ough. How my chatter must have bored you."

"You never bored me in your life, Chicky. In fact, you always seem to
have been a part of my life since I began to live. That event happened
soon after our walk, if I remember rightly. You really seem as much a
part of my life as my right hand, Estelle."

"Well, your right hand can't bore you, certainly."

"Some of the things that it has done have bored me. But let's go to
Chilcombe again--not in the car--but just tramp it as we did before. How
often have you been there since we went?"

She considered.

"Twice, I think. My friends there left ten years ago and my girl friend
died. I haven't been there since I grew up."

"Well, come this afternoon."

"It's going to rain, Ray."

"Since when did rain frighten you?"

"I'd love to come."

"A walk will do me good," he said. "I'm getting jolly lazy."

"So father thinks. He hates motors--says they are going to make the next
generation flabby and good-for-nothing."

They started presently under low grey clouds, but the sky was not grey
for them and the weather of their minds made them forget the poor light
and sad south-west wind laden with rain. It held off until they had
reached Chilcombe chapel, entered the little place of prayer and stood
together before the ancient reredos. The golden-brown wood made a patch
of brightness in the little building. They were looking at it and
recalling Estelle's description of it in the past, when the storm broke
and the rain beat on the white glass in the windows above them.

"How tiny it's all grown," said Estelle. "Surely everything has shrunk?"

They had the chapel to themselves and, sitting beside her in a pew,
Raymond asked her to marry him. Thunder had wakened in the sky, and the
glare of lightning touched their faces now and then. But they only
remembered that afterwards.

"Sally Groves was no more than half right," he said, "so her fame for
wisdom is shaken. She told us we didn't know we loved one another,
Estelle. But I know I love you well enough, and I've been shaking in my
shoes to tell you so for months and months. I knew I was getting too old
every minute and yet couldn't say the word. But I must say it now at any
cost. Chicky, I love you--dearly, dearly I love you--because I'm calm
and steady, that doesn't mean I'm not in a blaze inside. I never thought
of it even while you were growing up. But a time came when I did begin
to think of it like the deuce; and when once