Rupert sighed. He almost wished he had never left the moorlands. His father had doubtless sent him to London to make a gentleman of him with the best intentions in the world. But it was a mistake. They were moorland folk. The land belonged to them and they to the land. He was not suited to the city or the ways of the men who dwelt in it. A mirthless laugh escaped his lips, and Marjorie looked at him and laid her hand on his. "What’s the matter, Rupert? You’re not worried, are you, dear." "Oh, he’s in love, that’s all," Despard grinned. And he looked at Marjorie. "I suppose you’ve never been in love, Miss Dale, so you can’t sympathise with that blessed but unhappy frame of mind." They watched the course of the Cherry Brook as it wound in and out, to and fro, making a complete circle here, almost a triangle there, finally disappearing behind the ridge of hill. There was a wistful look in Marjorie’s eyes. "I think I’ve always been in love—in love with life. I suppose that sounds stupid, or sentimental, to you." "Life will fall in love with you one day, and be revenged." She shook her head. "For a woman life is love, and love is life. For a man I suppose it consists of fighting.... She gives life, he takes it." "Rather a queer point of view," Despard laughed. "But life is queer, isn’t it?" she answered gravely. "If all one reads is true. The greatest nations are the most densely populated, where all the men bear arms—and the women bear children that the men who are killed may be replaced! It does seem a waste, but I suppose one day we shall find something better to do." "Let’s get on," Despard suggested. "You’ve got a pretty stiff hill to tackle. And I’m a town bird, remember, and can’t go the pace you can." He rather wished that Rupert had stayed at home so that he could have had a _tête-à-tête_ with Marjorie. Rupert did not seem inclined to take the hint he had given him the previous evening; possibly he knew his reputation with women too well to trust him. To Despard, Marjorie Dale was unique, and her beauty refreshing after the faded and painted women he knew in London. She was a strange mixture of innocence and fearlessness which appealed to him strongly. The fact that he could not understand her was an added attraction. Not an easy woman to make love to, and he knew she would be a very difficult woman to win. For the moment he only wanted to amuse himself, but to do that with any measure of safety or success he knew he would have to superficially play the game. That was why he had hinted to Rupert that he was falling in love with Marjorie. They reached the prison gates just before mid-day. The town itself lay a little distance beyond, with a couple of hotels and a little railway station, and quite a good sprinkling of shops. The two men agreed to meet Marjorie an hour later, and Despard insisted on lunching at the principal hotel.