Ben had had time to make a careful choice of the least damning of his meditations. “I was thinking that the crickets don’t really sound like an orchestra. They’re more like adding machines.” “Why, that’s true,” George exclaimed. “They have just that even, monotonous, cranking sound. Adding up some impossible and monstrous total. Counting the stars, maybe.” “I hope you won’t think my thought is rude,” said Joyce. “It struck me that if it weren’t for Mr. Brook’s cigar I’d be convinced this is all a dream.--I don’t mean it isn’t a nice cigar, just that it smells so worldly.” “Well, our secret thoughts all seem fairly innocent. But we haven’t heard yours yet, Mr. Martin.” “I don’t think this is a very interesting game,” said Martin. George insisted. “Come, the guest of honour can’t escape as easily as that. Out with it!” “Do I have to?” Martin appealed to Phyllis. She came out of her reverie, aware that even darkness is inadequate as a sedative. The threads of relationship among them all had tightened. “I know what Mr. Martin’s trouble is,” said Ruth. “He says everything he thinks, so naturally he has nothing left.” “Why, that’s just it,” Martin said. “How did you know? What would be the good of thinking things and not saying them?” “You’re not playing fair,” George objected. “No one would be crazy enough to say everything. Besides, there wouldn’t be time.” Martin was stubbornly silent. “I agree with Mr. Martin,” Phyllis said. “It’s not a very cheerful game. If we didn’t say our thoughts we must have had some good reason for keeping them silent. Besides, I must speak to Lizzie about breakfast.” “I’ll take the car to the stable.” “Can I go with you?” Martin asked. George had still cherished a forlorn hope that the world was large enough for him and Joyce to have a few moments alone. For several days the stable had been sanctified in his anticipation. In the hayloft above the old disused stalls there was a big doorway that opened toward the sea. That mustily fragrant place was his favourite retreat when solitude seemed urgent. There, he had thought, he and Joyce could talk. He had even put an old steamer rug on the hay so they might sit more comfortably. There would be moonlight over the water.... “Is it the same stable where we used to play as kids?” cried Ruth. “Oh, let’s all go. I want to see it again. Why, that old haymow was the first place Ben ever kissed me.” “What did he do that for?” said Martin. “Perhaps he’ll do it again,” said George bitterly. It was just like Ruth to ruin the stable for him. “Well, I don’t want to spoil any one else’s plans,” said Ben. “We could play hide-and-seek in the hay,” Martin suggested.