THE LIGHTHOUSEcare to be busy when he passed, and evade him, andpretend not to see him. Then he would turn smoothas silk, affable, urbane, and try to win her so. Stillshe would hold off, and now she would assert for abrief season some of those prides and airs the due ofher beauty which she was generally utterly without;would turn her head; would look so, over her shoul-der, always with some Minta, Paul, or WilliamBankes at her side. At length, standing outside thegroup the very figure of a famished wolfhound (Lilygot up off the grass and stood looking at the steps,at the window, where she had seen him), he wouldsay her name, once only, for all the world like a wolfbarking in the snow, but still she held back; and hewould say it once more, and this time something inthe tone would rouse her, and she would go to him,leaving them all of a sudden, and they would walkoff together among the pear trees, the cabbages, andthe raspberry beds. They would have it out together.But with what attitudes and with what words? Sucha dignity was theirs in this relationship that, turningaway, she and Paul and Minta would hide theircuriosity and their discomfort, and begin pickingflowers, throwing balls, chattering, until it was timefor dinner, and there they were, he at one end of thetable, she at the other, as usual.

"Why don’t some of you take up botany? . . .297
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