They walked for some fifty yards back towards the single line of houses in silence. After climax there is always anti-climax, since human life has the deplorable effect of never remaining on a permanent top note, and to each came anti-climax. To him it came naturally and gently; he had always been intent on what seemed to him the worthy things in life, and he thought of them again in the new light that Lucia shed on them. For a few minutes, or for more than that, all his life, all himself had been absorbed in her. It was no less absorbed perhaps now, but it looked out from inside her, and saw the aims, the scope of life, again. Those things were there still, the same in themselves, but with a new and wonderful light thrown on to them. But they were there, and it was possible for him to regard them again. It would have been unnatural if he had not done so, for no nature becomes suddenly different from that which it has always been, however vivid and astonishing is any new experience. He had fallen in love with the girl weeks ago, and his outlook was not radically altered because she had accepted his devotion. His nature was not changed because he had the promise of its fulfilment. Whether it was enlarged or not, even, was a question for the future to solve. But the fact that Lucia had accepted his devotion, had confessed to her own devotion for him, did not put a different aspect on what he knew of himself. Intensely happy he certainly was, but he had anticipated this happiness, and thus, though quite unconsciously, he had discounted it. He had not, in fact, proposed to her with any feeling that she would not possibly accept him. He was genuinely in love, but he had not anticipated discouragement. But there was no abatement of bliss; "now" was exquisite, but the future would be more exquisite. The smouldering gold of her hair, the flower-like mouth, would be his, just as her companionship, her stimulus, would be his. He had felt them his already; he was in love with them all. And his love was accepted; it was returned!
Lucia also had her anti-climax. All that had happened had happened to the utmost pitch of her aspirations, and with the exception of her sudden terror, she had done her part with the completeness that her imagination of it all demanded. His love for her was of an ardour she had not contemplated, but the embarrassment of that was past, and she was at this moment on the top step of all that she had planned. Then, with a furious rush, all sorts of infinitesimal inconveniences which must be
