Anthony stared at her. "How did you know?" he said. Miss Strongi'th'arm shrugged her fair shoulders. "What does it matter?" she said. "Let's talk about something else--if you can. Have you thought over what I said? No. I can see you haven't. Well, well.... Have you laughed since we met?" "I--I don't think I have." "Ah.... Why not?" "There's been nothing to laugh at. The work's big--serious." "Wasn't the War serious?" Anthony crossed to the hearth and kicked a log into flame. "I suppose so," he said reluctantly. "Yet you laughed every day." "Yes, but----" "But what?" "The War was different. You can't compare the two. Then you laughed because it was better than crying. Now there's no reason for it. There's no time on your hands. The work's too urgent--too solemn. It's like restoring a cathedral. You don't feel you want to laugh." He swung round and faced her. "There's a religion in the atmosphere; Gramarye's a sort of temple; when you're in the woods, instinctively you lower your voice; there's something sacred about the place; there's----" Miss Strongi'th'arm dropped her cigarette and caught her _vis-à-vis_ by the shoulders. "Don't!" she cried. "Don't! It's all wrong! The place isn't sacred. It's absurd. You're infatuated. Gramarye's getting into your blood. Soon you won't be able to think of anything else. And gradually it'll eat up your life--your splendid, glorious life. I know what I'm talking about. D'you hear? I say I _know_! I've seen one man go under, and now you're going--_you!_" The flame died out of her voice leaving it tender and passionate. "And you're too wonderful a thing, lad; you're too perfect a specimen; you're too strong and gentle ... too honest.... Ah"--her hands slipped from his shoulders and her eyes dropped--"you needn't look so reproachful. I know I'm a rotter. I dropped my crop on purpose the other day, because I wanted to talk to you; and I lied to my mother and said I was dining out to-night, and then came here, because..." Anthony put out an appealing hand. The girl laughed bitterly. "All right. I won't say it." She started feverishly to fasten her coat. "It's about time I was going, isn't it? About time...." In silence Anthony passed with her to the door. There was simply nothing to say. Together they walked to her car, a well-found coupé standing dark and silent upon the wasted track, facing the London road. André opened its door, thrust in a groping hand.... For a moment her fingers hunted. Then two shafts of light leaped from the head-lamps. A second later the near side-lamp showed Anthony how pale was her face.... The lights in the car went up, and André picked up her gloves. Standing with her back to Lyveden, she pulled them on fiercely, but her hands were shaking, and the fastening of the straps was a difficult business.