Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts.
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