He was a little short of breath, and there was a quite disproportionate gravity about her moment for consideration.

“Yes,” she said with a cheerful acquiescence that came a couple of bars too late.  “Let’s.  It will be jolly.”

“These fine English afternoons are wonderful afternoons,” he remarked after a moment or so of silence.  “Not quite the splendid blaze we get in our summer, but—­sort of glowing.”

“It’s been very fine all the time you’ve been here,” she said....

After which exchanges they went along the lane, into the road by the park fencing, and so to the little gate that lets one into the park, without another word.

The idea took hold of Mr. Direck’s mind that until they got through the park gate it would be quite out of order to say anything.  The lane and the road and the stile and the gate were all so much preliminary stuff to be got through before one could get to business.  But after the little white gate the way was clear, the park opened out and one could get ahead without bothering about the steering.  And Mr. Direck had, he felt, been diplomatically involved in lanes and by-ways long enough.

“Well,” he said as he rejoined her after very carefully closing the gate.  “What I really wanted was an opportunity of just mentioning something that happens to be of interest to you—­if it does happen to interest you....  I suppose I’d better put the thing as simply as possible....  Practically....  I’m just right over the head and all in love with you....  I thought I’d like to tell you....”

Immense silences.

“Of course I won’t pretend there haven’t been others,” Mr. Direck suddenly resumed.  “There have.  One particularly.  But I can assure you I’ve never felt the depth and height or anything like the sort of Quiet Clear Conviction....  And now I’m just telling you these things, Miss Corner, I don’t know whether it will interest you if I tell you that you’re really and truly the very first love I ever had as well as my last.  I’ve had sent over—­I got it only yesterday—­this lil’ photograph of a miniature portrait of one of my ancestor’s relations—­a Corner just as you are.  It’s here....”

He had considerable difficulties with his pockets and papers.  Cecily, mute and flushed and inconvenienced by a preposterous and unaccountable impulse to weep, took the picture he handed her.

“When I was a lil’ fellow of fifteen,” said Mr. Direck in the tone of one producing a melancholy but conclusive piece of evidence, “I worshipped that miniature.  It seemed to me—­the loveliest person....  And—­it’s just you....”

He too was preposterously moved.

It seemed a long time before Cecily had anything to say, and then what she had to say she said in a softened, indistinct voice.  “You’re very kind,” she said, and kept hold of the little photograph.

They had halted for the photograph.  Now they walked on again.