Pauline went back to bed and fell
asleep on the happy contemplation of a love that between them was
exactly equal.

The floods went down rapidly during the week; green Summer flung her
wreaths before her; the cuckoo sang out of tune, and other birds more
rarely; chestnut-blossoms powdered the grass; and the pinks were
breaking all along the Rectory borders. These were days when not to idle
down the river would have been a slight upon the season. So Pauline and
Guy, with their two afternoons a week, which were not long in becoming
four, spent all their time in the canoe. The Rectory punt could only be
used on the mill-stream; and Pauline rejoiced, if somewhat guiltily,
that they could not invite either of her sisters to accompany them. She
and Guy had now so much to say to each other, every day more, it seemed,
that it was impossible any longer not to wish to be alone.

"Margaret says we are becoming selfish. Are we?" she asked, dragging her
fingers through the water and perceiving the world through ranks of
fleurs-de-lys.

Guy, from where in the stern he sat hunched over his paddle, asked in
what way they were supposed to be selfish.

"Well, it is true that I'm dreadfully absent-minded all the time. You
know, I can't think about anything but you. Then, you see, we used
always to invite Margaret to be with us, and now we hurry away in the
canoe from everybody."

"One would think we spent all our time together," said Guy, "instead of
barely four hours a week."

"Oh, Guy darling, it's more than that. This is the fourth afternoon
running that we've been together; and we weren't back yesterday till
dinner-time."

Guy put a finger to his mouth.

"Hush! We're coming to the bend in the river that flows round the place
we first met," he whispered. "Hush! if we talk about other people it
will be disenchanted."

He swung the canoe under the bushes, tied it to a hawthorn bough, and
declared triumphantly, as they climbed ashore up the steep bank, that
here was practically a desert island. Then they went to the narrow
entrance and gazed over the meadows, which in this sacred time of
growing grass really were impassable as the sea.

"Not even a cow in sight," Guy commented in well-satisfied tones. "I
shall be sorry when the hay is cut, and people and cattle can come here
again."

"People and cattle! How naughty you are, Guy! As if they were just the
same!"

"Well, practically, you know, as far as we're concerned, ther