The floods went down rapidly during the week; green Summer flung her wreaths before her; the cuckoo sang out of tune, and other birds more rarely; chestnut-blossoms powdered the grass; and the pinks were breaking all along the Rectory borders. These were days when not to idle down the river would have been a slight upon the season. So Pauline and Guy, with their two afternoons a week, which were not long in becoming four, spent all their time in the canoe. The Rectory punt could only be used on the mill-stream; and Pauline rejoiced, if somewhat guiltily, that they could not invite either of her sisters to accompany them. She and Guy had now so much to say to each other, every day more, it seemed, that it was impossible any longer not to wish to be alone. "Margaret says we are becoming selfish. Are we?" she asked, dragging her fingers through the water and perceiving the world through ranks of fleurs-de-lys. Guy, from where in the stern he sat hunched over his paddle, asked in what way they were supposed to be selfish. "Well, it is true that I'm dreadfully absent-minded all the time. You know, I can't think about anything but you. Then, you see, we used always to invite Margaret to be with us, and now we hurry away in the canoe from everybody." "One would think we spent all our time together," said Guy, "instead of barely four hours a week." "Oh, Guy darling, it's more than that. This is the fourth afternoon running that we've been together; and we weren't back yesterday till dinner-time." Guy put a finger to his mouth. "Hush! We're coming to the bend in the river that flows round the place we first met," he whispered. "Hush! if we talk about other people it will be disenchanted." He swung the canoe under the bushes, tied it to a hawthorn bough, and declared triumphantly, as they climbed ashore up the steep bank, that here was practically a desert island. Then they went to the narrow entrance and gazed over the meadows, which in this sacred time of growing grass really were impassable as the sea. "Not even a cow in sight," Guy commented in well-satisfied tones. "I shall be sorry when the hay is cut, and people and cattle can come here again." "People and cattle! How naughty you are, Guy! As if they were just the same!" "Well, practically, you know, as far as we're concerned, there isn't very much difference." For a long while they sat by the edge of the stream in their fragrant seclusion. "Dearest," Pauline sighed, "why can I listen to you all day, and yet whenever anybody else talks to me why do I feel as if I were only half awake?" "Because even when you're not with me," said Guy, "you're still really with me. That's why. You see, you're still listening to me." This was a pleasant explanation; but Pauline was anxious to be reassured about what Margaret had hinted was a deterioration in her character lately. "Perhaps we are a little selfish. But we won't be, when we're married."