He made a quick gesture of protest. "Do you? Oh, I know a better name than that. But you don't want to hear it. I believe you are afraid of me. It sounds preposterous. But I believe you are." Her hand stirred within his, but not as though seeking to escape. "No, I don't think so," she said, and in her voice was a sound as if laughter and tears were striving together for the mastery. "But I'm trying--so dreadfully hard--to be--discreet. I don't want you to let yourself go too far. It's so difficult--you don't know how difficult it is--to get back afterwards." "Good heavens!" he said. "Don't you realize that I passed the turning-back stage long ago." "Oh, I hope not!" she said quickly. "I hope not!" "Then I am afraid you are doomed to disappointment," he said, with a touch of cynicism. "But I am sure you are far too sensible--discreet, I mean--to let that worry you. And anyway," he smiled abruptly, "I don't want you to be worried--just when you're having such a jolly time at the Court too." "You're very sarcastic," said Juliet. He laughed a little. "No. That's not me. It's only the armour in which I encase myself. I hope it doesn't offend you. I can always take it off. Only--I am not sure you'd like that any better." He won his point. She smiled, though somewhat dubiously. And at length her hand gently freed itself from his. "Well, I don't like hurting people," she said. "And I don't want to hurt you. You understand that, don't you?" There was pleading in her words. "Yes, perfectly," he said. She glanced at him, for his tone was baffling. "And you don't think me--quite heartless?" He bent towards her. "No," he said, and though he smiled as in duty bound she caught a deep throb in his voice that pierced straight through her. "I love you all the better for it." Then, before she could find words to protest, "I say, I believe it's left off raining. Hadn't we better go while we can?" She turned to look. A pale light was shining from the western sky. The storm was over. The raindrops glittered in the growing radiance. The whole earth seemed transformed. "Yes, let us go!" she said, and stepped down into a world of crystal clearness. He followed her, his face uplifted to the scattering drops, moving with a free and faun-like spring that seemed to mark him as a being closely allied to Nature, curiously vital yet also curiously self-restrained. She did not look at him again, but as they passed together through the wonderland which with every moment was growing to a more amazing brightness, she told herself that there was little of midsummer madness about this man's emotions. Jest as he might, she knew by instinct that he was vitally in earnest and she had a strange conviction that it was for the first time in his life. The certainty disquited her. Had she fled from one danger to another--she who only asked for peace?