'Yes,' she said, 'I always was quick at learning things—when I liked them! I like that!'
A pause. Then:
'Now we must be going,' I said, rising, 'it is getting late.'
We went slowly down the dark hill-side together.
Then something seemed to grow with and about us, and I began to feel somehow as if I were leaving a thing that had closely to do with me in some low, dim, dull plain, whereas I was going away to mount up into a rich warm country of gentle sunshine. And then in half-forgetfulness of this, I would have taken her hand with mine, and we, two children, would have wandered on so over the dim fields together for ever and ever, till we softly faded away. And yet I felt that I was moving in a dim dreaminess, and she in one parallel to it and that she would not (perhaps could not) meet. Then we turned up one of the roads at the back of St. John's Wood in order to get to Maitland Street. I looked at her walking along beside me.
'You're very quiet. Rosy,' I said.
'So are you,' she said, looking in front of her. And then we went on together with the same quietness; for I had no care to say more, nor she either, it seemed.
As we stopped opposite No. 3, she heaved a sigh. I stretched out my hand and opened the door. She said: 'Thank you,' and went in, I following.
Up the dark stairs we went together till we reached her door, the handle of which she had in one hand as she half turned to me.
'Good-night,' she said.
'Good-night,' I said, finding her other out-held hand, and holding it half-loosely for a moment. I could not see her face in that intense blackness.
She opened her door inwards, and a little light came from the turned-down gas—opened it wider. She went in slowly, and closed it after her. I unlatched my own door, and went into the room. The gas there too was turned down. I went and turned it up.
'Heigh, ho!' I said, with suppressed weariness. I sat down in the chair: and stretched out my legs, and tilted the chair back, and lifted the hands of my
