"Nonsense. There was nothing for her to say or do----" "There was! She _is_ a fish!--unless she gives Langly the dickens this morning.... Will you motor with Jim and me, Ricky dear?" "If you like." She did like. So presently a racing car was brought around, Jim came reluctantly from the hangar, and away they tore into the dull weather now faintly illuminated by the prophecy of the sun. Everywhere the mist was turning golden; faint smears of blue appeared and disappeared through the vapours passing overhead. Then, all at once the sun's glaring lens played across the drenched meadows, and the shadows of tree and hedge and standing cattle streamed out across the herbage. In spite of the chains the car skidded dangerously at times; mud flew and so did water, and very soon Molly had enough. So they tore back again to the house, Molly to change her muddy clothes and write letters, her husband to return to his beloved Stinger, Quarren to put on a pair of stout shoes and heather spats and go wandering off cross-lots--past woodlands still dripping with golden rain from every leaf, past tiny streams swollen amber where mint and scented grasses swayed half immersed; past hedge and orchard and wild tangles ringing with bird music--past fields of young crops of every kind washed green and fresh above the soaking brown earth. Swallows settled on the wet road around every puddle; bluebirds fluttered among the fruit trees; the strident battle note of the kingbird was heard, the unlovely call of passing grackle, the loud enthusiasm of nesting robins. Everywhere a rain-cleansed world resounded with the noises of lesser life, flashed with its colour in a million blossoms and in the delicately brilliant wings hovering over them. Far away he could see the river and the launch, too, where Sir Charles and Chrysos Lacy were circling hither and thither at full speed. Once, across a distant hill, two horses and their riders passed outlined against the sky; but even the eyes of a lover and a hater could not identify anybody at such a distance. So he strolled on, taking roads when convenient, fields when it suited him, neither knowing nor caring where he was going. Avoiding a big house amid brand-new and very showy landscape effects he turned aside into a pretty strip of woods; and presently came to a little foot-bridge over a stream. A man sat there, reading, and as Quarren passed, he looked up. "Is that you, Quarren?" he said. The young fellow stopped and looked down curiously at the sunken, unhealthy face, then, shocked, came forward hastily and shook hands. "Why, Ledwith," he said, "what are you doing here?--Oh, I forgot; you live here, don't you?" "That's my house yonder--or was," said the man with a slight motion of his head. And, after a moment: "You didn't recognise me. Have I changed much?" Quarren said: "You seem to have been--ill."