“What an amusing world it is.” He moved a little restlessly. “I want to get away from that. Let’s walk through the plantations. I can’t keep still to-day. I want to see you everywhere, to realise you everywhere.” They wandered off together, walking a little apart. All about them rose the young trees, cedars, cypresses, junipers, yews, pines, glimmering in the June sunlight and sending out faint, balsamic perfumes. Men were hoeing the alleys between the maples and limes, their hoes flashing when a beam of sunlight struck through the foliage of the young trees. Canterton stopped and spoke to the men. Also he spoke to Eve as to a partner and a fellow-expert who understood. “Do you think we make enough use of maples in England?” “Isn’t there a doubt about some of them colouring well over here?” “They give us a very fair show. The spring tints are almost as good as the autumn ones in some cases. I want to see what you think of a new philadelphus I have over here.” They walked on, and when their eyes met again hers smiled into his. “Thank you for that seriousness.” “It was genuine enough. I am going to expect a very great deal from you.” “I’m glad. I’ll rise to it. It will make me very happy. Do you know I have learnt nearly all the names of the plants in my rock garden!” “Have you, already!” “Yes. And I am going to study every whim and trick and habit. I am going to be thorough!” They came to a grove of black American spruces that were getting beyond the marketable age, having grown to a height of fifteen or twenty feet. The narrow path was in the shade, a little secret path that cut through the black glooms like a river through a mountainous land. Canterton was walking behind her. “Hold out your hand!” Without turning her head she held her hand out palm upwards, and felt something small dropped into it. “Wear it—under your dress.” It was a little gold ring, the token of their spiritual marriage. They came out into the sunshine, and Eve’s eyes were mistily bright. She had not spoken, but her lips were quivering sensitively. She had slipped the ring on to her finger. “A king’s ransom for your thoughts!” She turned to him with an indescribable smile. “I am Lynette’s fairy mother. Oh, how good!” “For her?” “And for me.” “I have a formal invitation to deliver from Lynette. She hailed me out of the window. We are to have tea in the Wilderness, and Billy is asked.” “The Wilderness! That is where we forget to be clever.” They came round to the heath garden where it overhung the green spires of the larches. “I am going on with my book. Your name will be added to it.” “May I sign the plates?” “Oh, we’ll have you on the title-page, ‘Paintings by Eve Carfax.’ And I shall ask you to go pilgrimaging again, as you went to Latimer.” She drew in her breath sharply. “Ah, Latimer! I shall be dreaming dreams. But I want some of them to be real.” “Tell me them!” “I want to help other women; help them over the rough places.”