To fill your pockets," said Crocker, "is n't the main thing. One has
just got to do things without thinking of why we do them."

"Do you ever see the other side to any question?" asked Shelton. "I
suppose not. You always begin to act before you stop thinking, don't
you?"

Crocker grinned.

"He's a Pharisee, too," thought Shelton, "without a Pharisee's pride.
Queer thing that!"

After walking some distance, as if thinking deeply, Crocker chuckled
out:

"You 're not consistent; you ought to be in favour of giving up India."

Shelton smiled uneasily.

"Why should n't we fill our pockets? I only object to the humbug that we
talk."

The Indian civilian put his hand shyly through his arm.

"If I thought like you," he said, "I could n't stay another day in
India."

And to this Shelton made no reply.

The wind had now begun to drop, and something of the morning's magic was
stealing again upon the moor. They were nearing the outskirt fields of
cultivation. It was past five when, dropping from the level of the tors,
they came into the sunny vale of Monkland.

"They say," said Crocker, reading from his guide-book--"they say this
place occupies a position of unique isolation."

The two travellers, in tranquil solitude, took their seats under an old
lime-tree on the village green. The smoke of their pipes, the sleepy
air, the warmth from the baked ground, the constant hum, made Shelton
drowsy.

"Do you remember," his companion asked, "those 'jaws' you used to have
with Busgate and old Halidome in my rooms on Sunday evenings? How is old
Halidome?"

"Married," replied Shelton.

Crocker sighed. "And are you?" he asked.

"Not yet," said Shelton grimly; "I 'm--engaged."

Crocker took hold of his arm above the elbow, and, squeezing it, he
grunted. Shelton had not received congratulations that pleased him more;
there was the spice of envy in them.

"I should like to get married while I 'm home," said the civilian after
a long pause. His legs were stretched apart, throwing shadows on the
green, his hands deep thrust into his pockets, his head a little to one
side. An absent-minded smile played round his mouth.

The sun had sunk behind a tor, but the warmth kept rising from the
ground, and the sweet-briar on a cottage bathed them with its spicy
perfume. From the converging lanes figures passed now and then, lounged
by, staring at the strangers, gossiping amongst themselves, and vanished
into the cottages that head