The Real Charlotte. 191 



his hand had pressed her head down on his shoulder, and 

 his kisses had touched her soul. At such moments all the 

 heated stillness of the lake was round her, with no creature 

 nearer than the white cottages on the far hillsides ; and 

 when the inevitable present swam back to her, with carts 

 ratthng past on the road, and insects buzzing and blunder- 

 ing against her face, and Bid Sal's shrill summoning of the 

 hens to their food, she would fling herself again into the 

 book to hide from the pursuing pain and the undying, 

 insane voice of hope. 



Hope mastered pain, and reality mastered both, when, 

 with the conventionality of situation to which life sometimes 

 condescends, there came steps on the gravel, and looking 

 up she saw that Hawkins was coming towards her. Her 

 heart stopped and rushed on again like a startled horse, but 

 all the rest of her remained still and almost impassive, and 

 she leaned her head over her book to keep up the affecta- 

 tion of not having seen him. 



" I saw your dress through the trees as I was coming up 

 the drive," he said after a moment of suffocating silence, 

 "and so — " he held out his hand, ^'aren't you going to 

 shake hands with me ? " 



*' How d'ye do, Mr. Hawkins ? " she gave him a limp 

 hand and withdrew it instantly. 



Hawkins sat down beside her, and looked hard at her 

 half-averted face. He had solved the problem of her treat- 

 ment of him last night in a way quite satisfactory to himself, 

 and he thought that now that he had been sharp enough to 

 have found her here, away from Miss Mullen's eye, things 

 would be very different. He had quite forgiven her her 

 share in the transgression ; in fact, if the truth were known 

 he had enjoyed himself considerably after she had left 

 Mrs. Beattie's party, and had gone back to Captain Cursiter 

 and disingenuously given him to understand that he had 

 hardly spoken a word to Miss Fitzpatrick the whole evening. 



" So you wouldn't dance with me last night," he said, as 

 if he were speaking to a child ; " wasn't that very unkind of 

 you ? " 



" No it was not," she replied^ without looking at him. 



"Well, /think it was," he said, lightly touching the hand 

 that held the novel. 



