s agony to do so, without running to a woman's arms for
comfort. He was ashamed of his cowardice of the winter. Upon the
hillside with the exhilaration of autumn in his blood it seemed so easy
to face things and be resolute. This love! It was like religion, just
Funk. Then he paused, angry with himself. He was erring as much on
the one side as he had lately erred on the other. He could understand
passionate desire: he could understand sentimentality, for he had not
forgotten Lawrence's defence of The Little Grey Home. But this
Love--of which one heard and read--what was it? Perhaps some day...
He surrendered to his visions ... and he would come back with her to a
good house in Devon, very square and grey, with smooth lawns and
paddocks and covert-clad hills behind. There would he become an
initiate in the avuncular mystery of Ham and Eggs. That religion at
least he had it in him to respect.

Rendell and Lawrence were coming up the hill; they had been together
for a week at Seatoller, renewing last year's successful holiday, and
to-morrow they were to separate. It was the last reunion, for Martin
was to sail next month. The other two had stayed in after lunch to
answer letters: Martin was to await them on the hill and then they
would walk.

As he watched them plodding up to him his mind wandered to the future.
When they reached him they were out of breath and demanded a moment's
rest before they moved on. They lay in silence, basking in the strong
October sun.

"I've been thinking," exclaimed Martin suddenly.

"Good," said Rendell. "Let's have it."

"It's about this India business. I think I'm glad on the whole."

"Well, I've had a year of the city," muttered Lawrence, "and I don't
recommend it."

"After all, it's doing something," Martin went on. "Good or bad, it's
action, administration, government of a sort. If I stayed in London, I
would find it jolly hard to work: I'd probably do as the rest, just
loaf."

"Thank you," said Rendell.

"I wasn't alluding to you. You haven't the talent for loafing, and I
think I have, in a mild kind of way. It won't be bad for me to desert
the world of conversations and ideas."

The other two remained silent, gazing at the wonderful valley below.
Martin wished they would speak. He did not know whether he really
believed in what he was saying or whether he was trying to believe in
it because there was comfort in such faith. If only one of them would
co