‘Let me take it, Walter.’

‘One moment!—­This was Thyrza?’

‘Let me take it.’

‘Tell me—­has Miss Newthorpe seen it?’

‘Yes.’

Mrs. Ormonde bore the picture away.  In a few minutes Egremont took his leave, and went to the hotel to which he had sent his travelling-bag from Brighton.  It was long before he slept.  He was thinking of a night a little more than a year ago, when he had walked by the shore and held debate with himself. . . .

On the following evening, shortly before sunset, Annabel and he walked on the short dry grass of the Down that rises to Beachy Head.  There had been another day of supreme tranquillity, of blurred sunshine, of soothing autumnal warmth.  And this was the crowning hour.  The mist had drifted from the land and the sea; as the two continued their ascent, the view became lovelier.  They regarded it, but spoke of other things.

‘I have no wish to go back to America,’ Egremont was saying, ’but, if I do, I shall very likely settle there for good.  I don’t think I am ideally adapted to a pursuit of that kind, but habit makes it quite tolerable.’

‘What should you do if you remained in England?’ Annabel asked, her voice implying no more than friendly interest.

’I might say that I don’t know, but it wouldn’t be true.  I know well enough I should live the life of a student, and of a man who looks on contemporary things with an artistic interest, though he lacks the artistic power to use his observations.  In time I should marry.  I should have pleasure in my house, should make it as beautiful as might be, should gather a very few friends about me.  I should not become morbid; the danger of that is over.  Every opportunity I saw of helping those less fortunate than myself I should gladly seize; it is not impossible that I might seek opportunities, that I might found some institution—­of quite commonplace aims, be assured.  For instance, I should like to see other Homes like Mrs. Ormonde’s; many women could conduct them, if the means were supplied.  And so on.’

’Yes, that is all very reasonable.  It lies with yourself to decide whether you might not have a breezier existence in America.’

’True.  But not with myself to decide whether I remain here or go back again.  I ask you to help me in determining that.’

Annabel stood as one who reflects gravely yet collectedly.  Egremont fixed his eyes upon her, until she looked at him then his gaze questioned silently.

‘Let us understand each other,’ said Annabel.  ’Do you say this because of anything that has been in the past?’

‘Not because of it; in continuance of it.’

’Yet we are both very different from what we were when that happened.’

’Both, I think.  I do not speak now as I did then, yet the wish I have is far more real.’

They were more than half-way up the ascent; it was after sunset, and the mood of the season was changing.