"We'll spread the plaid," she exclaimed, eagerly snatching it from him, for he had insisted on carrying it after her fall. She unfolded and threw it over the carpet of ferns. She crouched on the extreme right side of it, leaving him the lion's share, so that he should not spoil his beautiful new suit. "Now we must have something to eat," he said. "But we, poor church-mice, have nothing!" she laughed. "Who told you so?" he asked, and produced proudly a paper bag from his coat pocket. It contained a squashed crumbly piece of confectionery. He laid it between them and they spooned the crumbs up to their mouths with their hands. It had a sweet winey flavour, and Lilly identified it at once as punch-tart, for which she had a special weakness. "The English call it tipsy-cake," he said. "You can get quite screwed on it." "I don't mind risking it," she answered gleefully. She threw herself on her back, folding her hands as a cushion behind her head. She lay thus motionless for a few minutes, gazing up at the round patch of sky that gleamed through a parting in the masses of foliage above. Luminous pink flakes of cloud floated in the ocean of ether; a little further away a blue shimmer broke through the lower sky, like the earnest of another heaven. Lilly stretched up her arms in longing. "Are you trying to catch larks?" he asked. "No, not larks, but the falling leaves," she said. Like maimed birds, they kept dropping from the boughs, fluttering about in spirals when they reached the ground, as if uncertain where to sit. "Let us see on which of us a leaf falls first," he said, and he too stretched himself on his back. "The first to get one will have a great piece of good luck," she added. They both lay still and waited, and then came a leaf floating towards his nose; but he refused to let it settle there, for she deserved the first great piece of luck, so he blew it over to her. She was too proud to accept such a noble gift from him, and blew it back. So the game went on. They laughed and threw themselves about after the whirling leaf. Then suddenly, in the heat of combat their lips met, and the next minute their arms were round each other. * * * * * The brook babbled on, and the leaves rained down as if nothing had happened. But the earth seemed clothed in a mist of fire, and everywhere rainbow suns glittered. Why had they done this thing? She sank back, dazed, and noticed that the sky too was on fire. Her comrade sat next her, with his back bent like a schoolboy awaiting a flogging. "Ah! now we may as well go home," she said despondently. "Certainly, if the gracious baroness wishes," he replied in mock politeness. She laughed a tired joyless laugh. Evidently his one desire was to forget what had passed as speedily as possible. "It doesn't matter now," she said, "whether we call each other by our Christian names or not." CHAPTER XXI