Some one to share them with! Chayne had no need to wait for old age before he learnt the wisdom of Michel Revailloud.

For his heart leaped now, as he dreamed of exploring once more with Sylvia at his side the enchanted country of his boyhood; gallops in the quiet summer mornings along that still visible track across the downs, by which the Roman legions had marched in the old days from London straight as a die to Chichester; winter days with the hounds; a rush on windy afternoons in a sloop-rigged boat down the Arun to Littlehampton.

Chayne's heart leaped with a passionate longing as he dreamed, and sank as he turned again to the blank windows of the empty house.
He dined alone, and while he dined evoked Sylvia's presence at the table, setting her, not at the far end, but at the side and close, so that a hand might now and then touch hers; calling up into her face her slow hesitating smile; seeing her still gray eyes grow tender; in a word watching the Madonna change into the woman.

He went into the library where, since the night had grown chilly, a fire was lit.

It was a place of comfort, with high bookshelves, deep-cushioned chairs, and dark curtains.