Enid a Novel

a moment. Something warned him that his sole chance lay in preserving to their intercourse its glamour of secrecy, which invested him with the charm of an outlaw for romantic eighteen. It would be madness to court comparison with the men of her world, to be judged by their standard. By no means must he venture forth into the light. He would be bold, yes, truly, but within bounds. By way of training for the manly part he had sworn to play, Boyne set himself little exercises in effrontery. He overcame his dislike to be stared at to the extent of going to church on Sunday mornings; and he bought his own tobacco in Elmondham, an errand formerly deputed to the village carrier. When he came across a labourer now in his walks, he would hazard some remark anent the weather or the hay. To the same end he exhumed a pair of dumb-bells from among the lumber in an attic, and began to use them daily at regular hours. He tried the bracing effect of a cold bath every morning, and strove to limit the number of pipes to be smoked in a day. The self-discipline brightened his outlook. Killing time in a daily ritual for Enid's sake, it seemed to bring her nearer, to make things less impossible. And though with him even athletic practices took a colour of superstition, it certainly improved his health. One Friday afternoon, the first in July, having walked into Elmondham after an early tea, he was standing in the dim, low-ceiled shop of the tobacconist with whom he always dealt ... --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.