As she did not immediately answer, he went on.

“I know very well that I am not—­that I have not much to offer you either in myself or in my circumstances.  And I forget; it cannot seem the miracle to you that it does to me.  Until I met you I had gone on in my own quiet way—­we are both very quiet people, my sister and I—­quite content with my lot.  My friendship with Arthur was the most important thing in my life.  Now that I know you, all that has changed.  You seem to put such a spirit into everything.  Life seems to hold so many possibilities that I had never dreamt of.”

“That’s splendid!” Evelyn exclaimed, grasping his hand.  “Now you’ll go back and start all kinds of things and make a great name in the world; and we’ll go on being friends, whatever happens . . . we’ll be great friends, won’t we?”

“Evelyn!” he moaned suddenly, and took her in his arms, and kissed her.  She did not resent it, although it made little impression on her.

As she sat upright again, she said, “I never see why one shouldn’t go on being friends—­though some people do.  And friendships do make a difference, don’t they?  They are the kind of things that matter in one’s life?”

He looked at her with a bewildered expression as if he did not really understand what she was saying.  With a considerable effort he collected himself, stood up, and said, “Now I think I have told you what I feel, and I will only add that I can wait as long as ever you wish.”

Left alone, Evelyn walked up and down the path.  What did matter than?  What was the meaning of it all?

Chapter XXVII

All that evening the clouds gathered, until they closed entirely over the blue of the sky.  They seemed to narrow the space between earth and heaven, so that there was no room for the air to move in freely; and the waves, too, lay flat, and yet rigid, as if they were restrained.  The leaves on the bushes and trees in the garden hung closely together, and the feeling of pressure and restraint was increased by the short chirping sounds which came from birds and insects.

So strange were the lights and the silence that the busy hum of voices which usually filled the dining-room at meal times had distinct gaps in it, and during these silences the clatter of the knives upon plates became audible.  The first roll of thunder and the first heavy drop striking the pane caused a little stir.

“It’s coming!” was said simultaneously in many different languages.

There was then a profound silence, as if the thunder had withdrawn into itself.  People had just begun to eat again, when a gust of cold air came through the open windows, lifting tablecloths and skirts, a light flashed, and was instantly followed by a clap of thunder right over the hotel.  The rain swished with it, and immediately there were all those sounds of windows being shut and doors slamming violently which accompany a storm.