"Laugh, my sweet, sweet heart," he said. "It was your laugh I heard before I ever heard your voice, that night when I stood and looked at you and Margaret as if you were two silver people who had fallen down from the moon." Again she sprinkled him, laughing, and again he seized her hand and kissed her dabbled fingers. "They're as cool as coral," he said. "Why are you wrinkling your nose at me? Pauline, your eyes have vanished away!" He plucked speedwell flowers and threw them into her lap. "When I haven't got you with me," he said, "I have to pretend that the speedwells are your eyes, and that the dog-roses are your cheeks." "And what is my nose?" she asked, clapping her hands because she was sure he would not be able to think of any likeness. "Your nose is incomparable," he told her, and then he bent to his paddle and made the canoe fly along so that the water fluted to right and left of the bows. Ultimately they came to an island where all the afternoon they sat under a willow that was pluming with scanty shade a thousand forget-me-nots. Problems faded out upon the languid air, for Pauline was too well content with Guy's company to spoil the June peace. At last, however, she disengaged herself from his caressing arm and turned to him a serious and puzzled face. And when she was asking her question she knew how all the afternoon it had been fretting the back of her mind. "Why was Mother angry with me yesterday because I came into Plashers Mead to say good night to you?" "Was she angry?" asked Guy. "Well, Monica saw us and got home before me and told her, and she was worried at what people would think. What would they think?" Guy looked at her; then he shook his fist at the sky. "Oh, God, why must people try...." She touched his arm. "Guy, don't swear. At least not.... You'll call me superstitious and foolish," she murmured, dismayfully, "but really it hurts me to hear you say that." "I don't think you anything but the most lovely and perfect thing on earth," he vowed, passionately. "And it drives me mad that people should try to spoil your naturalness ... but still ... it was thoughtless of me." "But why, why?" she asked. "That's the word Mother used about you. Only why, why? Why shouldn't I go and say good night?" "Dear, there was no harm in that. But, you see, village people might say horrible things.... I was dreadfully to blame. Yes, of course I was." She flushed like a carnation at dawn; and when Guy put his arm around her she drew away. "Oh, Guy," she said, brokenly, "I can't bear to think of being alone to-night. I shall be asking questions all the night long; I know I shall. It's like that horrid mill-pool." "Mill-pool?" he echoed, looking at her in perplexity. She sighed and stared sadly down at the forget-me-nots. "You wouldn't understand; you'd think I was hysterical and stupid." Silently they left the island, and silently for some time they floated down the stream; then Pauline tossed her head bravely.