market place, not a sanctuary,--whereas you...." She looked at the
little motor. It was too dark to see anything, but every line of it was
branded on her heart.

"No one will ever love you as I did," she said to it and slowly,
wearily, dragging one foot after another, she walked away into the cold
raw night.

* * * * *

"Nothing in the world like winter air to make you feel fit," Bob said to
himself as he swung himself along the road at a tremendous pace.

"Jove, what a sunset!" he added, looking up at the red gold ruffles
slowly untightening. He reflected that there is nothing in the world
like health. Live cleanly and the high thinking will look after
itself--or at least won't matter. Physical condition, there's nothing
like it. Love and that sort of thing all very well in its way, but a
cold bath in the morning and plenty of exercise.... He began to whistle,
and then--because he did feel most frightfully well--to run.

"Run a mile without being out of breath," he thought complacently, and
then--because he hadn't meant to--("wasn't even thinking of her," he
grumbled to Providence)--he found himself outside her door. And in the
road there was a motor, a little coral coloured motor. He looked at it
in dismay and then he looked at the house. He saw it was lit up and he
imagined the room he knew so well. The crimson damask curtains and the
creamy walls, the glowing fire and the red roses, the roses he had sent
for her. Probably she would be sitting on that white fur rug on the
floor, her arms clasped round her knees, her red hair as bright as the