The enchantment of it hung about her still, expressing itself in the gleam of her eyes and in her restlessness. "It's been a very delightful one," he leaned down and whispered to her. "It's given us something to look back on always." "Yes, a great thing to look back on. But even more to look forward to. It's told us what life is going to be, Grantley. And to think that life used to mean only that!" She waved her hand towards Milldean. Grantley laughed in sheer enjoyment of her. Amusement mingled with his admiration. His balance had quite come back to him. A review of the afternoon, of their wild ride, made him give part of his amusement to his own share in the proceedings. But who expects a man, or need expect himself, to be wise when he is in love? If there be a chartered season for sweet folly, it is there. "Can we always be careering over the downs in the teeth of the wind, riding into the gold, Sibylla?" he asked her in affectionate mockery. She looked up at him, answering simply: "Why not?" He shook his head with a whimsical smile. "Whatever else there is, our hearts can be riding together still." "And when we're old folks? Isn't it only the young who can ride like that?" She stood silent for a moment or two. Then she turned her eyes up to his in silence still, with the colour shining bright on her cheeks. She took his hand and kissed it. He knew the thought that his words had called into her mind. He had made the girl think that, when they were old, the world would not be; there would be young hearts still to ride, young hearts in whom their hearts should be carried still in the glorious gallop, young hearts which had drawn life from them. They parted at the gate of Old Mill House. Grantley urged her to come up to his house in the evening and bring Jeremy with her, and laughed again when she said, "Bring Jeremy?" She was confused at the hint in his laughter, but she laughed too. Then growing grave, she went on: "No, I won't come to-night. I won't see you again to-night. I want to realise it, to think it all over." "Is it so complicated as that? You're looking very serious!" She broke into a fresh laugh, a laugh of joyful confession. "No, I don't want to think it over. I really want to live it over, to live it over alone, many, many times. To be alone with you again up on the downs there." "Very well. Send Jeremy up. By now he must be dying for an argument; and he's probably not on speaking terms with Mrs. Mumple." He gave her his hand; any warmer farewell there in the village street was quite against his ways and notions. He observed a questioning look in her eyes, but it did not occur to him that she was rather surprised at his wanting Jeremy to come up after dinner. She did not propose to spend any time with Jeremy. "I'll tell him you want him," she said; and added in a whisper, "Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye!"