we five had all been playmates together. there were lord maxton, who was killed at paardeberg while i was in ladysmith, he was my senior by nearly a year, philip, who is now earl ladislaw and who was about eighteen months younger than i, mary, my contemporary within eight days, and guy, whom we regarded as a baby and who was called, apparently on account of some early linguistic efforts, "brugglesmith." he did his best to avenge his juniority as time passed on by an enormous length of limb. i had more imagination than maxton and was a good deal better read, so that mary and i dominated most of the games of indians and warfare and exploration in which we passed our long days together. when the christians were at burnmore, and they usually spent three or four months in the year there, i had a kind of standing invitation to be with them. sometimes there would also be two christian cousins to swell our party, and sometimes there would be a raid of the fawney children with a detestable governess who was perpetually vociferating reproaches, but these latter were absent-minded, lax young persons, and we did not greatly love them.

it is curious how little i remember of mary's childhood. all that has happened between us since lies between that and my present self like some luminous impenetrable mist. i know we liked each other, that i was taller than she was and thought her legs unreasonably thin, and that once when i knelt by accident on a dead stick she had brought into an indian camp we had made near the end of the west shrubbery, she flew at me in a sudden fury, smacked my face, scratched me and had to be suppressed, and was suppressed with extreme difficulty by the united manhood of us three elder boys. then it was i noted first the blazing blueness of her eyes. she was light and very plucky, so that none of us cared to climb against her, and she was as difficult to hold as an eel. but all these traits and characteristics vanished when she was transformed.

for what seems now a long space of time i had not seen her or any of the family except philip; it was certainly a year or more, probably two; maxton was at a crammer's and i think the others must have been in canada with lord ladislaw. then came some sort of estrangement between him and his wife, and she returned with mary and guy to burnmore and stayed there all through the summer.

i was in a state of transition between the infinitely great and the infinitely little. i had just ceased to be that noble and potent being, that almost statesmanlike personage, a sixth form boy at harbury, and i was going to be an oxford undergraduate. philip and i came down together by the same train from harbury, i shared the burnmore dog-cart and luggage cart, and he dropped me at the rectory. i was a long-limbed youngster of seventeen, as tall as i am now, and fair, so fair that i was still boyish-faced while most of my contemporaries and philip (who favored his father) were at least smudgy with moustaches. with the head-master's valediction and the grave elder-brotherliness of old henson, and the shrill cheers of a little crowd of juniors still echoing in my head, i very naturally came home in a mood of exalted gravity, and i can still remember pacing up and down the oblong lawn behind the rockery and the fig-tree wall with my father, talking of my outlook with all the tremendous savoir faire that was natural to my age, and noting with a secret gratification that our shoulders were now on a level. no doubt we were discussing oxford and all that i was to do at oxford; i don't remember a word of our speech though i recall the exact tint of its color and the distinctive feeling of our measured equal paces in the sunshine....

i must have gone up to burnmore house the following afternoon. i went up alone and i was sent out through the little door at the end of the big gallery into the garden. in those days lady ladislaw had made an indian pavilion under the tall trees at the east end of the house, and here i found her with her cousin helena christian entertaining a mixture of people, a carriageful from hampton end, the two elder fawneys and a man in brown who had i think ridden over from chestoxter castle. lady ladislaw welcomed me with ample graciousness—as though i was a personage. "the children" she said were still at tennis, and as she spoke i saw guy, grown nearly beyond recognition and then a shining being in white, very straight and graceful, with a big soft hat and overshadowed eyes that smiled, come out from the hurried endearments of the sunflakes under the shadows of the great chestnuts, into the glow of summer light before the pavilion.

"steve arrived!" she cried, and waved a welcoming racquet.

i do not remember what i said to her or what else she said or what anyone said. but i believe i could paint every detail of her effect. i know that when she came out of the brightness into the shadow of the pavilion it was like a regal condescension, and i know that she was wonderfully self-possessed and helpful with her mother's hospitalities, and that i marvelled i had never before perceived the subtler sweetness in the cadence of her voice. i seem also to remember a severe internal struggle for my self-possession, and that i had to recall my exalted position in the sixth form to save myself from becoming tongue-tied and abashed and awkward and utterly shamed.

you see she had her hair up and very prettily dressed, and those aggressive lean legs of hers had vanished, and she was sheathed in muslin that showed her the most delicately slender and beautiful of young women. and she seemed so radiantly sure of herself!

after our first greeting i do not think i spoke to her or looked at her again throughout the meal. i took things that she handed me with an appearance of supreme indifference, was politely attentive to the elder miss fawney, and engaged with lady ladislaw and the horsey little man in brown in a discussion of the possibility of mechanical vehicles upon the high road. that was in the early nineties. we were all of opinion that it was impossible to make a sufficiently light engine for the purpose. afterwards mary confessed to me how she had been looking forward to our meeting, and how snubbed i had made her feel....

then a little later than this meeting in the pavilion, though i am not clear now whether it was the same or some subsequent afternoon, we are walking in the sunken garden, and great clouds of purple clematis and some less lavish heliotrope-colored creeper, foam up against the ruddy stone balustrading. just in front of us a fountain gushes out of a grotto of artificial stalagmite and bathes the pedestal of an absurd little statuette of the god of love. we are talking almost easily. she looks sideways at my face, already with the quiet controlled watchfulness of a woman interested in a man, she smiles and she talks of flowers and sunshine, the canadian winter—and with an abrupt transition, of old times we've had together in the shrubbery and the wilderness of bracken out beyond. she seems tremendously grown-up and womanly to me. i am talking my best, and glad, and in a manner scared at the thrill her newly discovered beauty gives me, and keeping up my dignity and coherence with an effort. my attention is constantly being distracted to note how prettily she moves, to wonder why it is i never noticed the sweet fall, the faint delightful whisper of a lisp in her voice before.

we agree about the flowers and the sunshine and the canadian winter—about everything. "i think so often of those games we used to invent," she declares. "so do i," i say, "so do i." and then with a sudden boldness: "once i broke a stick of yours, a rotten stick you thought a sound one. do you remember?"

then we laugh together and seem to approach across a painful, unnecessary distance that has separated us. it vanishes for ever. "i couldn't now," she says, "smack your face like that, stephen."

that seems to me a brilliantly daring and delightful thing for her to say, and jolly of her to use my christian name too! "i believe i scratched," she adds.

"you never scratched," i assert with warm conviction. "never."

"i did," she insists and i deny. "you couldn't."

"we're growing up," she cries. "that's what has happened to us. we shall never fight again with our hands and feet, never—until death do us part."

"for better, or worse," i say, with a sense of wit and enterprise beyond all human precedent.

"for richer, or poorer," she cries, taking up my challenge with a lifting laugh in her voice.

and then to make it all nothing again, she exclaims at the white lilies that rise against masses of sweet bay along the further wall....

how plainly i can recall it all! how plainly and how brightly! as we came up the broad steps at the further end towards the tennis lawn, she turned suddenly upon me and with a novel assurance of command told me to stand still. "there," she said with a hand out and seemed to survey me with her chin up and her white neck at the level of my eyes. "yes. a whole step," she estimated, "and more, taller than i. you will look down on me, stephen, now, for all the rest of our days."

"i shall always stand," i answered, "a step or so below you."

"no," she said, "come up to the level. a girl should be smaller than a man. you are a man, stephen—almost.... you must be near six feet.... here's guy with the box of balls."

she flitted about the tennis court before me, playing with philip against guy and myself. she punished some opening condescensions with a wicked vigor—and presently guy and i were straining every nerve to save the set. she had a low close serve i remember that seemed perfectly straightforward and simple, and was very difficult to return.