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st； thrust her into her ancestral carriage； haul the coachman from his box； and； seizing the reins； drive away in triumph before astonishment had time to change into pursuit。 Truly it had been but the work of a moment； and there was only one consideration which prevented my following this now…I…call…that…heroic course。 It is a consideration I dare hardly venture to write； and the confession of which will； I know； necessitate my changing my age back again to thirty on the instant。 Oh； be merciful； dear romantic reader！ I didn't strike the Major…General； because； oh； because I AGREED WITH HIM！
I loved Nicolete； you must have felt that。 She was sweet to me as the bunch of white flowers that； in their frail Venetian vase； stand so daintily on my old bureau as I write； doing their best to sweeten my thoughts。 Dear was she to me as the birds that out in the old garden yonder sing and sing their best to lift up my leaden heart。 She was dear as the Spring itself； she was only less dear than Autumn。
Yes； black confession！ after the first passion of her loss； the immediate ache of her young beauty had passed； and I was able to analyse what I really felt； I not only agreed with him； I thanked God for the Major…General！ He had saved me from playing the terrible part of executioner。 He had just come in time to behead the Lady Jane Grey of our dreams。
I should have no qualms about tightening the rope round the neck of some human monster； or sticking a neat dagger or bullet into a dangerous； treacherous foe； but to kill a dream is a sickening business。 It goes on moaning in such a heart…breaking fashion； and you never know when it is dead。 All on a sudden some night it will come wailing in the wind outside your window； and you must blacken your heart and harden your face with another strangling grip of its slim appealing throat； another blow upon its angel eyes。 Even then it will recover； and you will go on being a murderer； making for yourself day by day a murderer's face； without the satisfaction of having really murdered。
But what of Nicolete？ do you exclaim。 Have you no thought for her； bleeding her heart away in solitude？ Can you so soon forget those appealing eyes？ Yes； I have thought for her。 Would God that I could bear for her those growing pains of the heart！ and I shall never forget those farewell eyes。 But then； you see； I had firmly realised this； that she would sooner recover from our separation than from our marriage； that her love for me； pretty and poignant and dramatic while it lasted； was a book… born； book…fed dream； which must die soon or late；the sooner the better for the peace of the dreams that in the course of nature would soon spring up to take its place。
But while I realised all this； and； with a veritable aching of the heart at the loss of her； felt a curious satisfaction at the turn of events； still my own psychology became all the more a puzzle to me； and I asked myself； with some impatience； what I would be at； and what it was I really wanted。
Here had I but a few moments ago been holding in my hands the very dream I had set out to find； and here was I secretly rejoicing to be robbed of it！ If Nicolete did not fulfil the conditions of that mystical Golden Girl； in professed search for whom I had set out that spring morning； well； the good genius of my pilgrimage felt it time to resign。 Better give it up at once； and go back to my books and my bachelorhood； if I were so difficult to please。 No wonder my kind providence felt provoked。 It had provided me with the sweetest pink… and…porcelain dream of a girl； and might reasonably have concluded that his labours on my behalf were at an end。
But； really； there is no need to lecture me upon the charms and virtues of Nicolete； for I loved them from the first moment of our strange introduction； and I dream of them still。 There was indeed only one quality of womanhood in which she was lacking； and in which； after much serious self… examination； I discovered the reason of my instinctive self…sacrifice of her；SHE HAD NEVER SUFFERED。 As my heart had warned me at the beginning； 〃she was hoping too much from life to spend one's days with。〃 She lacked the subtle half…tones of experience。 She lacked all that a pretty wrinkle or two might have given。 There was no shadowy melancholy in her sky…clear eyes。 She was gay indeed； and had a certain childish humour； but she had none of that humour which comes of the resigned perception that the world is out of joint； and that you were never born to set it right。 These characteristics I had yet to find in woman。 There was still； therefore； an object to my quest。 Indeed my experience had provided me with a formula。 I was in search of a woman who； in addition to every other feminine charm and virtue； was a woman who had suffered。
With this prayer I turned once more to the genius of my pilgrimage。 〃Grant me；〃 I asked； 〃but thisA WOMAN WHO HAS SUFFERED！〃 and； apparently as a consequence； he became once more quite genial。 He seemed to mean that a prayer so easy to grant would put any god into a good temper； and possibly he smiled with a deeper meaning too。
BOOK III
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH I RETURN TO MY RIGHT AGE AND ENCOUNTER A COMMON OBJECT OF THE COUNTRY
And so when the days of my mourning for Nicolete were ended （and in this sentence I pass over letters to and fro；letters wild from Nicolete； letters wise from Aucassin； letters explanatory and apologetic from the Obstaclehow the Major…General had suddenly come home quite unexpectedly and compelled her to explain Nicolete's absence； etc。； etc。 Dear Obstacle！ I should rather have enjoyed a pilgrimage with her too）I found myself one afternoon again upon the road。 The day had been very warm and dusty； and had turned sleepy towards tea…time。
I had now pretty clearly in my mind what I wanted。 This time it was； all other things equal； to be 〃a woman who had suffered；〃 and to this end； I had； before starting out once more； changed my age back again at the inn and written 〃Aetat。 30〃 after my name in the visitors' book。 As a young man I was an evident failure； and so； having made the countersign； I was speedily transformed to my old self； and I must say that it was a most comfortable feeling； something like getting back again into an old coat or an old pair of shoes。 I never wanted to be young again as long as I lived。 Youth was too much like the Sunday clothes of one's boyhood。 Moreover； I had a secret conviction that the woman I was now in search of would prefer one who had had some experience at being a man； who would bring her not the green plums of his love； but the cunningly ripened nectarines； a man to whom love was something of an art as well as an inspiration。
It was in this frame of mind that I came upon the following scene。
The lane was a very cloistral one； with a ribbon of gravelly road； bordered on each side with a rich margin of turf and a scramble of blackberry bushes； green turf banks and dwarf oak…trees making a rich and plenteous shade。 My attention was caught firstly by a bicycle lying carelessly on the turf； and secondly and lastly by a graceful woman's figure； recumbent and evidently sleeping against the turf bank； well tucked in among the afternoon shadows。 My coming had not aroused her； and so I stole nearer to her on tiptoe。
She was a pretty woman； of a striking modern type； tall； well…proportioned； strong； I should say； with a good complexion that had evidently been made just a little better。 But her most striking feature was an opulent mass of dark red hair； which had fallen in some disorder and made quite a pillow for her head。 Her hat was off； lying in its veil by her side； and a certain general abandon of her figure；which was clothed in a short cloth skirt； cut with that unmistakable touch which we call stylebetokened weariness that could no longer wait for rest。
Poor child！ she was tired out。 She must never be left to sleep on there； for she seemed good to sleep till midnight。
I turned to her bicycle； and； examining it with the air of a man who had won silver cups in his day； I speedily discovered what had been the mischief。 The tire of the front wheel had been pierced； and a great thorn was protruding from the place。 Evidently this had been too much for poor Rosalind； and it was not unlikely that she had cried herself to sleep。
I bent over her to lookyes； there were traces of tears。 Poor thing！ Then I had a kindly human impulse。 I would mend the tire； having attended ambulance classes； do it very quietly so that she wouldn't hear； like the fairy cobblers who used to mend people's boots while they slept； and then wait in ambush to watch the effect upon her when she awoke。
What do you think of the idea？
But one important detail I have omitted from my description of the sleeper。 Her left hand lay gloveless； and of the four rings on her third finger one was a wedding…ring。
〃Such red hair；and a wedding…ring！〃 I exclaimed inwardly。 〃How this woman must have suffered！〃
CHAPTER II
IN WHICH I HEAL A BICYCLE AND COME TO THE WHEEL OF PLEASURE
Moving the bicycle a little away； so that my operations upon it might not arouse her； I had soon made all right again； an