"I'd live with ten like him, and hate them all, if I could live here," he said, and went on slowly, all his senses alert and greedy to gather stores against the future famine. His mother glanced up, smiled and nodded as he appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Tea's ready," she said. It was her daily greeting. He nodded in his turn and stood on the threshold with his hands in his pockets, watching the waving larches. They spoke to him in a language he could not interpret, but understood. He felt an unyouthful and transitory desire to remain rooted as they were, a desire for peace and life without a struggle. If he stayed here, Janet would give him work; he would like it well enough, and things would be simpler so. He considered the proposal with the calm interest of one who has no doubts. He was going to Oxford almost as surely as he was going to die. He was ambitious: he wanted what the place could give him; he wanted and dreaded the companionship of other men, the combat of minds opposed, the communion of kindred ones, learning, knowledge of humanity. He would get these and the hills would remain; wherever life might lead him, he would come back to them and they would still be here. "There's a letter for you," said Clara. He took it from the table. "It's from Edward Webb." "Yes. I've had one, too." Alexander opened his. A short note, tremulous as the man, asked leniency for an enclosure which Alexander pocketed. "He's not been here for months." "No, but he says he'll be coming soon. He's been going home when he could. His wife isn't well, and I think he's worried, poor little bit of a man!" "He's a big man," he said, and thought of Janet's dream. "Well, you know," she said good-humouredly, "I think of all of you as children. Look what he has sent." "This will never be Theresa," said Alexander. Dark eyes looked merrily at him from the picture, a soft mouth smiled, a nose, very slightly tilted, provoked to pleasure. "No, that's Grace. Here's Theresa. I can't think how he came to have a girl like Grace: he's plain enough in the other one." He looked long at Grace, for she had a delicate warmth of beauty hitherto unknown to him. It made him think of southern sun, ripe fruits, round, bare limbs, and brilliant wines.