“So’m I.... Let’s go up the road....” “All right.” ... They climbed the hill past the King’s Arms, and entered the Forest. § 2 The first leaves of autumn were beginning to fall when Catherine returned to Bockley after a fortnight at Hastings. Day after day of glorious September weather had covered her cheeks and arms and hands with freckles: her hair, too, was fluffed and shining with continual sea-bathing: her general appearance was rather wild and undomesticated for such a place as Bockley. She returned on Saturday night, and Sunday found her waiting outside the Baptist Church at Upton Rising. Evening service was over at eight o’clock, and she judged that Helen would be there. Helen greeted her at the church door. “Only you?” said Catherine. Helen nodded. “The others went for a walk.... It’s a fine night--let’s take a tram to the Forest.” The trams of the London County Council ran along the end of the road. They boarded one; it was full, and they had to stand on the top. “You look well,” remarked Helen. “Oh, I’m all right,” replied Catherine, and the conversation languished. What ensued after that would always in Catherine’s mind be inextricably bound up with the sway and purr of trams along the high road. “George has gone away,” remarked Helen, à propos of nothing. “Oh?” “His firm’s given him a job in Manchester. A good opening, it seems.... I got a letter from him yesterday. He enclosed a note for you: I suppose he didn’t know your address.... I believe I’ve got it on me....” She fished in her hand-bag and extracted an envelope, from which she took a folded half-sheet of paper and handed the latter to Catherine. It was rapidly getting dusk, but the lights in the tram were not yet lit. On every alternate tramway standard hung an arc lamp, and these were now fizzing and spluttering into pale brilliance. Catherine read the note (it was roughly written in copying pencil) in quick spasms as the car swirled along. MY DEAR CATHIE, As you will perceive, I have got shifted to Manchester, where I shall no longer have the pleasure of your delightful society, which, as you will not doubt, is a great loss to me personally. However, I am likely to enjoy my stay here: there are some splendid girls working in the same office with me, though none of them has your own Inimitable red hair. If there is one thing I regret it is that the before-mentioned red hair has occasionally led me to say things I did not mean and to do things I did not mean to do. I am sure that you, with your wonderful capacity for understanding, will grasp what I am trying to sketch out. We have had some interesting discussions together during the last few months, and for these at least (not to mention the spiritual inspiration given me by the passionate flame of your hair) I am deeply grateful. I hope you will always believe me to be what I am, viz., your sincere admirer, GEORGE TRANT.