He tried to discover; he dug back into his own sensations. What was it that he liked most about her? For the life of him he couldn't put it into language. Then he thought he might find out by examining the white face, with the red lips and tragic eyes, of the girl-woman who had asked the question. What an uncanny faculty she had for stillness! A sunbeam, falling from the leaves above, crept up her slender throat and nestled in her hair. He shook his head. “It's just you, Cherry. Your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way you try to be sad. It's just you and your sweetness, Cherry. I think if I didn't love you so much I could say it better.” She stood up. “You poor boy, you've said it well enough. I wish I could feel like that.--And now we should be going.” They had stepped outside the arbor; they halted at the sound of voices. Coming round the bend was a scratch eight, the oars striking the water raggedly. The men were joking and laughing; the cox, a pipe hanging from his mouth, was urging them to spurt with humorous insults. Having landed, they tumbled into their sweaters and came strolling through the garden. They were discussing the previous night in careless voices. “Did you hear about Hardcastle?--When he isn't in training he's always like that. Ugh! At six o'clock a hero--by midnight a swine you wouldn't care to touch.” The voices passed out of earshot. Cherry turned to Peter, “And I let him touch me. I'd have known by instinct if I'd been nice. Oh, Peter, you mustn't love me.” When he attempted to kiss her she refused to allow it, saying, “I'm not your sort.” Paddling back between flowering banks, where trees cast deep shadows and birds sang full-throatedly, she again became tender. “Life's just a yesterday, Peter--a continual bidding good-bye and coming back from pleasures.” Her sadness hurt him. She knew it; she told herself that it would always hurt him. He didn't want ever to say good-bye to her. And she, she felt sure that their comradeship would be always finding a new ending. “Cherry, darling,” he reproached her, “don't go in search of unhappiness. Life's a to-morrow as well as a yesterday; it's full of splendid things--things which aren't expected. We've all the to-morrows before us.” She trailed her hand in the water, snatching at the lilies, as if by an effort so slight she could delay their progress and prolong the present. She didn't lift her eyes when she whispered, “I was thinking of that--of all the to-morrows before us.” Again her words brought a vision of the long road of future days, down which he would walk without her. There was nothing to be said. Surely she would learn to love him! Reluctantly he paddled forward to their place of parting. CHAPTER XXXII--IF YOU WON'T COME TO HEAVEN, THEN----