towards a future whose existence Bulstrode never doubted

But there were certainly times, as the days went methodically on, there were decidedly many times when it took all his faith and his spirit to endure the _etape_ that lay between self and life Such a little tranquil home as a certain property he had lately acquired hat he drearee of anxiety, ask hi for, and no clear, forible events took existence in his mind But he knew that he waited for his own

It ith so that looked like a future he ht one day lead the woman he loved home, that he had taken any pleasure whatsoever in his involuntary purchase of the old property known as The Dials The gray house down in Glousceshi+re in its half-forsaken seclusion, the lie of the land round it, its shut-offness froestion to hi, and the doors, the s, the low-inviting rooables, terraces, the dials and sunken gardens, had appeared to his for a life of his own He wanted very lish country-seat

In the roo filled the corners like spiders' dusty webs that poised and swung The odor that sta in the mist, furthermore permeated with the scent of a bouquet at Mrs Falconer's elbow and which at one nized for a lot of roses sent by parcel post froreeneries

”Do you ever sew?” he asked her, and she adestion of reproach, turned up every now and then a out from a jewel box, then stoay in a handkerchief case, out of place and continually reproachful: kept because it had been her eneral way of the rather long visit he had beento the Duke of Westboro' in Glousceshi+re, he did tell his friend all about The Dials and dwelt on the fascination that the old place possessed The Dials was, in point of fact, very agreeably described to Mrs Falconer, who looked it out on the map of Glousceshi+re, and Bulstrode's purchase (for he had legally gone in for it, the whole thing), was made to seem a very jewel of a property

”It's as lovely as an old print,” she said, ”as good as a Turner

You're a great artist along your lines, Ji architect in trouble, or landscape-gardened by some inebriated Adam out of charity Leave it beautifully alone”

”Oh, I will,” he assured her ”It shall tumble away and crush away in peace You shall see it all, however,” he assured, ”for you really will come down for Christmas? You see, poor old fellow, Westboro's house is rather empty”

”Yes,” nodded Mrs Falconer

”You see, every one else has gone back on him”

”Poor dear,” syo down”

No ht of her, and it was pretty sure to be a wide one, her beauty struck him every time afresh There was the fine exquisiteness of _fin de race_ in Mary Falconer Her father had been an Irishman born, and the type of his island's lovely wohter's blue eyes, the set of her head and her arms; her taper and sers told ofand completed the well-finished, well turned-out creature whose race it had taken generations to perfect These distinctions her clever father bequeathed her as well as her laugh and her wit, her blue eyes and her curling hair

Bulstrode stayed on in the dingy delightful room, until at an order of his hostess, luncheon was served thely well-understood buffet and a bottle of wine, they were left alone Bulstrode stayed on until the fog in the corners darkened to the blackest of ugly webs and choked the fire and clutched the candles' slender throats as if to suffocate the flame

Tea was served and put away and the period known as _entre chien et loup_ at length stole up Port on

Later, much later, when the lamps in the street and the square found theht-ti the early diners along to their destinations, a hansom drew up before No ----, Portman Square

It was at the hour soft-footed London had ceased to roll its rubber tires down the little street, and only an occasional cab slipped by unheard But a san was installed wheeled by No ----, Portha thee songs of Araby And tales of old Cash, for his supper doubtless, certainly for his breakfast, but he chanced to possess a reift and he evidently loved his trade The silence--wherein all London appeared to listen, the quiet wherein theuntil even Bulstrode's clearwith the pendulant roo

And as Bulstrode moved and turned away his eyes frohed and covered her own eyes with her hands The small coffee table had been taken away Mrs Falconer was in a low chair leaning forwards, her hands lying loosely in her lap The distance between the two his hand could have bridged in one gesture The voice of the street singer was superb, liquid and sweet He sang his ballad well

”I'll sing thee songs of Araby And tales of old Cashuest rose

”You'll come down for Christed, to-morrow”

”Jimmy,” she protested, ”it's only ten o'clock”