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There was a flat expanse of leads on each of the towers； and you could get
a mattress through the trap doors that opened on to them。 Under the stars；
under the gibbous moon； assuredly they would sleep。 The mattresses
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were hauled up； sheets and blankets were spread； and an hour later the two
insomniasts； each on his separate tower； were crying their good… nights
across the dividing gulf。
On Mary the sleep…compelling charm of the open air did not work with
its expected magic。 Even through the mattress one could not fail to be
aware that the leads were extremely hard。 Then there were noises： the
owls screeched tirelessly； and once； roused by some unknown terror； all
the geese of the farmyard burst into a sudden frenzy of cackling。 The
stars and the gibbous moon demanded to be looked at； and when one
meteorite had streaked across the sky； you could not help waiting； open…
eyed and alert； for the next。 Time passed； the moon climbed higher and
higher in the sky。 Mary felt less sleepy than she had when she first came
out。 She sat up and looked over the parapet。 Had Ivor been able to
sleep？ she wondered。 And as though in answer to her mental question；
from behind the chimney…stack at the farther end of the roof a white form
noiselessly emergeda form that； in the moonlight； was recognisably
Ivor's。 Spreading his arms to right and left； like a tight…rope dancer； he
began to walk forward along the roof…tree of the house。 He swayed
terrifyingly as he advanced。 Mary looked on speechlessly； perhaps he
was walking in his sleep！ Suppose he were to wake up suddenly； now！
If she spoke or moved it might mean his death。 She dared look no more；
but sank back on her pillows。 She listened intently。 For what seemed
an immensely long time there was no sound。 Then there was a patter of
feet on the tiles； followed by a scrabbling noise and a whispered 〃Damn！〃
And suddenly Ivor's head and shoulders appeared above the parapet。
One leg followed； then the other。 He was on the leads。 Mary pretended
to wake up with a start。
〃Oh！〃 she said。 〃What are you doing here？〃
〃I couldn't sleep；〃 he explained； 〃so I came along to see if you couldn't。
One gets bored by oneself on a tower。 Don't you find it so？〃
It was light before five。 Long； narrow clouds barred the east； their
edges bright with orange fire。 The sky was pale and watery。 With the
mournful scream of a soul in pain； a monstrous peacock； flying heavily up
from below； alighted on the parapet of the tower。 Ivor and Mary started
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broad awake。
〃Catch him！〃 cried Ivor； jumping up。 〃We'll have a feather。〃 The
frightened peacock ran up and down the parapet in an absurd distress；
curtseying and bobbing and clucking； his long tail swung ponderously
back and forth as he turned and turned again。 Then with a flap and swish
he launched himself upon the air and sailed magnificently earthward； with
a recovered dignity。 But he had left a trophy。 Ivor had his feather； a
long…lashed eye of purple and green； of blue and gold。 He handed it to
his companion。
〃An angel's feather；〃 he said。
Mary looked at it for a moment； gravely and intently。 Her purple
pyjamas clothed her with an ampleness that hid the lines of her body； she
looked like some large； comfortable； unjointed toy； a sort of Teddy…bear
but a Teddy bear with an angel's head； pink cheeks； and hair like a bell of
gold。 An angel's face； the feather of an angel's wing。。。Somehow the
whole atmosphere of this sunrise was rather angelic。
〃It's extraordinary to think of sexual selection；〃 she said at last；
looking up from her contemplation of the miraculous feather。
〃Extraordinary！〃 Ivor echoed。 〃I select you； you select me。 What
luck！〃
He put his arm round her shoulders and they stood looking eastward。
The first sunlight had begun to warm and colour the pale light of the dawn。
Mauve pyjamas and white pyjamas； they were a young and charming
couple。 The rising sun touched their faces。 It was all extremely
symbolic； but then； if you choose to think so； nothing in this world is not
symbolical。 Profound and beautiful truth！
〃I must be getting back to my tower；〃 said Ivor at last。
〃Already？〃
〃I'm afraid so。 The varletry will soon be up and about。〃
〃Ivor。。。〃 There was a prolonged and silent farewell。
〃And now；〃 said Ivor； 〃I repeat my tight…rope stunt。〃
Mary threw her arms round his neck。 〃You mustn't； Ivor。 It's
dangerous。 Please。〃
He had to yield at last to her entreaties。 〃All right；〃 he said； 〃I'll go
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down through the house and up at the other end。〃
He vanished through the trap door into the darkness that still lurked
within the shuttered house。 A minute later he had reappeared on the
farther tower； he waved his hand； and then sank down； out of sight； behind
the parapet。 From below； in the house； came the thin wasp…like buzzing
of an alarum…clock。 He had gone back just in time。
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CHAPTER XX。
Ivor was gone。 Lounging behind the wind…screen in his yellow sedan
he was whirling across rural England。 Social and amorous engagements
of the most urgent character called him from hall to baronial hall； from
castle to castle； from Elizabethan manor… house to Georgian mansion； over
the whole expanse of the kingdom。 To…day in Somerset； to…morrow in
Warwickshire； on Saturday in the West riding； by Tuesday morning in
ArgyllIvor never rested。 The whole summer through； from the beginning
of July till the end of September； he devoted himself to his engagements；
he was a martyr to them。 In the autumn he went back to London for a
holiday。 Crome had been a little incident； an evanescent bubble on the
stream of his life； it belonged already to the past。 By tea…time he would
be at Gobley； and there would be Zenobia's welcoming smile。 And on
Thursday morningbut that was a long； long way ahead。 He would think
of Thursday morning when Thursday morning arrived。 Meanwhile there
was Gobley； meanwhile Zenobia。
In the visitor's book at Crome Ivor had left； according to his invariable
custom in these cases； a poem。 He had improvised it magisterially in the
ten minutes preceding his departure。 Denis and Mr。 Scogan strolled back
together from the gates of the courtyard； whence they had bidden their last
farewells； on the writing…table in the hall they found the visitor's book；
open； and Ivor's composition scarcely dry。 Mr。 Scogan read it aloud：
〃The magic of those immemorial kings； Who webbed enchantment on
the bowls of night。 Sleeps in the soul of all created things； In the blue sea；
th' Acroceraunian height； In the eyed butterfly's auricular wings And
orgied visions of the anchorite； In all that singing flies and flying sings； In
rain； in pain； in delicate delight。 But much more magic； much more cogent
spells Weave here their wizardries about my soul。 Crome calls me like the
voice of vesperal bells； Haunts like a ghostly…peopled necropole。 Fate tears
me hence。 Hard fate！ since far from Crome My soul must weep；
remembering its Home。〃
〃Very nice and tasteful and tactful；〃 said Mr。 Scogan； when he had
finished。 〃I am only troubled by the butterfly's auricular wings。 You
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