Geoffry realised how little he really cared about it. Christopher was amused at their futile efforts to solve a problem of which they knew nothing, but Patricia was angry, first that she had been betrayed into expressing concern in something of which she was really ignorant, and secondly that neither Christopher nor Geoffry had agreed with her. The matter of the discussion--it arose from the subject of village charities--became of no importance, but the sense of irritation remained with her, and she was unaccountably cross with Christopher. Geoffry's point of view she could ignore, but Christopher's worried her. Geoffry dismissed the whole thing most easily; he did not trouble about Christopher's view, and he thought Patricia's a little queer, but then to him Patricia's views were not Patricia herself. He made the common mistake of divorcing that particular aspect of his lady love with which he was best acquainted from the multitudinous prisms of her womanhood. He would have allowed vaguely that she had "moods," that these overshadowed occasionally the sunny, beautiful girl he loved, but no conception of her as a whole had entered his mind. He was in love with one prism of a complex whole, or rather with one colour of the rainbow itself. This particular truth with regard to Geoffry's estimate of Patricia impressed itself on Christopher with disagreeable persistency during the walk, and renewed that nearly forgotten fear that had come to him during the ride from Milton in the spring. So presently he found himself watching her inner attitude towards her accepted lover in the forbidden way, without sufficient knowledge of what he was actually doing to stop it. Perhaps some subtle appreciation of this in the subconscious realm, roused a like uneasiness and dissatisfaction in Patricia herself. At all events Christopher soon found grounds for no immediate fear and left the future to itself. "Shall we go on?" he suggested, marking how her hands grew white as she pressed them together. She negatived the proposal, imperiously saying they had only just got there and she wanted to rest. "You are getting lazy, Patricia," said her lover gravely. "I warn you, it's the one unpardonable sin in my eyes." "You mistake restlessness for energy," she retorted quickly. "I'm never lazy. Ask Christopher." Geoffry did no such thing. He continued to fling stones at a mark on the lower lip of the chalk pit. "It's fairly hard to distinguish, anyhow," said Christopher, thoughtfully. "There are people who call Nevil lazy, whereas he isn't. He only takes all his leisure in one draught." "Oh, I don't know. It's simple enough, isn't it? I never feel lazy so long as I'm doing something--moving about." Geoffry jumped down into the little white pit as he spoke, as if to demonstrate his remark. Patricia looked scornful. "So long as your are restless, you mean," she said.