Their eyes met and she said hastily, with seeming desire to change the subject: 'So you're a Londoner born and bred, and yet you'd like to live in the country.' 'Only for my painting. I love London, but you can't paint landscapes in London.' 'I wonder why not. You said you loved this park. There's nothing more beautiful in the country--those trees, this quiet, misty lake; it is exquisite, and yet I suppose it wouldn't make a picture.' 'I don't know. I've often thought of trying to do something with it. But what's beautiful to look at doesn't do well in a picture. The hills and dales in the Green Park are perfect--their artificiality is their beauty. There's one bit that I like especially.' 'Which is that?' 'The bit by Buckingham Palace where the sheep feed; the trees there are beautiful, large spreading trees, and they give the place a false air of Arcady. But in a picture it wouldn't do.' 'Why?' 'I can't say. I don't think it would mean much if it were painted.' 'You couldn't have a shepherd, or if you had he'd have to be cross- gartered, and his lady-love in flowery silk would have to be sitting on a bank, and there is not a bank there, you'd have to invent one.' 'That's it; the park is eighteenth century, a comedy of the restoration.' 'But why couldn't you paint that?' said Mildred, pointing to where a beautiful building passed across the vista. 'I suppose one ought to be able to. The turrets in the distance are fine. But no, it wouldn't make a picture. The landscape painter never will be able to do much with London. He'll have to live in the country, and if he can't afford to do that he'd better turn it up.' 'Elsie Laurence and Cissy Clive are going to France soon. They say that's the only place to study. In the summer they're going to a place called Barbizon, near Fontainebleau. I was thinking of going with them.' 'Were you? I wish I were going. Especially to Barbizon. The country would suit me.' Mildred longed to say, 'I shall be glad if you'll let me lend you the money,' but she didn't dare. At the end of a long silence, Ralph said: 'I think we'd better be going on. It must be nearly ten.' V. As the spring advanced they spent more and more time in the park. They learnt to know it in its slightest aspects; they anticipated each bend of the lake's bank; they looked out for the tall trees at the end of the island, and often thought of the tree that leaned until its lower leaves swept the water's edge. Close to this tree was their favourite seat. And, as they sat by the water's edge in the vaporous afternoons, the park seemed part and parcel of their love of each other; it was their refuge; it was only there that they were alone; the park was a relief from the promiscuity of the galleries. In the park they could talk without fear of being overheard, and they took interest in the changes that spring was effecting in this beautiful friendly nature-- their friend and their accomplice.