long hours of work he was borne up by an ardent hope: afterwards, he
might see her. It made the streets exciting places of possible
surprises. Might she not, at any moment, turn the corner and be before
him? Might she not, this very instant, be going in the same direction
as he, in the next street? But a very little of this pleasant dallying
with chance was enough. One morning, when the houses opposite
were ablaze with sunshine, and he had settled down to practice with a
keen relish for the obstacles to be overcome; on this morning, within
half an hour, his mood swung round to the other extreme, and, from now
on, his desire to see her again was a burning unrest, which roused him
from sleep, and drove him out, at odd hours, no matter what he was
doing. Moodily he scoured the streets round the Conservatorium,
disconcerted by his own folly, and pricked incessantly by the
consciousness of time wasted. A companion at his side might have
dispelled the cobwebs; but Dove, his only friend, he avoided, for the
reason that Dove's unfailing good spirits needed to be met with a
similiar mood. And as for speaking of the matter, the mere thought of
the detailed explanation that would now be necessary, did he open his
lips, filled him with dismay. When four or five days had gone by in
this manner, without result, he took to hanging about, with other
idlers, on the steps of the Conservatorium, always hoping that she
would suddenly emerge from the doors behind him, or come towards him,
a roll of music in her hand.

But she never came.

One afternoon, however, as he loitered there, he encountered his
acquaintance of the very first day. He recognised her while she was
still some distance off, by her peculiar springy gait; at each step,
she rose slightly on the front part of her foot, as if her heels were