Stars were weakening in their shining. He wished she would wake up. It was still night, but almost imperceptibly a paleness was spreading. The sky looked mottled. As he passed through an anonymous, shrouded village a clock was striking. One, two, three! If he kept up this pace, they would be in London, at the latest, by seven.

He began to calculate his respite. The boat-train left Euston at noon; if she allowed him to stay with her to the very last moment, he had—how much? About nine hours more of her company.

But probably she wouldn’t let him stay with her. She’d have packing to do. This Fluffy person would want to carry her off and gossip about Horace—what he had said to her and what she had said to him, and how thoroughly justified she was in her treatment of him. And so—he widened his mouth bitterly—and so she would blow out of his life like thistledown. This splendid meeting, which had been the dream of his boyhood, would be wasted—cold-shouldered into oblivion by. trivialities.

In his desperation he invented a dozen mad schemes for detaining her. It was on the cards that his car might break down. Unfortunately it showed every healthy sign of living beyond its reputation. Well, if it didn’t do it voluntarily, he might help it—might lose a spark-plug or loosen something. He might, but it wasn’t in him to do it. The moment he met her truthful gray eyes he’d be sure to shrive his conscience—then she’d detest him. No, if he was going to be a young Lochinvar, he had far better play the game boldly—swing off into side-roads and, when she wakened, explain to her laughingly: “You won’t catch your boat now, little Desire. I’ve made you lose it on purpose because—because I love you.”

Humph! And she’d be amiable, wouldn’t she? Some men might be able to carry that off. He couldn’t. He’d feel a cur; he’d look it. So he drove on through the darkness, cursing at every new mile-stone because it brought him nearer to the hour of parting.

He wished to heaven she would wake up. While he fumed and fretted, he built topply air-castles. Couldn’t he marry her—propose clean off the bat and get it over? Such things had happened. The idea allured him. He began to reckon his finances to see whether he could afford it. He had saved seven hundred pounds from his Beauty Incorporated dividends; every year there would be three hundred more. Then he had his future. His work was in demand. Several commissions had been offered him. No fiction-writer since Du Maurier, so the critics told him, had illustrated his own stories quite so happily. His next book was going to make him famous—he was sure of it. Oh, yes, so far as money went, he was eligible.

From somewhere at the back of his mind a wise voice kept warning: “You have to live all your life with a woman; marrying’s the least part of marriage. Go slowly. How d’you know that she isn’t another Fluffy?”

It was just as though Mrs. Sheerug were talking. He argued angrily against her disillusions. “But she’s not selfish like Vashti; and, anyway, you weren’t fair to Vashti. You wouldn’t believe that she was good—you wouldn’t even let Hal believe it. That was why he lost her.”

Then Madame Josephine took a hand: “When you find her, don’t try to change her. Women long to be trusted. Be content to love.”

He gasped. What a lot Madame Josephine knew about men and women. He was doing what all men did—and he had promised himself so faithfully to be the exception. Already he was wanting to change Desire: wanting to make her give up such friends as Fluffy; wishing she didn’t smoke cigarettes, though so long as she wasn’t married to him he found it rather fascinating; feeling shocked that she had trusted a strange man so carelessly, though, when he happened to be her chance-selected companion, he had been glad to profit by her carelessness.

And then—he didn’t like to own it—he felt piqued by her lack of curiosity. She had taken him so quietly for granted. She hadn’t asked who he was, or why he, of all men, had been sent to her rescue. Any man would have done, provided he had had a car. It was A Man with A Car that she had wanted. When the emergency was ended and he had served his purpose, she would dismiss him with a polite “Thank you,” and put him out of her memory. Thistledown—that was what she was.

He bent over her. Still sleeping! Her red lips were parted, the glint of her white teeth showing. One hand was beneath her cheek, the other against her breast like a crumpled petal. Below her eyes the long lashes made shadows. How sweet she was, how fragile, how trusting—how like the child-Desire who had snuggled into his arms in the woodland! With a sudden revulsion he despised his fault-finding. Chivalry and tenderness leapt up. He must make it a law with himself to believe the highest of her, whatever happened or had happened.

He longed to waken her. He imagined how her eyes would tremble on him if she awoke to find him bent above her hands. But would they? Because he wasn’t sure, he cursed his inherited reticence.

Out of the east, driving his misty sheep before him, the shepherd of the dawn came walking. Like a mischievous dog, with his red tongue lolling, the sun sprang up and scattered the flock through many pastures.

Still she slept.

Outside Reading the engine went wrong. For a moment he hoped—— But, no, it was nothing serious. In making adjustments he made much more noise than was necessary. She did not rouse.

Nearly five o’clock! Other people would claim her in two hours. For the next forty minutes that thought, that other people would claim her, provided him with exquisite torture. Some of those other people would be men—how could any man be near her without loving her?

He reached Maidenhead and came to the bridge—came to the river winding like a silver pathway between nose-gays of gayly painted houseboats.

“Ho-ho!”

Jamming on the brakes in the middle of the bridge, he brought the car to a halt. Her hand fluttered up to her mouth in a pretty pretense at checking the yawn. She rubbed her eyes. “Morning! Didn’t I choose a good place to wake up? Where are we?” She sat upright. “My, but I am cramped. And, oh, look at my dress! It’ll embarrass you most horribly when we get to London. The police’ll think you’re eloping with a faery.”

He crouched above the wheel, clutching it tightly, fearing what he might do with his hands. Her casual cheerfulness stifled his words. It was like a blow across his lips. What he had intended to say was so serious. His eyes felt hot. He had a vision of himself as a wild unkempt being, almost primeval, who struggled and panted. He was filled with a sickening sense of self-despising and dreaded lest at any moment he might hear her laughing.

“What a shame!” She stroked his sleeve gently. Her voice was concerned. “I am a little beast. You’ve been at it all night while I’ve been——” She rippled into laughter. “Do tell me whether I snored. Why don’t you say something? You’ll get me frightened; you look most awfully strange and funny.” And then, softly: “Poor you! You’re very tired.”

He was like a man turned to stone. She listened for any sound of footsteps; she might need help. Except for the sunshine, the lapping of the river and the careless singing of birds, the whole world was empty.

She swept the hair back from her forehead and gazed away from him. She mustn’t let him know that he’d upset her.

“The river! Isn’t it splendid? And all the little curly mists. Why, this must be Maidenhead. Yes, there’s the place where we hired the boat when I came here with Horace and Fluffy. I hate to leave it, but—— We’d better be getting on to London, hadn’t we?”

He didn’t answer. Slowly she turned and regarded him. Was he sulky, or ill, or——?

“I’m doing my best to be pleasant.” There was a hint of tears in the way she said it. “You won’t let me help you—won’t tell me what’s the matter. I suppose that’s because I look untidy and ugly.”

“Princess!”

Tremblingly he seized her hands. She drew back from him: “Oh, please! You’re hurting.”

His eyes had touched hers for a second, penetrating their cloudiness. He let her slip from his grasp. “I’m sorry. I thought—I thought you were some one else.”

He was on the point of starting when she rose and jumped out

“I’m stiff. Let’s say ’Good-by’ to the dear old Thames. It won’t take a minute.” And then, over her shoulder, as she leant across the parapet: “You thought I was some one else. Who knows? Perhaps I am.”

All that he could see of her was her slight figure and the back of her pretty head. He went and stood near her, within arm-stretch.

Without looking at him she asked a question. “Why do you beat about the bush? Last night you had something on your mind that you wouldn’t tell. This morning it’s worse. What makes you so timid? I’m only a girl.”

“Because——”

“Go on.”

“Because it’s something that would offend you if you weren’t——”

She shook her head. “I’m never offended. I’m too understanding. Perhaps—— Were you fond of this some one?”

“Fond, I?” The river grew blurred “It was years ago. I was a boy and she was only a little girl. It’s like a story—like some one I read about, and then went out to try and discover.”

A market-cart rumbled across the bridge, mountain-high with vegetables. When the sound of its going had died out, she moved closer.

“I knew a boy once who called me ’Princess.’ He used to tell me—it was a queer, dear thing to tell me—he used to tell me that the babies came into my eyes when I was happy. But that was only when I’d been awfully nice to him.” When he stared at her, she nodded. “Really. He did. I’m not joking.”

How long had she recognized him? Had she been cruel on purpose? Had she kept him on tenter-hooks for her own diversion? He laughed softly. It wasn’t quite the rushing together of two souls that imagination had painted. And yet, there were compensations: the sleeping houses with their blinds discreetly lowered; the sparkling river; the spray of plunging clouds; on the bridge, suspended between sky and river, this pale queenly sprite of a girl. The golden girdle about her waist jingled. He took no notice the first time and the second; but the third it seemed a challenge. He reached out his arm.

Tossing back her hair, she slipped from him. “Not allowed. You go too fast; you were too slow at first. Why on earth didn’t you tell me last night, instead of—— Think what a splendid time we might have had. And now we’ve only a few hours.”

He seized her hands and held them, palm to palm. This time she made no complaint that he hurt. “You’re not going.” He was breathing quickly. “You’re never going unless——”

Her half-closed eyes mocked him with their old impishness. “But you mustn’t hold me like that. It isn’t done in the best families—not in public, anyway—even by the oldest friends.”

She broke from him and stepped into the car. “Let’s be nice to each other. We haven’t been very nice yet.”

Very nice! He’d sat up all night and tossed his holiday plans to the winds for her. He grinned to himself as he cranked the engine. This was the same Desire with a vengeance—the old Desire who had tried to make people ask pardon when she was the offender.

They were traveling again. His hands were occupied; he could make love to her with nothing more alarming than words. She felt safe to lower her defenses.

“You were just a little judging last night.”

“Was I?”

“Just a little. About Fluffy. You don’t even know her We were stupid to quarrel.”

“It wasn’t as bad as that.”

“It was. You were, oh, so extremely righteous. But I’d have been just as angry in your defense, or any one else’s whom I liked. I make a loyal little friend.”

“Would you truly quarrel in my defense?”

She patted his hand where it rested on the wheel “Of course I would. But last night you hurt me so much that—— I wonder if I dare tell you. You see, it hurt all the more because we’d only just met. I pretended——”

He finished her sentence: “To be asleep.”

She bit her lip. “Yes.”

“Then you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“What I said when I buttoned your cloak about you?” She made her eyes innocently wide. “Did you do that? That was kind.”

She was dodging him. He knew it; yet he wondered. Had she heard him whisper that he loved her? If she had—— He glanced sideways; all he saw was the gleam of her throat through her blowy hair.

His mind went back across the years. How much he had lost of her—a child then, a woman now! If they were to bridge the gulf, it would be wiser to start with memories.

“I found what you’d written on the window—found it next morning, after you’d left.”

“Did I write anything? It’s so long ago. How wonderful that you should have remembered!”

“Not wonderful at all. If you’d meant it, you’d remember.”

She had gone too far with her evasions. Snuggling closer, their shoulders touching, she bent across him till their eyes met.

“I did mean it then. But you shouldn’t expect a girl to own it. I can prove to you that I meant it. I wrote, ’I love you,’ and then, lower down, ’I love you.’ I’ve—I’ve often thought about you, and about—— What times we had! D’you remember the bird-catcher and Bones? Poor Bones! How jealous you were of him, and I expect he’s dead.” She laughed: “So you needn’t be jealous any longer. And d’you remember how I would bathe? Shocking, wasn’t it? I thought it would change me from a girl to a boy. And how I called you King Arthur once, and made you angry? I think—— No, you won’t like me to say that.”

He urged her.

“I think you’re still a King Arthur or else—you wouldn’t have objected to Fluffy, and you wouldn’t have made such a mess about recognizing me.”

Stung by the old taunt he grew reckless. “I did tell you. You heard what I said, but you tricked me by pretending you were sleeping.”

“A Sir Launcelot wouldn’t have, been put off by pretense. He’d have shaken me by the shoulders. Oh, don’t look hurt. Let’s talk of something else. What d’you suppose I’ve been doing with myself?”

As they drove through the morning country, between hedges cool with dew and fragrant with opening flowers, she told him.

“After my father had kidnaped me” (so she knew that Hal was her father!) “my beautiful mother took me to America. Sometimes we traveled in Europe, but she was afraid to bring me to England so long as I was little. This summer’s the first time I’ve been back. She let me come with Fluffy. I’m going to be an actress—going to start next fall in New York, I expect, if my mother allows me. Fluffy’s promised to help. She’s a star. Janice Audrey’s her real name. You must have heard of her. No! Oh, well, she’s quite famous, even if you haven’t. So you see why it’s so important for me to sail with her.”

“You’re not going to sail with her.”

“I am.” She caught her breath and gazed at him wonderingly. “How foolish of you! That’s why we’ve driven all night, and——”

“You’re not going to now.”

She threw herself back in the seat a little contemptuously. “It’s nonsense to discuss it. I’d like to know what makes you say it.”

“Because——- It’s difficult to tell you. Because I couldn’t bear to lose you the moment we’ve met. I don’t think—well, of course, you can’t understand what you’ve been in my life. Don’t laugh, Desire; I’m not flirting—not exaggerating. I’ve always believed that I’d find you. I’ve lived for that. I’ve worked, and tried to be famous and worthy so that—so that you’d like me. I had an idea that somewhere, far out in the world, you were thinking of me and waiting for me.” He glanced at her shyly. “Were you?”

She was sitting motionless, staring ahead.

“Were you?”

Tears came into her eyes. “It’s very beautiful—what you’ve told me. It makes me feel—— Oh, I don’t know—that I wish I were better. You see, you’ve thought of me as a dream-person, as some one very wonderful. I’m only a reality—an ordinary girl with a little cleverness, who wants to be an actress. Yes, I’ve thought about you sometimes. Mother and I have often talked about you—but not in the way you mean, I expect.”

He thrilled. She had thought about him. She owned it “You couldn’t be better than you are,” he whispered.

She shook her head. “You haven’t known me long enough. I’m disappointing.”

He smiled incredulously.

“But I am,” she pouted, with a touch of petulance. “Then I’ll have to know you long enough. You’ll have to give me the chance to be disillusioned; that’s only fair. All the while you were sleeping I was planning a way to keep you from going. At first I hoped the car would break down. When it didn’t, I was tempted to loosen something so that we’d get stuck on the road. Not at all a King Arthur trick, that! But I couldn’t bring myself to do it after you’d trusted me. Then I thought I’d run off with you—let you wake up in Devon, miles from any railway, with no time to get back. Somehow, from what I remembered of you, I didn’t think that that would make you pleasant. Then I had a mad notion.”

“What was it?”

“You won’t laugh at me?”

“Honest Injun. I promise.”

“I thought I’d propose to you the moment you woke and we’d get married.”

“You thought of that all by your little self!” Her voice rose in a clear carol of music. “You quaint, funny person.” Catching her humor, he joined in her laughing. “It seemed tremendously possible while you slept. I even reckoned up my bank-account. But I’ve a real scheme now. When we ran away from Fanner Joseph, I was going to take you to my mother. D’you remember?”

“Well?”

“Let’s pick up our adventure where we dropped it. I’ll take you to her.”

“Dreamer! What about my sailing, and my mother waiting for me, and Fluffy?”

“Oh, hang Fluffy! She’s always intruding.”

“That’s not kind. Besides, I don’t want Fluffy hanged. If she were, she couldn’t help me to be an actress.”

“But you’re not going to be an actress. I’d hate to think of you being stared at by any one who could pay the money. An actress marries the public, but you—— Look here, I’m serious.”

“You think you are. I never met any one like you. You weave magic cloaks in your imagination and try to make live people wear them. If the magic cloaks don’t fit, you’ll be angry. So don’t weave one for me; I warn you. What’s the time? Then in less than seven hours I sail for America.”

He felt like a kite, straining toward the clouds, which the hand of a child was dragging down to earth. Her voice uttered prose, but her eyes smiled poetry. She seemed to be repeating disenchanted phrases which she had borrowed without comprehending. Every time he looked at her she inspired him to flights; but she refused to follow him herself. Because of that he fell silent.

Streets commenced. The smoke of freshly kindled fires boiled and bubbled against the sky. Frowsy maids knelt whitening doorsteps, as though saying their prayers. Blinds shot up at second-story windows. The world was getting dressed. It was the hour when dreams ended.

Desire drew her cloak closer, hiding the green and gold of her romance attire.

“I didn’t mean to be horrid. Don’t think that I don’t appreciate——”

Whatever it was she said was lost in the clatter of a passing tram.

“You weren’t horrid.” He spoke quietly. “Even if you had been, I deserved it. I’ve been,” he hesitated and shrugged his shoulders expressively, “just a little mad. What’s the address? Where am I to drive you?”

They had entered Regent’s Park. For a moment the spell of the country returned. In fields, beyond the canal, sheep were grazing.

“Can’t we go more slowly?” She touched his arm gently.

“We can. But, if we do, I’ll have more time to make a fool of myself, and I’ve done that pretty thoroughly.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But I have and I owe you an apology. You see, all my life you’ve been an inspiration. I’ve imagined you so intensely that I couldn’t treat you politely as a stranger—as what you call a ’real’ person.”

Her face trembled. All the mischief had gone out of it. Her hands moved distressfully as though they wanted to caress him, but didn’t dare. She crouched her chin against her shoulder and gazed away through the sun and shadows of the park.

“I don’t want you to be polite to me,” she faltered. “I don’t think you understand how difficult it is to be a girl. We neither of us know quite what we want.” She looked at him wistfully. “Disappointed in me already! Didn’t I warn you? And yet, if you’d take the trouble to know me, you’d find that I’m not—not so bad and heartless.”

“Little Desire, I never thought you were bad and heartless—never for one moment.”

The babies came into her eyes and her finger went childishly to her mouth. “No, you wouldn’t have the right to; but I’m ever so much nicer than you suspect.”

He slowed down the engine. His face had gone white beneath its tan. They were both stirred; they seemed to listen to the beating of each other’s heart “Give me another chance,” he urged unsteadily.

“But how? I must sail.” She gazed at him forlornly. “Here we are. You were going past it.”

They drew up before a tall, buff-colored house, standing in a terrace. As though glad to escape from their emotional suspense, she jumped out the moment they had stopped, ran up the steps and rang the bell. While she waited for her ring to be answered, she kept her back towards him. The door was opened by a maid in a white cap and apron.

“Hulloa, Ethel! So you see I’ve got back. How’s Miss Janice? Busy packing?”

“Still in bed, Miss Desire. I was just going up to help her dress.”

“Out last night with Mr. Horace?”

“Yes. He’s to be here to breakfast He’s going to the station to see you off.”

“All right. I’ll be in in a moment You needn’t stop.”

She came tripping down the steps to Teddy. He had got out of the car and had been standing watching her. He had feared that she would glance across her shoulder and dismiss him with a nod.

She rested her hand upon his arm and looked up at him timidly with an expression that was more than pity. The leaves of the park fluttered and the flakes of sunlight fell.

“If I wasn’t going——” The rumble of London shook the heavy summer stillness, hinting at adventures awaiting their exploring. “If only I wasn’t going—— I’m beginning to like you most awfully, the way I did once when—— But I must go. I can’t help it You’ll stay to breakfast, won’t you? Then we can drive to the station together.”

“I’d like to. But would they like it?”

“Who? Fluffy and Horace? I don’t suppose so.”

“Then breakfast with me somewhere else?”

She played with the temptation, raising his expectations. Then, “No. I’ve too much to do—packing and all sorts of things. Perhaps you’re right We’d be awkward with each other before them. We’d better say ’Good-by’ now.”

But she didn’t say it. Her hand still rested on his arm and the gold-green leaves of the park fluttered.

“I can’t let you go like this,” he whispered hoarsely.

“No. I know it. But what can we do? Poor you! I’m so sorry.”

Her mood changed swiftly. “Oh, how stupid we are! Give me a pencil and some paper. Now put your foot on the step of the car and make a table for me.”

As she stooped to his knee to write, her hair fell back, exposing the whiteness of her neck. The familiarity with which she was filling these last moments sent all his dreams soaring. The daintiness, the slimness, the elfin beauty of her quickened his longing. His instinct told him that she was hoping that he would kiss her; but he guessed that, if he did, she would repulse him. “You go too fast for me,” she had said. Once again his imagination wove a magic garment and flung it about her shoulders. There was no one like her. She was called Desire because she was desired. If love could compel love, she should come into his life. He vowed to himself that he would win her.

“There.”

As he took the paper from her, their fingers touched and clung together. “What’s this? Your New York address? You mean that we can write to each other?”

Her eyes mocked his trouble with tenderness. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“That you’ll know where to find me when you come to America.”

“But I can’t I——”

She broke from him and ran up the steps. As she crossed the threshold she let her cloak slip from her. He saw again for one fleeting moment her sandaled feet and her pageant costume.

The door was closing. Before it shut she kissed the tips of her fingers to him.

“You can if you really care.”