On Wednesday afternoon, about three o’clock, Nancy walked alone to the library.  There, looking at books and photographs in the window, stood Lionel Tarrant.  He greeted her as usual, seemed not to remark the hot colour in her cheeks, and stepped with her into the shop.  She had meant to choose a novel, but, with Tarrant looking on, felt constrained to exhibit her capacity for severe reading.  The choice of grave works was not large, and she found it difficult to command her thoughts even for the perusal of titles; however, she ultimately discovered a book that promised anything but frivolity, Helmholtz’s ‘Lectures on Scientific Subjects,’ and at this she clutched.

Two loudly-dressed women were at the same time searching the shelves.

‘I wonder whether this is a pretty book?’ said one to the other, taking down a trio of volumes.

‘Oh, it looks as if it might be pretty,’ returned her friend, examining the cover.

They faced to the person behind the counter.

‘Is this a pretty book?’ one of them inquired loftily.

‘Oh yes, madam, that’s a very pretty book—­very pretty.’

Nancy exchanged a glance with her companion and smiled.  When they were outside again Tarrant asked: 

‘Have you found a pretty book?’

She showed the title of her choice.

’Merciful heavens!  You mean to read that?  The girls of to-day!  What mere man is worthy of them?  But—­I must rise to the occasion.  We’ll have a chapter as we rest.’

Insensibly, Nancy had followed the direction he chose.  His words took for granted that she was going into the country with him.

‘My friends are on the pier,’ she said, abruptly stopping.

’Where doubtless they will enjoy themselves.  Let me carry your book, please.  Helmholtz is rather heavy.’

‘Thanks, I can carry it very well.  I shall turn this way.’

‘No, no.  My way this afternoon.’

Nancy stood still, looking up the street that led towards the sea.  She was still bright-coloured; her lips had a pathetic expression, a child-like pouting.

‘There was an understanding,’ said Tarrant, with playful firmness.

‘Not for to-day.’

’No.  For the day when you disappointed me.  The day after, I didn’t think it worth while to come here; yesterday I came, but felt no surprise that I didn’t meet you.  To-day I had a sort of hope.  This way.’

She followed, and they walked for several minutes in silence.

‘Will you let me look at Helmholtz?’ said the young man at length.  ’Most excellent book, of course.  “Physiological Causes of Harmony in Music,” “Interaction of Natural Forces,” “Conservation of Force.”—­ You enjoy this kind of thing?’

‘One must know something about it.’

’I suppose so.  I used to grind at science because everybody talked science.  In reality I loathed it, and now I read only what I like.  Life’s too short for intellectual make-believe.  It is too short for anything but enjoyment.  Tell me what you read for pure pleasure.  Poetry?’