The next day was the day Janet had promised to have tea with Quentin at Redpale Farm. She had prepared for it carefully, telling her brothers she was going shopping in East Grinstead, and would not be home till late. As soon as dinner was over, she slipped upstairs to dress. She was in a state of fever, and for the first time thought of her clothes. She had never troubled about them when she went to meet Quentin in the woods, but now she was going to his house--a thrill ran through her; she had never in her life been inside Redpale Farm, but now she would see the room where Quentin sat and thought of her in the long, dark evenings--which he had told her of so often--when the stars crawled through veils of wrack, and the wind piped down the valley of the hammer ponds. Memories of his few pronouncements on clothes rose to guide her. He liked her to come to him as a fragment of the day on which he waited. To-day was a brown day, hiding under rags of mist from a pale, sun-washed sky--so she put on a brown dress, of a long-past fashion, and mended in places, but beautiful in clinging folds about her--and in her breast she pinned the last yellow rose of the garden. "Good-bye, Janey," called Len from the orchard. "Good-bye," sang out Nigel. She waved her hand to them, not trusting herself to speak. As soon as she was out of sight, she climbed into the fields, and walked across them to Old Surrey Hall. Here were the tangled borders of Kent--she plunged through a hedge of elder and crack-willow, and was in the next county. Quentin always used to say that there was a difference between the three counties, even where they touched in this corner. Surrey was park-like, and more sophisticated than the other two; one had wide, green spaces and dotted trees. Sussex was moor-like, covered with wild patches and pines, hilly and bare; Kent was untidy, tangled and lush, full of small, twisting lanes, weighted orchards and huddled farms. Janet passed the flat gable-end of Anstiel, buried in the thickets of its garden, and came out on the Gated Road. This wound down the valley of the hammer ponds to Redpale, Scarlets and Clay. It was seldom used, as there were gates every few hundred yards to prevent the cattle from straying, and in winter the hammer ponds sometimes overflowed. Redpale was the first of the valley farms, and stood in a reed-grown hollow beside a wood. It was an old house, with a carnival of reds in its huge, sloping roof. Janet stole quickly through the yard and came up the garden to the door. It was opened before she reached it, and Quentin seized her hands. "You've come at last--I've been watching for you." He dragged her into the passage, banged the door, and kissed her in the dark. "Come into the study," he cried eagerly. "Come and hallow me a hundred lonely evenings in one hour." He took her into a low, book-lined room, where a fire was burning. A chair was pulled up to the fire, and over it was spread a gorgeous Eastern rug.