n, a drive to Seascale, an hour or two of
rest, and then one more quiet talk by the sea at nightfall.'

'All but the last. I shall be too tired.'

'No. I must have that hour of talk by the sea. You are free to answer
me or not, but your presence you must grant me. We are in an ideal
world remember. We care nothing for all the sons and daughters of men.
You and I will spend this one day together between cloudless heaven and
silent earth--a memory for lifetime. At nightfall you will come out
again, and meet me down by the sea, where you stood when I first saw
you yesterday.'

Rhoda made no reply. She looked away from him at the black, deep water.

'What an opportunity,' he went on, raising his hand to point at the
cottage, 'for saying the silliest of conceivable things!'

'What _might_ that be, I wonder?'

'Why, that to dwell there together for the rest of our lives would be
supreme felicity. You know the kind of man that would say that.'

'Not personally, thank goodness!'

'A week--a month, even--with weather such as this. Nay, with a storm
for variety; clouds from the top of Scawfell falling thick about us; a
fierce wind shrieking across the tarn; sheets and torrents and floods
of rain beating upon our roof; and you and I by the peat-fire. With a
good supply of books, old and new, I can picture it for three months,
for half a year!'

'Be on your guard. Remember "that kind of man".'

'I am in no danger. There is a vast difference between six months and
all one's life. When the half-year was over we would leave England.'

'By the Orient Express?'

They laughed together, Rhoda colouring, for the words that had escaped
her meant too much for mere jest.

'By the Orient Express. We would have a house by the Bosphorus for the
next half-year, and contrast our emotions with those we had known by
Burmoor Tarn. Think what a rich year of life that would make! How much
we should have learnt from nature and from each other!'

'And how dreadfully tired of each other we should be!'

Barfoot looked keenly at her. He could not with certainty read her
countenance.

'You mean that?' he asked.

'You know it is true.'

'Hush! The day is to be perfect. I won't admit that we could ever tire
of each other with reasonable variety of circumstance. You to me are
infinitely interesting, and I believe that I might become so to you.'

He did not allow himself to vary from this tone of fanciful
speculation, suited to the idle h