hours later he made a jest about
their dining together again so soon, and they laughed about it--to be
sure, that dinner at the restaurant was a secret, something that did not
belong to the conventional life. There was the air of a little
understanding between them when they presented themselves to Mrs. Morres
in the book-room which she used for all purposes of a sitting-room
during her flying visit to town. It was a pleasant room, with book-cases
all round it filled with green glass in a lattice of brass-work. The
books were hidden by the glass, but it reflected every movement of a
bird or a twig or a cloud outside like green waters. The ceiling was
domed like a sky and painted in sunny Italian scenery. It was not dull
in the book-room on the dullest day.

"Did you come together?" Mrs. Morres asked curiously.

"I swear we did not," Sir Robin replied, with mock intensity. "I came
from the east, Miss Gray from the west. We met on your doorstep."

"You looked as if you were enjoying a joke when you came in."

"There was time for one between the ringing of the bell and the opening
of the door."

"Ah, you see, the people downstairs are very old."

Mary allowed herself to be persuaded to the country expedition next day.
The spring had been calling to her, calling to her to come out of London
to the fields. More, she consented to go to Hazels on the Saturday. The
spring had disturbed her with a delicious disturbance. It was no use
trying to be dry-as-dust since the spring had got into her blood. The
book must wait till she came back.

On Thursday the exodus from town had not yet begun. They left soon after
breakfast. As Mary hurried from her Kensington flat to Paddington
Station she met the church-goers with their prayer-books in their hands.
It was Holy Thursday, to be sure--a day for solemn thought and
thanksgiving. She hoped hers would not be less acceptable because it was
made in the quietness of the fields.

It was an exquisite day of April--true Holy Week weather, with white
clouds, like lambs straying in the blue pastures of the sky, shepherded
by the south-west wind. The almond trees were in bloom. They had begun
to drop their blossoms on the pavements, making a dust of roses in
London streets. As they went down from Paddington the river-side
orchards and gardens were starred with the blossom of pear and plum.
Everywhere the birds were singing jocundly. The promise of spring a few
days earlier had been nobly