She dashed into the discussion, and talked brilliantly, rousing both Guy and Cuthbert Staunton to talk too, while Godfrey hung behind, angered more than ever. He was obliged occasionally to speak, and even to hand tea-cups and open doors for the ladies. Such is the power of civilisation. As she talked and smiled and managed, into her complex mind there flashed new ideas, and new knowledge. She had learned ever so much by that queer little interview. All kinds of new "mind stuff" had come into her head. She had conceived her part of the scene very badly--but certainly--it was an experience, and as they drove home through the rainy mist, the experience translated itself into all sorts of forms. Godfrey had held the door of the waggonette for her; had given her her wraps, had offered all politeness, but he had neither spoken to her, nor touched her hand. "Yes," she thought, as she laid her head on her pillow, "I can't be sorry for any experience. It's quite different from reading about it." Then suddenly, as she lay in the darkness, she not only knew, but felt; something new and strange did indeed sweep over her, an overwhelming _might be_. Her spirit fell before it, and she hid her face, and cried. "Cosy, did you find the situation bigger than you expected?" said Florella. Constancy was silent till she could trust her voice, then said, abruptly-- "Yes; I wasn't skilful. Never mind, I'll manage better another time. I think it was inevitable--really." "And you don't--" "Don't reciprocate? No! It would upset all my ideas to marry before I'm twenty-five. And oh--you know, Flo, the Waynfletes are a fine type, and so on; but, dear me, one belongs to another century, another world, another universe. I don't know where the dividing line is exactly; but there's a mighty deep one somewhere." "Perhaps he'll cross it--now." "He did beat the record for the wide jump at his college!" said Cosy. "But he's just like his great-aunt. How _could_ one marry a person who thinks it signifies so dreadfully _what_ one thinks about everything. It's not that such as we think differently; but we don't think it matters much what we think, and they do." "Poor Godfrey Waynflete!" said Florella. "He certainly thinks it matters what you think about him." "Good night," said Cosy, ending the conversation. PART TWO, CHAPTER TWO. CROSSING THE FLETE. Almost before the waggonette had driven away from the door, Godfrey turned, round to his brother. "I shall catch the last train," he said. "The last train! Now? How do you mean to get from Kirk Hinton?" "I can walk." "In this weather? You'll reduce Rawdie to a mass of pulp." "He can stop with you. Good night," said Godfrey, ramming on his hat, and marching off through the driving rain, while Guy shrugged his shoulders, and detained Rawdie. "Ha, ha! you poor little beggar, you're nowhere," he said. "You'll have to put up with me."