men they are； as a rule； the most professional。'
'Yes； perhaps they are。 This man is rather of a melancholy turn of
mind； I think。'
'Has the managing clerk any family？' she mildly asked； after a
while； pouring out some more tea。
'Family； no！'
'Well； dear Owen； how should I know？'
'Why； of course he isn't married。 But there happened to be a
conversation about women going on in the office； and I heard him say
what he should wish his wife to be like。'
'What would he wish his wife to be like？' she said； with great
apparent lack of interest。
'O； he says she must be girlish and artless： yet he would be loth
to do without a dash of womanly subtlety； 'tis so piquant。 Yes； he
said； that must be in her； she must have womanly cleverness。 〃And
yet I should like her to blush if only a cock…sparrow were to look
at her hard；〃 he said； 〃which brings me back to the girl again： and
so I flit backwards and forwards。 I must have what comes； I
suppose；〃 he said； 〃and whatever she may be； thank God she's no
worse。 However； if he might give a final hint to Providence；〃 he
said； 〃a child among pleasures； and a woman among pains was the
rough outline of his requirement。〃'
'Did he say that？ What a musing creature he must be。'
'He did； indeed。'
3。 FROM THE TWELFTH TO THE FIFTEENTH OF JULY
As is well known； ideas are so elastic in a human brain； that they
have no constant measure which may be called their actual bulk。 Any
important idea may be compressed to a molecule by an unwonted
crowding of others； and any small idea will expand to whatever
length and breadth of vacuum the mind may be able to make over to
it。 Cytherea's world was tolerably vacant at this time； and the
young architectural designer's image became very pervasive。 The
next evening this subject was again renewed。
'His name is Springrove；' said Owen； in reply to her。 'He is a
thorough artist； but a man of rather humble origin； it seems； who
has made himself so far。 I think he is the son of a farmer； or
something of the kind。'
'Well； he's none the worse for that； I suppose。'
'None the worse。 As we come down the hill； we shall be continually
meeting people going up。' But Owen had felt that Springrove was a
little the worse nevertheless。
'Of course he's rather old by this time。'
'O no。 He's about six…and…twentynot more。'
'Ah； I see。 。 。 。 What is he like； Owen？'
'I can't exactly tell you his appearance： 'tis always such a
difficult thing to do。'
'A man you would describe as short？ Most men are those we should
describe as short； I fancy。'
'I should call him； I think； of the middle height； but as I only see
him sitting in the office； of course I am not certain about his form
and figure。'
'I wish you were； then。'
'Perhaps you do。 But I am not； you see。'
'Of course not； you are always so provoking。 Owen； I saw a man in
the street to…day whom I fancied was heand yet； I don't see how it
could be； either。 He had light brown hair； a snub nose； very round
face； and a peculiar habit of reducing his eyes to straight lines
when he looked narrowly at anything。'
'O no。 That was not he； Cytherea。'
'Not a bit like him in all probability。'
'Not a bit。 He has dark hairalmost a Grecian nose； regular teeth；
and an intellectual face； as nearly as I can recall to mind。'
'Ah； there now； Owen； you HAVE described him！ But I suppose he's
not generally called pleasing； or'
'Handsome？'
'I scarcely meant that。 But since you have said it； is he
handsome？'
'Rather。'
'His tout ensemble is striking？'
'YesO no； noI forgot： it is not。 He is rather untidy in his
waistcoat； and neck…ties； and hair。'
'How vexing！。 。 。 it must be to himself； poor thing。'
'He's a thorough bookwormdespises the pap…and…daisy school of
verseknows Shakespeare to the very dregs of the foot…notes。
Indeed； he's a poet himself in a small way。'
'How delicious！' she said。 'I have never known a poet。'
'And you don't know him；' said Owen dryly。
She reddened。 'Of course I don't。 I know that。'
'Have you received any answer to your advertisement？' he inquired。
'Ahno！' she said； and the forgotten disappointment which had
showed itself in her face at different times during the day； became
visible again。
Another day passed away。 On Thursday； without inquiry； she learnt
more of the head draughtsman。 He and Graye had become very
friendly； and he had been tempted to show her brother a copy of some
poems of hissome serious and sadsome humorouswhich had
appeared in the poets' corner of a magazine from time to time。 Owen
showed them now to Cytherea； who instantly began to read them
carefully and to think them very beautiful。
'YesSpringrove's no fool；' said Owen sententiously。
'No fool！I should think he isn't； indeed；' said Cytherea； looking
up from the paper in quite an excitement： 'to write such verses as
these！'
'What logic are you chopping； Cytherea？ Well； I don't mean on
account of the verses； because I haven't read them； but for what he
said when the fellows were talking about falling in love。'
'Which you will tell me？'
'He says that your true lover breathlessly finds himself engaged to
a sweetheart； like a man who has caught something in the dark。 He
doesn't know whether it is a bat or a bird； and takes it to the
light when he is cool to learn what it is。 He looks to see if she
is the right age； but right age or wrong age； he must consider her a
prize。 Sometime later he ponders whether she is the right kind of
prize for him。 Right kind or wrong kindhe has called her his； and
must abide by it。 After a time he asks himself； 〃Has she the
temper； hair； and eyes I meant to have； and was firmly resolved not
to do without？〃 He finds it is all wrong； and then comes the
tussle'
'Do they marry and live happily？'
'Who？ O； the supposed pair。 I think he saidwell； I really forget
what he said。'
'That IS stupid of you！' said the young lady with dismay。
'Yes。'
'But he's a satiristI don't think I care about him now。'
'There you are just wrong。 He is not。 He is； as I believe； an
impulsive fellow who has been made to pay the penalty of his
rashness in some love affair。'
Thus ended the dialogue of Thursday； but Cytherea read the verses
again in private。 On Friday her brother remarked that Springrove
had informed him he was going to leave Mr。 Gradfield's in a
fortnight to push his fortunes in London。
An indescribable feeling of sadness shot through Cytherea's heart。
Why should she be sad at such an announcement as that； she thought；
concerning a man she had never seen； when her spirits were elastic
enough to rebound after hard blows from deep and real troubles as if
she had scarcely known them？ Though she could not answer this
question； she knew one thing； she was saddened by Owen's news。
4。 JULY THE TWENTY…FIRST
A very popular local excursion by steamboat to Lulstead Cove was
announced through the streets of Budmouth one Thursday morning by
the weak…voiced town…crier； to start at six o'clock the same day。
The weather was lovely； and the opportunity being the first of the
kind offered to them； Owen and Cytherea went with the rest。
They had reached the Cove； and had walked landward for nearly an
hour over the hill which rose beside the strand； when Graye
recollected that two or three miles yet further inland from this
spot was an interesting mediaeval ruin。 He was already familiar
with its characteristics through the medium of an archaeological
work； and now finding himself so close to the reality； felt inclined
to verify some theory he had formed respecting it。 Concluding that
there would be just sufficient time for him to go there and return
before the boat had left the shore； he parted from Cytherea on the
hill； struck downwards； and then up a heathery valley。
She remained on the summit where he had left her till the time of
his expected return； scanning the details of the prospect around。
Placidly spread out before her on the south was the open Channel；
reflecting a blue intenser by many shades than that of the sky
overhead； and dotted in the foreground by half…a…dozen small craft
of contrasting rig； their sails graduating in hue from extreme
whiteness to reddish brown； the varying actual colours varied again
in a double degree by the rays of the declining sun。
Presently the distant bell from the boat was heard； warning the
passengers to embark。 This was followed by a lively air from the
harps and violins on board； their tones； as they arose； becoming
intermingled with； though not marred by； the brush of the waves when
their crests rolled overat the point where the check of the
shallows was first feltand then thinned away up the slope of
pebbles and sand。
She turned her face landward and strained her eyes to discern； if
possible； some sign of Owen's return。 Nothing was visible save the
strikingly brilliant； still landscape。 The wide concave which lay
at the back of the hill in this direction was blazing with the
western light； adding an orange tint to the vivid purple of the
heather； now at the very climax of bloom； and free from the
slightest touch of the invidious brown that so soon creeps into its
shades。 The light so intensified the colours that they seemed to
stand above the surface of the earth and float in mid…air like an
exhalation of red。 In the minor valleys； between the hillocks and
ridges which diversified the contour of the basin； but did not
disturb its general sweep； she marked brakes of tall； heavy…stemmed
ferns； five or six feet high； in a brilliant light…green dressa
broad riband of them with the path in their midst winding like a
stream along the little ravine that reached to the foot of the hill；
and delivered up the path to its grassy area。 Among the ferns grew
holly bushes deeper in tint than any shadow about them； whilst the
whole surface of the scene was dimpled with small conical pits； and
here and there were round ponds； now dry； and half overgrown with
rushes。
The last bell of the steamer rang。 Cytherea had forgotten herself；
and what she was looking for。 In a fever of distress lest Owen
should be left behind； she gat