Hal was magnificently independent of weather, and the colour of the sky and the haze of sunshine over bright September boughs, and such-like absurdities from which frailer natures weave their moods. So that he could, simply from his own fitness of body, feel with a sudden thrill of well-being that the world was an altogether costly place, as he strode along the prim tree-planted roads of Buckler’s Cross on that drizzling morning of dead summer. He had often enjoyed life before, but now, for the first time, he found conscious pleasure in hauling his blessings into parade.... Maisie--he had paused a moment at her gate, and watched her in the front garden, snipping the faded dahlias from their stems--a click of the scissors, and the big clumsy bloom toppled heavily sideways. The rain filmed her long ragged black hair, and glittered in tiny points as she bent and rose again. What a small head she had. If someone were to snick it off, how lightly it would fall among the roots of the Michaelmas daisies. Her old jersey was the same bluish tint as her eyes---- He did not stop to hail her cheerily, but walked quickly on. And he thought of her quite separately from Dorothy--which was a distinct advance. Footer next term. And the following October, Oxford. Oh--_costly_! Maisie--in a punt ... having tea in his rooms ... old Nina would fix it. He’d begin to collect stuff for his rooms at Christmas. Perhaps the pond would freeze this Christmas. If so--skating! Maisie, in a little fur cap.... He was rather a nut on the ice. A frosty Christmas would be no end of a rag. And, beyond all these superficial reasons for elation, in defiance of the ugly road and the moist trickle down his neck, Hal, rather amused at himself for the imagery, wished he could pick up a small sharp knife and cut cleanly out from the shining curve of his future, the one black speck that spoiled it. That beastly business of his subscription to the Memorial to the Winborough Boys fallen in the Great War!