He crossed the public gardens. He struck St. Aldhelm’s Street just above the bridge and moved westward under the long wall. He pushed open the green door and entered the garden of hyacinths. The mechanical act of opening that little gate, for no other reason than that it was a gate from a street into a private enclosure, brought suddenly into his mind his similar entrance into the Torp yard; and the vein of amorousness in him, like a velvet-padded panther in a blind night, slipped wickedly past all the magic of yesterday’s walk and caused his heart to beat at the imaginary image⁠—for he had never actually seen that provocative picture⁠—of the young girl astride the tombstone!