Bertram Railing was three-and-twenty, and Winnie had not exaggerated too grossly when she vowed he was as beautiful as a Greek god. He was very dark, but his skin, smoother than polished ivory, had the glowing colour of Titian’s young Adonis; and his hair, worn long and admirably curling, his fine sincere eyes, were dark too. With his broad forehead, his straight nose, his well-shaped, sensual mouth, he was indeed very handsome; and there was a squareness about his jaw which suggested besides much strength of character. His expression was sombre; but when, fired with enthusiasm, he spoke of any subject that deeply interested him, his face grew very mobile. He wore a blue serge suit, a red tie, and a low collar which showed his powerful, statuesque neck. If he could not be altogether unconscious of his good looks, he was certainly indifferent to them. His whole life was given up to a passionate striving for reform, and his absorbing interest in the improvement of the people allowed no room for trifling, unworthy thoughts. The strenuous pursuit of the ideal gave him a fascination far greater than that of his wonderful face. “Did you like my lecture?” he asked, as they walked side by side. Winnie looked at him, her eyes filled suddenly with tears. “Yes.” It was all she could say, but Railing smiled with pleasure. In this one word was so much feeling that it pleased him more than all the applause he had received. “You can’t imagine what I felt while I was listening to you,” she said at last. “If I spoke well it was because I knew your eyes were upon me.” “I felt perfectly hysterical. I had to bite my lips to prevent myself from crying.” They walked in silence, each occupied with tumultuous thoughts. His presence was enchanting to Winnie, and yet the joy of it was almost painful. A marvellous change had come upon her during the last few days, and life was altogether new. The world seemed strangely full of emotion, and the parts of the earth, in the spring sunshine, sang to one another joyful songs. “You’ve done so much for me,” she murmured, happy to confess her inmost thoughts. “Until I knew you I was so selfish and stupid. But now everything is different. I want to help you in your work. I want to work too.” For a moment, finding nothing to say, he gazed at her. His brown eyes, so strong and full of meaning, looked into hers gravely; and hers were blue and tender. But the silence grew unendurable, and flushing, the girl looked down. “Why don’t you speak?” “I think I’m afraid,” he answered, and there was a tremor in his voice. She felt that his heart was beating as quickly as her own. “Who am I that you should be afraid?” she whispered. He gave a sigh that was half joy, half sorrow; and clenched his hands in the effort to master himself. But the girl’s sweet freshness rose to his nostrils like the scent of the earth in the morning after the rain, and his poor wits were all aflame.