hem all they want. I believe in being good
because to be good is good in itself."

"Then you do believe in being good?"

How pretty she looked now--it was easy to be good with her! And he
nodded and said:

"I say, show me how to make that knot!"

With her fingers touching his, in manoeuvring the bit of string, he felt
soothed and happy. And when he went to bed he wilfully kept his thoughts
on her, wrapping himself in her fair, cool sisterly radiance, as in some
garment of protection.

Next day he found they had arranged to go by train to Totnes, and picnic
at Berry Pomeroy Castle. Still in that resolute oblivion of the past, he
took his place with them in the landau beside Halliday, back to the
horses. And, then, along the sea front, nearly at the turning to the
railway station, his heart almost leaped into his mouth. Megan--Megan
herself!--was walking on the far pathway, in her old skirt and jacket and
her tam-o'-shanter, looking up into the faces of the passers-by.
Instinctively he threw his hand up for cover, then made a feint of
clearing dust out of his eyes; but between his fingers he could see her
still, moving, not with her free country step, but wavering,
lost-looking, pitiful-like some little dog which has missed its master
and does not know whether to run on, to run back--where to run. How had
she come like this?--what excuse had she found to get away?--what did she
hope for? But with every turn of the wheels bearing him away from her,
his heart revolted and cried to him to stop them, to get out, and go to
her! When the landau turned the corner to the station he could stand it
no more, and opening the carriage door, muttered: "I've forgotten
something! Go on--don't wait for me! I'll join you at the castle by the
next train!" He jumped, stumbled, spun round, recovered his balance, and
walked forward, while the carriage with the astonished Hallidays rolled
on.

From the corner he could only just see Megan, a long way ahead now. He
ran a few steps, checked himself, and dropped into a walk. With each
step nearer to her, further from the Hallidays, he walked more and more
slowly. How did it alter anything--this sight of her? How make the
going to her, and that which must come of it, less ugly? For there was no
hiding it--since he had met the Hallidays he had become gradually sure
that he would not marry Megan. It would only be a wild love-time, a
troubled, remorseful, difficult time--and the