She pouted. “He does. But--but that isn't the same.” Green pasture-lands of the valley were falling away behind. As they rose higher, woods sprang up, standing tiptoe, drinking in the clouds. The atmosphere grew more heavy and thunderous. The horses were walking now, scrambling for a foothold and zigzagging from side to side as they took the steep ascent. The men dropped off the coach to lighten it and went ahead. Harry caught hold of Peter's arm. “Where's Lorie? Did she tell you?” “No. When I ask her, she says, 'Later, perhaps.' Can't get another word out of her.” Then Harry saw a great light. “I bet you I've guessed. Something happened at the last minute to delay him. He's coming over from Tree-Tops to join us at High Wycombe. He'll be there with Cherry for lunch. It's because of Cherry, to give you a surprise, that she won't tell you.” At the top of the hill Peter took his place again beside the golden woman. He understood her air of mystery now and played up to it. In an instant all his world had changed. He was going to see Cherry. A new sparkle came into his eyes. The golden woman noticed it. “Hulloa! Wakened? What's happened?” “_You've_ happened,” he said. “You're a topper. You don't mind my saying it, do you? You're most awfully kind.” She looked at him curiously. “Am I? What makes you say that?” “I know what's happened to the Faun Man and Cherry. You can keep your secret; but I had to thank you.” “Thank me!” She fell silent. He talked on in high spirits; it must have been the horses that suggested Mr. Grace. “He hasn't been so bloomin' prosp'rous lately--that's his way of putting it--not since Cat's Meat died. He has to hire his horse and cab now, and doesn't seem to make much profit out of it. 'Bloodsuckers!' he says. 'I 'as ter give 'em back all I earns--and that's wot they calls 'iring. Bloodsuckers!'” As they came down the hill by Dashwood's into High Wycombe, he ceased talking, casting his eyes ahead. He thought it just possible that Cherry and the Faun Man might have walked out to meet them. The guard was sounding his horn in long flourishes. They were in the town now, passing by the Market-place. Now the coach was drawing up before the hotel. No one was there to watch them descend except the ostler and some idlers. He hung about while the horses were taken out; every now and then he stepped into the road, trying to make himself believe that, if he waited long enough, he would see the girl with the red lips and gray eyes hurrying down the street toward him. Harry came out. “Guessed wrong that time, didn't I? Come along in. We're having lunch.” It was absurd, this anxiety that he felt--all out of proportion. And yet it was always like that when he was going to meet her--it was always like the first time. He never lost the thrill of choking gladness and surprise. Each time he discovered something new in her of sweetness, leaving him amazed at his former blindness.