It was a gray day, with patches of blue gleaming through it, like light through holes in the roof of a tent. As they passed over Magdalen Bridge the willows shuddered and stooped above the water, prophesying that rain was coming. The moisture in the air made colors stand out sudden and separate. Even sounds seemed accentuated. From farmlands, near and far, live things called plaintively. Cocks bugled shrill alarms. Cattle waded restlessly knee-deep in summer meadows. Birds fluttered out of hedges, as if setting out on journeys; then thought better of it and hastily returned. Fields lay hushed. In contrast, the sky was torn and rutted. Clouds lurched forward, black and sullen, like artillery taking up positions. Detached wisps of mist hurried hither and thither, like isolated bands of cavalry. Through the brooding stillness the coach swayed onward. The horses' hoofs rattled as castanet accompaniment to the laughter of conversation. At the long, white inn of The Three Pigeons they changed horses, getting ready for the climb out of the valley past Ashton Rowant. The golden woman called to Peter to come and sit on the box beside her. She was a pleased child, patting his hand and smiling down at him side-long as he took his place. She treated him in public with the same affection that she used to him in private; she had complained of the Faun Man for treating her like that. Peter wondered.--Her eyes were immensely blue and wide this morning. She seemed no older than on that first day when he had seen her in the white room of the Happy Cottage. He watched her now, as she leant out with her whip to catch the reins which the ostler tossed up. How graceful she was, how determinedly young and buoyant! He touched her. “You were going to tell me why Cherry and the Faun Man didn't----.” She broke in upon him. “Was I? Perhaps later. Can't you forget Cherry just for once? I'm here and--and won't you be content with only me for a little while, Peter?” She spoke lightly, with a pretence at wounded feelings, and yet----. He had piqued her pride. He had noticed it before, especially of late--the same flippancy of tone and quick turning away of the head when Cherry's name was mentioned. Harry explained it by saying that she was envious of any affection given to another woman. The new team was full of fire--it took all her attention. “So, girl! So! Steady there. Steady!” Peter knew these grays; he had heard the Faun Man speak of them, “Nervous as cats. Take a devil of a lot of holding.” She handled them like a veteran. “Golden woman, you're wonderful.” She shrugged her shoulders coquettishly, raising her brows and laughing silently. Her eyes were between the leaders' ears on the road in front of her. “I know. Can't help it, Peter. It's the way I was made.” And then, “But what an awfully long while you've taken to discover it.” “I haven't. But where was the good of my telling you? The Faun Man let's you know it every day of your life.”