"That, to a decent chap, little Mavis would be something of a find, as women go." "You don't think much of women, then?" "What's it my pater's always saying?" "I can tell you: Always learn the value of money and the worthlessness of most women." "Eh!" "Don't look so astonished. It's the advice he gave to Archie Windebank." "I see: and he told you. But the pater's right over that." "How do you know?" "That's telling." Later in the afternoon, at tea, Mavis learned from Perigal much of his life since they had last met. It appeared that he had been to Oxford, to be sent down during his first term; that he had tried (and failed) for Sandhurst; also a variety of occupations, all apparently without success, until his father, angered at some scrape he had got into, had packed him off to Riga, where he had secured some sort of a billet for his son. Finally, in defiance of parental orders, he had left that "beastly hole" and was living at home until his father should turn him out. "Isn't it all rather a pity?" Mavis asked. "All what?" "Your wasted life? And you've had so many good chances." "I've had some fun out of it all. And, after all, what's the use of trying?" "Just think of the thousands who would give their eyes for your chances," she urged. "If their fathers had plenty of money like mine, they'd probably do as I." "Your father wants to see you worthy of it." "I am. I've all sorts of expensive tastes." Later, when they walked in the direction of Melkbridge, it seemed to Mavis as if she were talking to a friend of many years; he seemed to comprehend her so intimately that she felt wholly at home with him. He had changed into his flannel suit, which had been dried before the inn kitchen fire. He walked with his careless stride, his cap thrust into his pocket. Now and again, Mavis found herself glancing at his fair young face, his steely blue eyes, the wind-disturbed curls upon his head. Their way led them past a field carpeted with cowslips. "Oh, look!" she cried, delightedly. "Cowslips! Are you keen on wildflowers?" "They're the only ones I care for." "I only care for artificial ones. Shall I get you some cowslips?" "If you wouldn't mind. We'll both go." They gathered between them a big bunch. Now and again they would race like children for a promising clump. "This bores you awfully," she remarked presently. "I don't believe I've ever been so happy in my life," he replied seriously. "Nonsense!" "A fact. Am I not with you?" Mavis did not reply. "And, again, it's all so natural, you and I being here alone with nature; it's all so wonderful; one can forget the beastly worries of life."