"Ronny," he said, "did Michael say anything to you?" "When?" "This afternoon, when he made you come with him here?" "How do you mean, 'say anything'?" "You know what I mean." "_Mick_?" "Yes. Did he ask you to marry him?" "No. He said a lot of funny things, but he didn't say that. He wouldn't." "Why wouldn't he?" "Because--he just wouldn't." "Well, he says he understands you." "Then," said Veronica conclusively, "of course he wouldn't." "Yes; but he says _I_ don't." "Dear Nicky, you understand me when nobody else does. You always did." "Yes, when we were kids. But supposing _now_ I ever didn't, would it matter? You see, I'm stupid, and caring--caring awfully--might make me stupider. _Have_ people got to understand each other?" To that she replied astonishingly, "Are you quite sure you understand about Ferdie?" "Ferdie?" "Yes." She turned her face full to him. "I don't know whether you know about it. _I_ didn't till Mother told me the other day. I'm Ferdie's daughter. "Did you know?" "Oh, Lord, yes. I've known it for--oh, simply ever so long." "Who told you?" "Dorothy, I think. But I guessed it because of something he said once about seeing ghosts." "I wonder if you know how I feel about it? I want you to understand that. I'm not a bit ashamed of it. I'm proud. I'm _glad_ I'm Ferdie's daughter, not Bartie's.... I'd take his name, so that everybody should know I was his daughter, only that I like Uncle Anthony's name best. I'm glad Mother loved him." "So am I, Ronny. I know I shouldn't have liked Bartie's daughter. Bartie's daughter wouldn't have been you." He took her in his arms and held her face against his face. And it was as if Desmond had never been. A little while ago he had hated Desmond because she had come before Veronica; she had taken what belonged to Veronica, the first tremor of his passion, the irrecoverable delight and surprise. And now he knew that, because he had not loved her, she had taken nothing. * * * * * "Do you love me?" "Do you love _me_?" "You know I love you." "You know. You know." What they said was new and wonderful to them as if nobody before them had ever thought of it. Yet that night, all over the Heath, in hollows under the birch-trees, and on beds of trampled grass, young lovers lay in each other's arms and said the same thing in the same words: "Do you love me?" "You know I love you!" over and over, in voices drowsy and thick with love. * * * * * "There's one thing I haven't thought of," said Nicky. "And that's that damned strike. If it hits Daddy badly we may have to wait goodness knows how long. Ages we may have to." "I'd wait all my life if I could have you in the last five seconds of it. And if I couldn't, I'd still wait." And presently Veronica remembered Michael. "Why did you ask me whether Mick had said anything?"