He stepped into the boat and sat down beside her. "I want to know--I must know," he said. She looked at him and smiled. "All right, old man," she said. "Fire away." "I told you once that I was frightened of you," said Thrale. "I want to know if you have ever been frightened of yourself--or of me?" "I could never be frightened of you," she replied, and looked away towards the rising darkness of the shadows across the hurrying river, "and I haven't been afraid of myself--yet. I don't think----" "Wouldn't you be frightened of me if I picked you up and ran shouting into the woods?" he asked, fiercely. Her eyes met his without reserve. "Dear old man," she said. "I should love it. I'm so glad you understand. That was the one thing that prevented our being real friends. I've wanted so much to be frank and open with you. It's all these silly reserves that make love abominable. Now we can be two jolly, clean human beings who understand each other, can't we? And we shall be such ripping good friends always; quite open and honest with each other." He drew a deep, sighing breath and put his arms round her, drew her close to him and laid his face against hers. "I've been such an awful ass," he said. "I've always thought that love was unclean. I've been like that Jenkyn woman. I've been prurient and suspicious and evil-minded. I've been like the people who cover up statues. But there was an excuse for me--and for them, too. I didn't know, because there was no woman like you to teach me. All the women I've known have been secretive and sly. They've fouled love for me by making it seem a hidden, disreputable thing. Oh! we shall be ripping good friends, little Eileen--magnificent friends." "This is a jolly old boat, isn't it?" replied Eileen, inconsequently. "Don't smother me, old man. And, I say, do you think we'll be able to raid some soap from somewhere? Do look at my hands! You couldn't be friends with a chap who had hands like that!" ... "There's one thing I'd like to remark," said Eileen the next morning. There had been a frost in the night, and there was every promise of an easy ride back to Marlow. "Yes?" said Thrale, examining the deflated tyres of two bicycles they had chosen from a shop in the High Street. "We'd never have understood each other so well if we hadn't worked together on the same job," said Eileen. "Well, of course not," returned Thrale. His tone seemed to imply that she had stated a truth that must always have been obvious to sensible people. "That and there being no footle about marriage," concluded Eileen. 4 A third factor that had contributed to the perfection of that complete understanding was not realized by either until they were descending the hill into Bisham. "I rather wish we weren't going back," said Eileen. "Let's stop a moment. I want to talk. We've never thought of what we're going to do."