underneath all those mysterious places was some great being, toiling and
struggling--Life itself, groaning through space with human cogwheels. Up
here one sees too much. Oh, my dear Leonard," she continued, "to think
that you, too, should be one of the devastators!"

He fitted his instrument into its case and replaced it in his pocket.

"Come," he said, "you mustn't call me hard names. I shall remind you of
the man whose works you are making me read. You know what he says--'The
aesthete is, after all, only a dallier. The world lives and progresses
by reason of its utilitarians.' This hill represents to me most of the
things that are worth having in life."

She laughed shortly.

"You will cut down those hedges and drive away the birds to find a fresh
home; you will plough up the green grass, cut out a street and lay
down granite stones. Then I see your ugly little houses coming up like
mushrooms all over the place. You are a vandal, my dear Leonard."

"I am simply obeying the law," he answered. "After all, even from your
own point of view, I do not think that it is so bad. Look closer, and
you will find that the hedges are blackened here and there with smuts.
The birds will find a better dwelling place further away. See how the
smoke from those factory chimneys is sending its smuts across these
fields. They are no longer country; they are better gathered in."

She shivered.

"There is something about life," she said, sadly, "which terrifies me.
Every force that counts seems to be destructive."

Up the steep hill behind them came the puffing and groaning of a small
motor-car. They both turned their heads to watch it come into view.
It was an insignificant affair of an almost extinct pattern, a single
cylinder machine with a round tonneau back. The engine was knocking
badly as the driver brought it to a standstill a few yards away from
them. Involuntarily Tavernake stiffened as he saw the two men who
descended from it, and who were already passing through the gate close
to where they were. One was Mr. Dowling, the other the manager of the
bank where they kept their account. Mr. Dowling recognized his manager
with surprise but much cordiality.

"Dear me!" he exclaimed. "Dear me, this is most fortunate! You know Mr.
Tavernake, of course, Belton? My manager, Mr. Tavernake--Mr. Belton,
of the London & Westminster Bank. I have brought Mr. Belton up here,
Tavernake, to have a look round, so that he may know what we me