They came, four miles on, to the forest of great beeches, where broad glades and grassy rides run in and out through thickets of wild undergrowth and bracken, and ancient twisted boles and slim smooth grey-green stems are set close together under a rustling singing roof of brilliant green, the young, new-born, radiant green of beeches in April. In every hollow and dip of the forest's mossy floor, primroses glimmered in pale pools. They sat down by one of these pools to have their lunch. After lunch they lay on there and smoked. Chester lay on his back, his hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the green roof. Kitty, her round chin cupped in her two hands, lay and watched his lean, sallow, clever face, foreshortened, with the shadows of the leaves moving on it and his eyes screwed against the sun. "Kitty," said Chester presently, "I want to talk to you." "M--m." Kitty, having finished her cigarette, was chewing grass. He sat up and looked at her, and as he looked his face grew more sallow and his smile died. He stabbed into the soft, damp earth with his stick, and frowned. "It's this, my dear. I can't go on any longer with this--this farce. We must end it. I've been meaning to tell you so for some time, but I thought I'd give it a fair trial, just to satisfy us both. Well, we've given it a trial, and it won't work. It isn't good enough. We've got to be more to each other--or less. This--this beastly half-way house was all right for a bit; but we've got on too far now for it.... I should like to know what _you_ think about it." Kitty pulled a primrose to pieces, petal by petal, before she answered. "One thing I think," she said slowly, "is that I'm different from you. Or is it that women are different from men? Never mind; it doesn't really matter which. But I fancy it's women and men. Anyhow there it is. And the difference is that for me a half-way house would always be better than nothing, while for you it would be worse. Men seem to value being married so much more than women do--and friendship, going about together, having each other to talk to and play with, and all that, seems to matter to them so little. Love seems to take different forms with men and women, and to want different ways of expression.... So it's not much use trying to understand one another about it.... That's the chief thing I think, Nicky." He moved impatiently. "In fact, you're contented with the present state of things." "Oh, no. Not a bit. I want much more. But--if it's all we can have...." "It isn't," he said. "We can get married." She shook her head, with decision. "No. No. No."