superlative life, and the man, woman, child, or dog that came within
radius of her existence presently formed a definite part of it, and was
loved or detested according to circumstances. Neutrality she could not
understand. If her interests were wide, her prejudices were strong. A
certain unconscious high-handedness of manner made the circle of her
friends small, but those who did love her were enthusiastic. Upon the
whole, the number of those who liked her increased with years, and
avowed enemies had no very definite reasons for aversion. Of her
physical perfections none pretended two opinions; but the boys had
always gone rather in fear of Chris, and the few men who had courted her
during the past few years were all considerably her seniors. No real
romance entered into this young woman's practical and bustling life
until the advent of Clement Hicks, though she herself was the flame of
hearts not a few before his coming.

Neurotic, sensual, as was Chris herself in a healthy fashion, a man of
varying moods, and perhaps the richer for faint glimmerings of the real
fire, Hicks yet found himself no better than an aimless, helpless child
before the demands of reality. Since boyhood he had lived out of touch
with his environment. As bee-keeper and sign-writer he made a naked
living for himself and his mother, and achieved success sufficient to
keep a cottage roof over their heads, but that was all. Books were his
only friends; the old stones of the Moor, the lonely wastes, the
plaintive music of a solitary bird were the companions of his happiest
days. He had wit enough to torture half his waking hours with
self-analysis, and to grit his teeth at his own impotence. But there was
no strength, no virile grip to take his fate in his own hands and mould
it like a man. He only mourned his disadvantages, and sometimes blamed
destiny, sometimes a congenital infirmity of purpose, for the dreary
course of his life. Nature alone could charm his sullen moods, and that