Then it occurred to Mavis how her love for Perigal, which she had thought to be as stable as the universe, had unconsciously withered within her. It was as if there had been an immense reaction from her one-time implicit faith in her lover, making her despise, where once she had had unbounded confidence. This awakening to the declension that had taken place in her love gave her many anxious hours. For some days Mavis saw nothing of Harold. She walked on the sweep of sea front and in the streets of the little town in the hope of meeting him, but in vain. She wondered if he had gone home, but persuaded herself that he would not have left Swanage without letting her know. Mavis was not a little irked at Harold's indifference to her friendship; it hurt her self-esteem, which had been enhanced by the influence she had so palpably wielded over him. It also angered her to think that, after all, she would not be able to drink the draught of revenge which she had promised herself at the Devitts' expense. All this time she had given no further thought to Windebank's letter; it remained unanswered. As the days passed, and she saw nothing of Harold, she began to think considerably of the man who had written to offer her marriage. These thoughts were largely coloured with resentment at the fact of Windebank's not having followed up his unanswered letter by either another communication or a personal appeal. Soon she was torn by two emotions: hatred of the Devitts and awakened interest in Windebank; she did not know which influenced her the more. She all but made up her mind to write some sort of a reply to Windebank, when she met Harold pulling himself along the road towards the sea. He had changed in the fortnight that had elapsed since she had last seen him; his face had lost flesh; he looked worn and anxious. When he saw her, he pulled up. She gave him a formal bow, and was about to pass him, when the hurt expression on the invalid's face caused her to stop irresolutely by his side. "At last!" he said. Mavis looked at him inquiringly. "I could bear it no longer," he went on. "Bear what?" He did not reply; indeed, he did not appear to listen to her words, but said: "I feared you'd gone for good." "I've seen nothing of you either." "Then you missed me? Tell me that you did." "I don't know." "I have missed YOU." "Indeed!" "I daren't say how much. Where are you going now?" "Nowhere." "May I come too?" he asked pleadingly. "I'll go a little way," she remarked. "Meet me by the sea in ten minutes." "Why not go there together?" "I'd far rather meet you." "Don't you like being seen with me?" "Yes and no. Yes, because I am very proud at being seen with you." "And 'no'?" "It's why I wanted you to meet me by the sea." "Why?" "Can't you guess?" "If I could I wouldn't ask." "I'll tell you. When you walk with me, I'm afraid you notice my infirmity the more." "I'll only go on one condition," declared Mavis. "That---?"