judgment somewhere, behind the spray of the cataract. He was a man
whom one could trust, he believed, and whom it was impossible not
to like.

When they reached the drawing-room, Mrs. Graves called the Vicar
into a corner, and began to talk to him about someone in the
village; Howard heard his talk plunge steadily into the silence.
Miss Merry flitted about, played a few pieces of music; and Howard
found himself left to Maud. He went and sate down beside her. In
the dim light the girl sate forward in a big arm-chair; there was
nothing languorous or listless about her. She seemed all alert in a
quiet way. She greeted him with a smile, and sate turned towards
him, her chin on her hand, her eyes upon him. Her shining hair fell
over the curves of her young and pure neck. She was holding a
flower, which Mrs. Graves had given her, in her other hand, and its
fragrance exhaled all about her. Once or twice she checked him with
a little gesture of her hand, when Miss Merry began to play, and he
could see that she was much affected by the music.

"It seems to me so wrong to talk during music," she said; "perhaps
it wasn't polite of me to stop you, but I can't bear to interrupt
music--it's like treading on flowers--it can't come again just like
that!"

"Yes," said Howard, "I know exactly what you mean; but I expect it
is a mistake to think of a beautiful thing being wasted, if we
don't happen to hear or see it. It isn't only meant for us. It is
the light or the sound or the flower, I think, being beautiful
because it is glad."