‘Oh, good,’ said Martin surprisingly; and his shy red face smiled at her. ‘Of course you must,’ said Mariella cheerfully. ‘We’re just going to eat now. Where’s Roddy?’ ‘He stayed down at the boathouse. He said he’d come soon.’ ‘He’d better,’ said Julian, and turning to Judith explained politely: ‘What with poor Martin having to build himself up so, experience has proved it’s wiser to be punctual.’ ‘I’ll go and fetch him,’ said Judith, to her own surprise. She left them amicably wrestling, and escaped light-heartedly into the garden. The cool air refreshed her brain, shaken and excited from its contact with Julian; and she walked slowly to the boathouse by the shrubbery path, sniffing as she went at wild cherry, japonica, almond and plum. It was joy to look for and recognize afresh the beauties of the garden; its unforgotten corners,--places of childish enchantment. Somewhere near, under the laurel, was the rabbit’s grave. She remembered that evening, how she had been shaken with revelation. This was just such another mysterious and poignant fall of the light: anything might happen. Her senses were so overstrung that the slightest physical impression hit her sharply, with a shock. There on the raft was the curious young man Roddy. He raised his head from the examination of an old red-painted canoe, and smiled when he saw her. ‘I’m sent to say supper’s ready.’ ‘Thank you very much. I’ll come.’ ‘I’m staying to supper.’ She smiled radiantly at him, sure of herself and full of an immense amusement. ‘I’m delighted.’ His golden-brown eyes sent her their clear and shallow light. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Seeing if this old canoe is sea-worthy. You see, there’s a leak, but I don’t _think_ it’s anything much. I’ll leave her in the water over-night. I want to rig her up with a sail.’ He stroked the canoe lovingly. ‘You like going in boats, don’t you?’ ‘I suppose I do rather.’ ‘I like it too. Especially at night.’ But he would not give himself away. She saw him slipping down the stream, alone in his canoe, the night before, but she was not to know it, she could not say: ‘I saw you.’ He bent over his canoe, fingering the wood, then straightened himself and stood looking down the long willow-bordered stretch of water. The sun had gone out of it and it was a quiet grey limpid solitude. A white owl flew over, swooping suddenly low. ‘There he goes,’ said Roddy softly. ‘He goes every evening.’ ‘Yes, I know.’