Mrs. Walford thought that the visit to Arques would be "very jolly," and the excursion was made about a week later. Kent found the girl's concurrence in his enthusiasm as pretty as he had promised himself it would be, and when they had escaped from the information of the gardien and wandered where they chose to go, the chaperon was the only blot upon perfection. Perhaps she realised the influence of the scene, though her choice of adjectives was not happy--the explorations "made her tired" before long. Since the others were so indefatigable, they "might explore while she rested!" It was, as Kent had said, intensely still. The practical obtruding itself for a moment, he thought how blessed it would be to work here, where doors could never slam and the yells of children were unknown. They mounted a hillock and looked across the endless landscape silently. In the dungeons under their feet lay dead men's bones, but such facts concerned him little now. Far away some cattle--or were they deer?--browsed sleepily under the ponderous trees. Of what consequence if they were cattle or deer? Still further, where the blue sky dipped and the woodland rose, a line of light glinted like water. Perhaps it was water, and if not, what matter? It was the kingdom of imagination; deer, water, fame, or love--the Earth was what he pleased! Among the crumbling walls the girl's frock fluttered charmingly; his eyes left the landscape and sought her face. "It's divine!" she said. He could not disguise from himself that life without her would be unendurable. "I knew you'd like it," he said unsteadily. She regarded the questionable cattle again; his tone had said much more. Kent stood beside her in a pause in which he believed that he struggled. He felt that she was unattainable; but there was an intoxication in the moment that he was not strong enough to resist. He touched her hand, and, his hear! pounding, met her gaze as she turned. "Cynthia!" he said in his throat. The colour left her cheeks, and her head drooped. "Are you angry with me?" She was eminently graceful in the attitude. "I love you," he said--"I love you. What shall I say besides? I love you!" She looked slowly up, and blinded him with a smile. Its newness jumped and quivered through his nerves. "Cynthia! Can you care for me?" "Perhaps," she whispered. He was alone with her in Elysium; Adam and Eve were not more secure from human observation when they kissed under the apple tree. He drew nearer to her--her eyes permitted. In a miracle he had clasped a goddess, and he would not have been aware of it if all the pins of Birmingham had been concealed about her toilette to protest. Presently she said: "We must go back to mamma!" He had forgotten that she had one, and the recollection was a descent. "What will she say?" he asked. "I'm not a millionaire, dearest; I am afraid she won't be pleased." "I'll tell her when we get home. Oh, mamma likes you!"