George paid no attention. He was hurrying to tell Phyllis his thoughts before they escaped. Who but she would have endured his absurdities? If she had had hallucinations of her own, that only brought them closer together. Out of these ashes they could rebuild their truth. Love means nothing until you fall into it all over again. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, by the window, nervously picking the nails of one hand with the forefinger of the other. This habit, which he detested, almost broke his enthusiasm. He had a grotesque desire to tell her that he would forgive her even that. I guess I really do love her enormously, he thought, or the little things she does wouldn’t madden me so. Exasperated with sudden tenderness, he had somehow expected her to meet him with equal affection. But she just sat there, looking down at her hands. He took them, to stop the hated gesture. The bantam over the hill repeated his rollicking sharp salute, which would have been an epigram if he had uttered it only once. “I wish you could stop that rooster,” she said. “Over and over again, the same identical squawk. I wouldn’t mind so much if he wasn’t a bantam. It makes it seem so silly, somehow. He goes out under those great tall pine trees and shouts at them.” He smiled and turned her face toward him. She looked pitiably tired. He knew how she would look when she was old. “Perhaps he’s rather like me,” he said. “There was one here that crowed just like that when we were children. The same note exactly.” “It’s heredity. Probably this is his great-great-great-great-grand-egg.” She reached under the pillow, pulled out the little flattened handkerchief, and stood up. “I must hurry. I’d give anything if to-day were over. I suppose life is like this, just day after day.” “Give me that,” he said, taking the handkerchief. “I’ve seen it before.” “No, you haven’t,” she said, still in the same dull tone. “It’s a new one.” “Yes, I have. Last night.” “Last night?” “Yes, under your pillow.” “You?” She stared, her face quivering. Suddenly the line of her mouth seemed to collapse and run downward. Something tight had broken, something proud and fierce had bent. She was crying. “Oh, Geordie, life is so much queerer than I ever knew. Why didn’t you tell me? I had such beastly dreams. I wish I could die.” The old name recalled one of his own for her. “Leopard, Leopard ... you silly little half-tamed leopard. What do I care about your dreams? It’ll all be all right in the morning.” “It _is_ the morning, and it isn’t all right. _You_ take them for the Picnic, let me stay at home. I _won’t_ see Mr. Martin. Take him away. He’s so like _you_, Geordie, but with all your beastliness left out. Your _nice_ beastliness, your _dear_ beastliness, everything that makes me hate and adore you.” “Now, listen. I’ve got a great idea. I didn’t half take my bath, I was so keen to tell it to you. Let’s get married.”