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gether in front of the totalisator, watching the crowd pressing in to the ticket offices, the numbers altering quickly as the money was rung on the different horses, she heard Holmes say:

“Hallo, Rodney! How are things going with you?”

Ann turned quickly. She was convinced that Marsh had already seen her, but he avoided looking at her directly. He nodded curtly to Holmes:

“Well enough,” he answered, and moved away.

Holmes remained gazing after him in a slightly puzzled fashion. It was evident that he was a trifle nonplussed by the young man’s abrupt departure.

“Rodney’s in a hurry to get his money on,” he remarked. “Let’s go back to the stand.”

On the lawn the band was playing “The Londonderry Air,” as Holmes and Ann made their way up the wooden steps of the grand stand. The wide circle of the hills beyond the course was already hazed and purple in the mellowing afternoon sunshine; and in the midst of the gay crowd Ann felt suddenly the sadness of departing day, and the eternal solitariness of the human soul. Nothing ever bridged that gulf between one’s inner self and the outer world. Love could help. Love between man and woman. That—in its highest expression—could enable one to reach a little beyond the narrow limits of one’s own personality—to become to some extent merged with another’s soul and spirit. For the rest—the excitement of pleasure—the amusement of this day, for instance—the races, winning money, dressing up—what were they all but games that children play? Something to pass the time before the darkness came. They weren’t realities—only the things of the spirit were real. Truth, affection, loyalty. And love must combine all