“Sit down. There is a seat here in the porch. I thought you would like it. There is something pleasant in the idea of sitting at the doorway of one’s home.” “And growing old and watching the oak mellowing. They have left their petrol and shavings here.” “I’ll dispose of them presently.” His hands touched hers by accident, but her fingers did not avoid his. “I did not know that the cottage was to be the victim. I only found out just at the last. How did you happen to be here?” “Sit down, dear, and I will tell you.” The quiet tenderness had come back into his voice. He was the comrade, the lover, the father of Lynette, the self-master, the teller of fairy stories, the maker of droll rhymes. Eve had no fear of him. His nearness gave her a mysterious sense of peace. “What a comfortable seat!” “Just free of the south-west wind. You could read and work here.” She sighed wistfully. “Yes, I shall work here.” Neither of them spoke of surrender, or hinted at the obvious accomplishment of an ideal. Their subtle understanding of each other seemed part of the darkness, something that enveloped them, and did not need to be defined. Eve’s hand lay against Canterton’s on the oak seat. The lightest of touches was sufficient. She was learning that the light, delicate touches, the most sensitive vibrations, are the things that count in life. “How did you happen to be here?” “You had given me a warning, and I came to guard the most precious part of my property.” “And you were listening? You heard?” “Oh, everything, especially that wild cat’s tin-plate voice. What of the great movement?” She gave a subtle little laugh. “I had just found out how impossible they are. I had been realising it slowly. Directly I got back into the country my old self seemed to return.” “And you did not harmonise with the other—ladies?” “No. They did not seem to have any senses, whereas I felt part of the green stuff of the earth, and not a bit of grit under Nature’s big toe.” “That’s good. You can laugh again.” “Yes, and more kindly, even at those two enthusiasts, one of whom tried to break my arm.” “I’m afraid I handled her rather roughly; but people who appeal to violence must be answered with violence.” “Lizzie Straker always came in for the rough treatment. She couldn’t talk to a crowd without using the poison that was under her tongue. She always took to throwing vitriol.” “Yes, the business has got into the hands of the wrong people.” They sat in silence for a while, and it was the silence of two people who lean over a gate, shoulder to shoulder, and look down upon some fine stretch of country rolling to the horizon. It was the togetherness that mattered. Each presence seemed to absorb the other, and to obtain from it an exquisite tranquillity. Eve withdrew her hand, and Canterton saw her touch her hair. “Oh!” “What is it? The arm?” “No; but my hat and hair.” He laughed.