Love and Mr. Lewisham | Page 4

network of the beeches was full of golden sunlight, and all the
lower branches were shot with horizontal dashes of new-born green.

"_Tu, nisi ventis Debes ludibrium, cave_."
was the appropriate matter of Mr. Lewisham's thoughts, and he was
mechanically trying to keep the book open in three places at once, at
the text, the notes, and the literal translation, while he turned up the
vocabulary for _ludibrium_, when his attention, wandering dangerously
near the top of the page, fell over the edge and escaped with incredible
swiftness down the avenue....
A girl, wearing a straw hat adorned with white blossom, was advancing
towards him. Her occupation, too, was literary. Indeed, she was so busy
writing that evidently she did not perceive him.
Unreasonable emotions descended upon Mr. Lewisham--emotions that
are unaccountable on the mere hypothesis of a casual meeting.
Something was whispered; it sounded suspiciously like "It's her!" He
advanced with his fingers in his book, ready to retreat to its pages if she
looked up, and watched her over it. Ludibrium passed out of his
universe. She was clearly unaware of his nearness, he thought, intent
upon her writing, whatever that might be. He wondered what it might
be. Her face, foreshortened by her downward regard, seemed infantile.
Her fluttering skirt was short, and showed her shoes and ankles. He
noted her graceful, easy steps. A figure of health and lightness it was,
sunlit, and advancing towards him, something, as he afterwards
recalled with a certain astonishment, quite outside the Schema.
Nearer she came and nearer, her eyes still downcast. He was full of
vague, stupid promptings towards an uncalled-for intercourse. It was
curious she did not see him. He began to expect almost painfully the
moment when she would look up, though what there was to expect--!
He thought of what she would see when she discovered him, and
wondered where the tassel of his cap might be hanging--it sometimes
occluded one eye. It was of course quite impossible to put up a hand
and investigate. He was near trembling with excitement. His paces, acts
which are usually automatic, became uncertain and difficult. One might
have thought he had never passed a human being before. Still nearer,
ten yards now, nine, eight. Would she go past without looking up?...
Then their eyes met.
She had hazel eyes, but Mr. Lewisham, being quite an amateur about
eyes, could find no words for them. She looked demurely into his face.
She seemed to find nothing there. She glanced away from him among

the trees, and passed, and nothing remained in front of him but an
empty avenue, a sunlit, green-shot void.
The incident was over.
From far away the soughing of the breeze swept towards him, and in a
moment all the twigs about him were quivering and rustling and the
boughs creaking with a gust of wind. It seemed to urge him away from
her. The faded dead leaves that had once been green and young sprang
up, raced one another, leapt, danced and pirouetted, and then something
large struck him on the neck, stayed for a startling moment, and drove
past him up the avenue.
Something vividly white! A sheet of paper--the sheet upon which she
had been writing!
For what seemed a long time he did not grasp the situation. He glanced
over his shoulder and understood suddenly. His awkwardness vanished.
Horace in hand, he gave chase, and in ten paces had secured the
fugitive document. He turned towards her, flushed with triumph, the
quarry in his hand. He had as he picked it up seen what was written, but
the situation dominated him for the instant. He made a stride towards
her, and only then understood what he had seen. Lines of a measured
length and capitals! Could it really be--? He stopped. He looked again,
eyebrows rising. He held it before him, staring now quite frankly. It
had been written with a stylographic pen. Thus it ran:--
"_Come! Sharp's the word._"
And then again,
"_Come! Sharp's the word._"
And then,
"_Come! Sharp's the word._"
"_Come! Sharp's the word._"
And so on all down the page, in a boyish hand uncommonly like
Frobisher ii.'s.
Surely! "I say!" said Mr. Lewisham, struggling with, the new aspect
and forgetting all his manners in his surprise.... He remembered giving
the imposition quite well:--Frobisher ii. had repeated the exhortation
just a little too loudly--had brought the thing upon himself. To find her
doing this jarred oddly upon certain vague preconceptions he had
formed of her. Somehow it seemed as if she had betrayed him. That of
course was only for the instant.

She had come up with him now. "May I have my sheet of paper,
please?" she said with a catching of her breath. She was a couple of
inches less