the Russian folk-song printed on the front page, frowning, nodding with
her head, and beating time with her hand to get the rhythm of the song.
She turned suddenly to him, and shook her head, laughing.

'I can't get it--it's no use. I think it's the swinging of the car
prevents me getting the time,' she said.

'These little outside things always come a victory over you,' he
laughed.

'Do they?' she replied, smiling, bending her head against the wind. It
was six o'clock in the evening. The sky was quite overcast, after a dim,
warm day. The tramcar was leaping along southwards. Out of the corners
of his eyes Byrne watched the crisp morsels of hair shaken on her neck
by the wind.

'Do you know,' she said, 'it feels rather like rain.'

'Then,' said he calmly, but turning away to watch the people below on
the pavement, 'you certainly ought not to be out.'

'I ought not,' she said, 'for I'm totally unprovided.'

Neither, however, had the slightest intention of turning back.

Presently they descended from the car, and took a road leading uphill
off the highway. Trees hung over one side, whilst on the other side
stood a few villas with lawns upraised. Upon one of these lawns two
great sheep-dogs rushed and stood at the brink of the, grassy declivity,
at some height above the road, barking and urging boisterously. Helena