THE WINDOW
There he stood in the parlour of the poky little
house where she had taken him, waiting for her,
while she went upstairs a moment to see a woman.
He heard her quick step above; heard her voice
cheerful, then low; looked at the mats, tea-caddies,
glass shades; waited quite impatiently; looked
forward eagerly to the walk homé, determined to
carry her bag; then heard her come out; shut
a door; say they must keep the windows open
and the doors shut, ask at the house for anything
they wanted (she must be talking to a child),
when, suddenly) in she came, stood for a moment
silent (as if she had been pretending up there,
and for a moment let herself be now), stood
quite motionless for a moment against a picture
of Queen Victoria wearing the blue ribbon of the
Garter; and all at once he realised that it was
this: it was this:—she was the most beautiful
person he had ever seen.
With stars in her eyes and veils in her hair,
with cyclamen and wild violets—-what nonsense
was he thinking? She was fifty at least; she had
eight children] Stepping through fields of flowers
and taking to her breast buds that had broken and
lambs that had fallen; with the stars in her eyes
and the wind in her hair—He took her bag.
“ Good-bye, Elsie,” she said, and they walked
up the street, she holding her parasol erect and
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