She said, resignedly, "Let's walk on," and they walked on down the narrow path between the thickening clumps of arbutus; this time he led, his head turned over his shoulder to watch her as she followed. He began again (without alarm, it seemed): "You won't marry me, then?" She was a little reassured by the cheerfulness in that husky boyish voice. She had flung cold water, then, to some purpose? He was ready to listen to reason. "My dear boy, my dear child!" she exclaimed, laughing more naturally. "You weren't _born_ when I'd been living for years and years. I was growing up and married when you were running about that paddock at home in a jersey suit. I'd been round the world when you were going to public school. Marry you? I shouldn't dream for one instant of such a thing. Not for one single instant." "Just because of _ages_?" he tossed back over that wide shoulder as they went. "Is that all?" "Isn't that more than enough?" "What, just because you've lived in this world more years than I have? Eaten more breakfasts and dinners? Had time to wear out more pairs of shoes?" the boy took up quite gaily. He pushed aside a bush that straggled right across her path, offering his bouquet of white lily-of-the-valley-like flowers, growing on the same bough as the berries of scarlet and orange. Arbutus! She knew she would never see the plant again without being reminded of this hour. To her and to these others here with her it would always mean "that time at Les Pins...." He broke off a spray, held it towards her. "Look, you're like that," he told her, more softly, and for the first time rather bashfully. "I was thinking so yesterday, in the woods. You may have been grown-up, and--and have known things and all that; that's ripeness and fruit, I suppose.... Yes; but, at the same time, you kept on being ... white flowers, and buds...." She shook her head, silently refusing the flattery that she knew was meant sincerely. But she took the spray from his hand, tucked it into her brown coat (tucking in as well an end of Olwen's pink ribbon that had escaped again). The look of joyous mastery flashed into his eyes. He went on, fondly teasing, "Come to that, I've seen and done more things than you have in all that long, long life you talk so much about. I've been _up_ further, anyway, haven't I?" He tilted his crested head towards the pine-tops. "And _you've_ never crashed down a mile and a half from the clouds; now, have you?" "Ah----" she said, and checked a little shiver. The sun had set now; it was growing dark under the trees. "Let's walk faster," said Mrs. Cartwright, hurriedly. "Let's get in. And--we won't talk about all that any more." He said nothing. His whole heart was filled with the utterly boyish, utterly obstinate Will-to-Get. CHAPTER X DIVAGATIONS OF THE CHARM "There's a girl wanted there, there's a girl wanted there, And he don't care if she's dark or fair, There's a nice little home that she's wanted to share."