At that moment of wistful peace it seemed admirable to undertake the task of making Martin happy. He said shyly: ‘I wonder what made you say you’d marry me.’ ‘Because I’m so fond of you.’ ‘Ah! That’s not quite the same as loving, is it?’ His voice was wistful, but not disappointed. She took his hand. ‘No, Martin, not quite the same.’ He wrung her hand and said cheerfully: ‘Well, it’s something to be going on with. It’s a great deal more than I deserve. Of course I don’t expect you to feel romantic about me. Nobody could feel romantic about me, anyway.’ ‘Oh, I think lots of people could. I’m sure they could,’ she said; and felt suddenly ashamed. For indeed he was a man whom many women might love. What right had she to take him? ‘Well, I don’t want them to,’ he said. ‘Your liking’s more than enough for me.’ ‘Oh, Martin! I promise you, at any rate, I wish I were in love with you.’ ‘Mightn’t that be the first step?’ he said smiling. ‘No, no,’ she answered lightly. ‘I’ve finished with falling in love. I was in love once.’ ‘When?’ ‘Years ago! It doesn’t amuse me. I reject it. Never again....’ She felt her lips start to curl and quiver, and stopped: then added in the same bantering tone: ‘Foolishness. That’s what it is. And as far as you are concerned, it would seem almost incestuous.’ ‘Don’t use horrid words.’ He sat up, amused but startled. ‘Well it would. Not that I disapprove at all of incest, in theory. Yet I must confess my instinct’s against it.’ ‘And so’s mine,’ said Martin firmly. ‘Let’s have no more nonsense.’ He bent forward and dismissed the nonsense with a hearty kiss. That was the last straw. Her mood, stretched finer and finer in the preceding few minutes, snapped. She rolled over away from him and stared into the water. The tiny brilliant green water-plants and cresses grew up from the mud and pebbles and spread their leaflets below the surface in delicate array, motionless as if under glass. Oh, to slip into the water and become something minute and non-sentient, a sort of fresh water amœba, living peacefully among their thin-spun tangle of whitish roots--now at once, before Martin noticed her disappearance! He would peer and peer into the water, with his red anxious face; and all in vain. In the shadow of his face her unimpressive form would be but the more obscured; and, unmoved, she would stare back at him. God!--to go mad, crack-brained, fantastic, happy mad; or to be stretched upon a rack in a physical anguish which precluded thought! ‘Tea-time,’ said Martin. ‘What a good afternoon it’s been.’ In the hall they were met with a telegram for Judith. “_Decided go abroad this week instead of next. Come home to-morrow. Mother._” Mamma had grown restless then, a trifle sooner than you had expected; and sent this peremptory summons. What an undreamed-of godsend! ‘You can’t go to-morrow, Judy,’ said Martin, much upset.