and she would be grateful to him then.  His restless and fevered imagination traced emotional and dramatic scenes, in which his delicacy would at last be revealed.  He felt ashamed of himself for this abandonment to sentiment, but he seemed to have lost control over the emotional part of his mind, which continued to luxuriate in the consciousness of his own self-effacement.  He had indeed, he felt, fallen low.  But he continued to trace in his mind how each of the actors in the little drama—­Mr. Sandys, Jack, Guthrie himself, Maud, Mrs. Graves—­would each have reason to thank him for having held himself aloof, and for sacrificing his own desires.  There was comfort in that thought; and for the first time in these miserable weeks he felt a little glow of self-approval at the consciousness of his own prudence and justice.  The best thing, he now reflected, would be to remove himself from the scene altogether for a time, and to return in radiant benevolence, when the affair had settled itself:  but Maud—­ and then there came over him the thought of the girl, her sweetness, her eager delight, her adorable frankness, her innocence, her desire to be in affectionate relations with all who came within reach of her; and the sense of his own foresight and benevolence was instantly and entirely overwhelmed at the thought of what he had missed, and of what he might have aspired to, if it had not been for just the wretched obstacle of age and circumstance.  A few years younger—­if he had been that, he could have followed the leading of his heart, and—­he dared think no more of what might have been possible.

But what brought matters to a head was a scene that he saw on the following day.  He was in the library in the morning; he tried to work, but he could not command his attention.  At last he rose and went to the little oriel, which commanded a view of the village green.  Just as he did so, he caught sight of two figures—­Maud and Guthrie—­walking together on the road which led from the Vicarage.  They were talking in the plainest intimacy.  Guthrie seemed to be arguing some point with laughing insistence, and Maud to be listening in amused delight.  Presently they came to a stop, and he could see Maud hold up a finger.  Guthrie at once desisted.  At this moment a kitten scampered across the green to them sideways, its tail up.  Guthrie caught it up, and as he held it in his arms.  Howard saw Maud bend over it and caress it.  The scene brought an instant conviction to his mind; but presently Maud said a word to her companion, and then came across the green to the Manor, passing in at the gate just underneath him.  Howard stood back that he might not be observed.  He saw Maud come in under the gateway, half smiling to herself as at something that had happened.  As she did so, she waved her hand to Guthrie, who stood holding the kitten in his arms and looking after her.  When she disappeared, he put the kitten down, and then walked back towards the Vicarage.