Out in the High Road she boarded a passing tram, caring not whither it was going. She climbed to the top deck, which was uncovered, and sat on a seat that was filmed over with lately fallen snow. There was nobody else on the top deck, and the conductor, when she tendered him a penny without speaking, eyed her curiously. The car purred slowly along the High Road, stopping at all the old familiar halting-places, stopping sometimes because of men who were shovelling snow and slush into the gutters. Every time it stopped she could hear the driver on his platform beating his gloved hands together and swinging his arms noisily across his chest. It was very cold, and the wind swept down the wide High Road like a demon unchained. Overhead the trolley-wheel screamed shrilly along the wires, and every time it passed the supporting wire between the opposite tramway standards it gave a sharp, excruciating sound--like a little kiss. At the Ridgeway Corner there was a long wait, and the driver and conductor disappeared into a coffee-house by the roadside. Far ahead the High Road stretched grey and melancholy, with the snow and slush piled high along the gutters. The tram-rails were running rivulets, and each passing car sprayed the brown water over the roadway.... At High Wood the conductor climbed the steps and began turning the handle to alter the destination board of the car. Then he swung down the rope from the trolley-pole and said: “Don’t go beyond ’ere, miss.... Git a bus if yer want ter go any further....” Catherine clambered down. After all, she did not want to go any further. This was High Wood; she was quite near home.... The path through the Forest to “Elm Cottage” was ankle deep in mud and slush.... As she passed the clearing that was about half-way, she saw that the sky was grey with falling flakes. He had said: “I expect there will be some more skating to-night if it doesn’t snow.” But it was snowing now. There would be no skating. It did seem a pity. So many people would be disappointed.... She could see the smoke rising sluggishly from the chimney-pots of “Elm Cottage.” The footpath to the porch was white with untrodden snow.... In the drawing-room the first things she saw were the boxes of cigarettes which she had bought because she knew they were his favourite brand, and the Bach’s Fugue which she had learned because she knew he would like to hear it. She sat down on the fender rail in front of the fire without removing any of her wraps. The fatness of a tear-off calendar on her bureau annoyed her by its unaccustomedness. It was the first day of a new year. The mantelshelf was stacked with Christmas and New Year cards, chiefly from people she did not know.... Oh, well, she told herself, if I was wrong, then I was wrong.... If he’s in love with Helen, then he’s in love with her. That’s all there is to it.... Anyway, it’s the sort of thing that might happen to anybody ... what’s happened to me, I mean....