Wychford down saw them, and the water-meadows of the western valley. The road to Fairfield knew their footsteps, and they even went to tea with Mr. and Mrs. Ford, who talked of Richard out in India and bemoaned the inferiority of their garden to the Rector's. They wandered by treeless roads that led to the hills, and to the grassy solitudes that seemed made to be walked over hand in hand. Once they went as far as the forest of Wych, a wild woodland that lay remote from any village and where along the glades myriads of primroses stared at them. Yet, though that day had seemed to Pauline almost more delicately fair than any of their days, it ended dismally with April in black misfeature, and before they reached home they were wet through. By ill luck her mother met her just as she was hurrying up to her room. "Pauline," she said with a good deal of agitation. "I must forbid these walks with Guy every day. Wet to the skin! Oh dear, how careless of him to take you so far. You must be reasonable and unselfish. It's so difficult for me. Father asked where you were this afternoon, and I had to pretend to be deaf. He notices more than you think. Now really Guy must not come for a week, and there must be no more walks." Guy however came the next afternoon, and not only was he reproved by Mrs. Grey for yesterday's disaster, but actually he and Pauline were only allowed a quarter of an hour together in the garden. "I'll go into Oxford for a week," said Guy with inspiration. "And then we shan't be tempted to see each other this week, and if we don't see each other this week, perhaps next week we shall be able to go out again. Besides, I want to make arrangements about bringing the canoe down. My friend Fane has wired to me to go and stay with him. He's up for the Easter vac, working. Shall I go?" Pauline wanted to say no, but she was even after all these walks still too shy to bid him stay. "Perhaps you'd better go," she agreed. "But Guy, come back for my birthday." "As if I should stay away for that! Pauline, will you write to me? At least in letters you won't be shy to say you love me." "Oh, no, Guy, no. My writing is so horrid." "But you must write. Pauline, if you want to know why I'm really going away, it's simply to have a letter from you." "You must write to me first then," she whispered. In truth Pauline felt terrified to think how she would even begin a letter to Guy. He would cease to love her any more after she had written to him. He would hate her stupid letters. "I shall be glad to see Michael again," said Guy. "But I suppose I must not say anything about you. No, I won't talk about you. Oxford will be wonderfully quiet without undergraduates, and I shall have letters from you." Mrs. Grey came out into the garden. "Now, Guy, I think you ought to go. Because really the Rector is getting worried about you and Pauline." "I'm going into Oxford, Mrs. Grey." "Well, that is a charming idea--charming, yes."