It was because she was so apart from all the world that it had seemed beautiful to keep her so in his heart.

She had always been so aloof a little creature--so unclaimed and naturally left alone.

Perhaps that was why she had retained through the years the untouched look which he had recognised even at the dance, in the eyes which only waited exquisitely for kindness and asked for love.

No one had ever owned her, no one really knew her--people only saw her loveliness--no one knew her but himself--the little beautiful thing--his own--his _own_ little thing! Nothing on earth should touch her! Because his thinking ended--as it naturally always did--in such thoughts as these last, he was obliged to turn back when he saw the plane trees and walk a few hundred feet in the opposite direction to give himself time.

He even turned a corner and walked down another street.