When she recollected their last drive her heart beat quickly, and the
little memories of the few weeks of their friend-ship gave her
unwonted moments of sentiment. Above all, it was a real, solid
happiness--an uplifting pleasure, to believe he was utterly devoted to
her. And so, in a moment of depression, a feeling of the sense of the
futility of her life, she had, perhaps a little wantonly, written to
ask him to come back. It is human to play with what one loves.

She thought she had a soft, tender admiration for him, that he had a
charm for her; that she admired him. But she had not the slightest idea
that on her side there was anything that could disturb her in any way.
And so that his sentiment, which she had found to be rather infectious,
should never carry her away, she meant only to see him now and then; to
meet again and be friends.

As soon as she had written the letter and sent it she felt again a
cheerful excitement. She felt sure he would come in a day or two.

Aylmer arrived, as I have said, eight hours after he received the
letter. His first intention was to ring her up, or to speak to Bruce on
the telephone. But it so happened that it was engaged. This decided him
to have a short rest, and then go and surprise her with a visit. He
thought he would have lunch at one (he knew she always lunched with the
children at this hour), and would call on her unexpectedly at two,
before she would have time to go out. They might have a long talk; he
would give her the books and things he had bought for her, and he would
have the pleasure of surprising her and seeing on her face that first
look that no-one can disguise, the look of real welcome.

Merely to be back in the same town made him nearly wild with joy. How