offered; fumbling painfully with thick fingers; blushing to the
roots of his hair。 Then he looked with his warm blue eyes at the
almost sardonic; lidded eyes of the foreigner。 The latter sat
down beside him; and they began to talk; chiefly of horses。
Brangwen loved the other man for his exquisite graciousness;
for his tact and reserve; and for his ageless; monkey…like
self…surety。 They talked of horses; and of Derbyshire; and of
farming。 The stranger warmed to the young fellow with real
warmth; and Brangwen was excited。 He was transported at meeting
this odd; middle…aged; dry…skinned man; personally。 The talk was
pleasant; but that did not matter so much。 It was the gracious
manner; the fine contact that was all。
They talked a long while together; Brangwen flushing like a
girl when the other did not understand his idiom。 Then they said
good night; and shook hands。 Again the foreigner bowed and
repeated his good night。
〃Good night; and bon voyage。〃
Then he turned to the stairs。
Brangwen went up to his room and lay staring out at the stars
of the summer night; his whole being in a whirl。 What was it
all? There was a life so different from what he knew it。 What
was there outside his knowledge; how much? What was this that he
had touched? What was he in this new influence? What did
everything mean? Where was life; in that which he knew or all
outside him?
He fell asleep; and in the morning had ridden away before any
other visitors were awake。 He shrank from seeing any of them
again; in the morning。
His mind was one big excitement。 The girl and the foreigner:
he knew neither of their names。 Yet they had set fire to the
homestead of his nature; and he would be burned out of cover。 Of
the two experiences; perhaps the meeting with the foreigner was
the more significant。 But the girl……he had not settled
about the girl。
He did not know。 He had to leave it there; as it was。 He
could not sum up his experiences。
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