see."

"Oh, just a cheap pair of wash-leather ones," said Stanley humbly. "I
noticed Bell was wearing some in the coach this morning, so, as I was
passing the shop, I dashed in and got myself a pair. What are you smiling
at? You don't think it was wrong of me, do you?"

"On the con-trary, darling," said Linda, "I think it was most sensible."

She pulled one of the large, pale gloves on her own fingers and looked at
her hand, turning it this way and that. She was still smiling.

Stanley wanted to say, "I was thinking of you the whole time I bought
them." It was true, but for some reason he couldn't say it. "Let's go
in," said he.


Chapter 1.XII.

Why does one feel so different at night? Why is it so exciting to be awake
when everybody else is asleep? Late--it is very late! And yet every
moment you feel more and more wakeful, as though you were slowly, almost
with every breath, waking up into a new, wonderful, far more thrilling and
exciting world than the daylight one. And what is this queer sensation
that you're a conspirator? Lightly, stealthily you move about your room.
You take something off the dressing-table and put it down again without a
sound. And everything, even the bed-post, knows you, responds, shares your
secret...

You're not very fond of your room by day. You never think about it.