The coming to her was a crescendo of poetical desire, the sight of her a climax, and then—an accumulation of irritations. He had thought being with her would be pure delight, and as they went over the down straying after the Bowles and the Geedges towards the Redlake Hotel he already found himself rather urgently asking her to marry him and being annoyed by what he regarded as her evasiveness. He walked along with the restrained movement of a decent Englishman; he seemed as it were to gesticulate only through his clenched teeth, and she floated beside him, in a wonderful blue dress that with a wonderful foresight she had planned for breezy uplands on the basis of Botticelli’s _Primavera_. He was urging her to marry him soon; he needed her, he could not live in peace without her. It was not at all what he had come to say; he could not recollect that he had come to say anything, but now that he was with her it was the only thing he could find to say to her. “But, my dearest boy,” she said, “how are we to marry? What is to become of _your_ career and _my_ career?” “I’ve _left_ my career!” cried Captain Douglas with the first clear note of irritation in his voice. “Oh! don’t let us quarrel,” she cried. “Don’t let us talk of all those _distant_ things. Let us be happy. Let us enjoy just this lovely day and the sunshine and the freshness and the beauty.... Because you know we are snatching these days. We have so few days together. Each—each must be a gem.... Look, dear, how the breeze sweeps through these tall dry stems that stick up everywhere—low broad ripples.” She was a perfect work of art, abolishing time and obligations. For a time they walked in silence. Then Captain Douglas said, “All very well—beauty and all that—but a fellow likes to know where he is.” She did not answer immediately, and then she said, “I believe you are angry because you have come away from France.” “Not a bit of it,” said the Captain stoutly. “I’d come away from anywhere to be with you.” “I wonder,” she said. “Well,—haven’t I?” “I wonder if you ever are with me.... Oh!—I know you _want_ me. I know you desire me. But the real thing, the happiness,—love. What is anything to love—anything at all?” In this strain they continued until their footsteps led them through the shelter of a group of beeches. And there the gallant captain sought expression in deeds. He kissed her hands, he sought her lips. She resisted softly. “No,” she said, “only if you love me with all your heart.” Then suddenly, wonderfully, conqueringly she yielded him her lips. “Oh!” she sighed presently, “if only you understood.” And leaving speech at that enigma she kissed again.... But you see now how difficult it was under these mystically loving conditions to introduce the idea of a prompt examination and dispatch of Bealby. Already these days were consecrated.... And then you see Bealby vanished—going seaward....