She moved a little, leaving him half the ragged patch of shadow from the sloe-bush under which she sat. She loved woods and shadow and cool, as Justin loved heat and sunshine and open spaces; but unless she had owned, as she would not do, to her one vanity, her delicate skin, she was never allowed more than a sloe-bush for shelter. But today Justin was ready to agree that the sun might be too hot even for him. He dragged himself into the shade and sat beside her, pulling idly at the yellow heads of hawksbit that shone like midget suns in the cropped grass, while he stared out over the wide country that ran down from the bare hot chalk slope into the green valley land, and up again to hill-tops pale as the sky. “Not bad,” he drawled at last, “not half bad! Do _you_ know anything like it?” Laura pronounced judgment. “I don’t believe I’m biassed. The Alps—were the Alps. And I loved the Rhone—and I’ve seen Italy—and I’ve heard Oliver talk about Greece. But all of them—all Europe—is only a setting for England—and England’s only a setting for Kent—and Kent’s only a setting for Brackenhurst. I believe I love Brackenhurst as if it were a person. How I shall ever leave I don’t know!” “Leave it! Leave it! How d’you mean, leave it?” He was irritated. He always disliked even a hint of change: it implied discomfort. He shrank in angry boredom from spring-cleaning, and death, and new acquaintances. Laura laughed. “Oh, not for a year or two. But—dear old Gran’papa!—he’s wonderful, of course. D’you know that he does his mile to the post and back every day still? Will do it. But he’s eighty for all that. Is it hateful of me to think ahead?” Justin gave his thoughtful grunt. “Of course, if the boys helped—cared about Green Gates—we could stay on. But you know what Wilfred and James are. Besides, they’re bound to get married.” He gave her a quick look. But her grave, innocent eyes were fixed on the distant hills. Justin’s grunt was more pronounced than ever. She continued. She enjoyed submitting her simple plans. It was so seldom that Justin was in a listening mood. “Oh, I’ve thought it out. When I have to—I’m going to teach. You know my literature and English are pretty good. I can get a berth at my old school any day. They’ve told me so. Well then, you see—if I have a screw of my own—there’ll be plenty over if we let Green Gates, to take old Mrs. Golding’s lodge at the top of the village. It wouldn’t be fair to uproot Aunt Adela altogether. And then—” triumphantly she set the roofing on her castle-in-the-air, “I can come home for all the holidays. I shall still belong here.” Then, a little anxiously—“Shan’t I, Justin?” He frowned. He did not answer her. Her face fell. “Don’t you——What do you think?” “I’ve never heard such utter rot in my life,” said Justin. He paused. He considered. Then he delivered himself, judgmatically.