‘It’s a pity really that we----’ She stopped, remembering that she was going to marry Martin--on the verge of finishing her sentence:--“that we met again after we grew up.” Their relationship should have remained unspoilt in the mysterious enchantment of childhood, and then she would never have seen Roddy grow from that lovable small boy into the elegant indifferent young man who experimented in sensations. No more lightning; and the rain came softly on to her face through the open wind-screen, blurring eyes and mind and all, until she sank into a half-sleep. Martin clasped her hard against his shoulder, once, as who should say: “Sleep. I am here;” and she felt his enormous protectiveness flowing over her. When next she opened her eyes, the darkness was taking back first one veil, then another. Purple paled to lilac and lilac wasted to grey. The sky was immaculate and without a glow. The country-side woke from sleep, gently staring and austere, each object upon it separately outlined without interrelation of colour and shadow under the uniform wan light. On the far horizon, a cornfield flashed out one moment in a pale flood of sunlight; but the sun was still hidden. The hedges frothed palely with meadowsweet. Soon came the beech woods crowning the chalk hills. In the valley below ran the river, blanched and rain-flattened between its willows; and the road sloped gently down till it ran beside it. They were home. Stiff and blinking, she stumbled out of the car, and stood on the steps of the porch. ‘Thank you, Martin. It was marvellous. I hoped we should never get here. I thought we wouldn’t--I don’t know why. I got it into my head you’d manage a quiet smash without my noticing it. Everything I passed I said good-bye to--looking my last on all things lovely; and when I finally dropped off to sleep I thought I’d never wake up. And after all you brought me safe home, clever boy. I _suppose_ I’m grateful. But what an effort to have to start again in an hour or two!’ He did not answer at once; but after a few moments of fingering his hat looked away and said: ‘Are you _very_ unhappy, Judith?’ ‘Well--not very, I suppose. Rather. Not more than’s good for me. I shall get over it.... I’m so sleepy I don’t know what I’m saying. Don’t take any notice.’ ‘I thought you weren’t happy----’ He stopped, overcome. ‘It’s all right, Martin. Don’t you worry. I laugh at myself. How I laugh at myself!’ ‘Can’t you tell me what it’s about?’ he said gruffly. ‘I don’t believe I can.’ He turned away and leaned despondently against the porch. The sky was glowing now through all its length and breadth, like the inside of a shell. The dew shimmered over the grass and the greyish roses reddened, yellowed on their bushes. The birds bedazed the air with wild crystalline urgent repetition. ‘You go in a day or two,’ he said at last. ‘Yes. And you?’ ‘I join Roddy next week.’