Before Nedda could pour out questions about the rising in 1832,
Stanley's voice said:

"Cuthcott, I want to introduce you!"

Her new friend screwed his eyes up tighter and, muttering something, put
out his hand to her.

"Thank you for our talk. I hope we shall meet again. Any time you want
to know anything--I'll be only too glad. Good night!"

She felt the squeeze of his hand, warm and dry, but rather soft, as of
a man who uses a pen too much; saw him following her uncle across the
room, with his shoulders a little hunched, as if preparing to inflict,
and ward off, blows. And with the thought: 'He must be jolly when he
gives them one!' she turned once more to the darkness, than which he had
said there was nothing nicer. It smelled of new-mown grass, was full of
little shiverings of leaves, and all colored like the bloom of a black
grape. And her heart felt soothed.


CHAPTER IX


"...When I first saw Derek I thought I should never feel anything but
shy and hopeless. In four days, only in four days, the whole world
is different.... And yet, if it hadn't been for that thunder-storm,
I shouldn't have got over being shy in time. He has never loved
anybody--nor have I. It can't often be like that--it makes it solemn.
There's a picture somewhere--not a good one, I know--of a young