his telegram, and it began to seem almost impossible to
explain reasonably his arrival here with Lily. An account of Tinderbox
Lane would sound fantastic: a hint of Lily's life would be fatal. He
found himself enmeshed in a vague tale of having found her very hard up
and of wishing to get her away from the influence of a rather depressing
home. It sounded very unconvincing as he told it, but he hoped that the
declaration of his intention to marry her at once would smother
everything else in a great surprise.

"Of course, that's what I imagined you were thinking of doing," said
Stella. "So you've made up your quarrel of five years ago?"

"When are you going to get married?" Alan asked.

"Well, I hoped you'd be able to have us here for a week or so, or at any
rate Lily, while I go up to town and find a place for us to live."

"Oh, of course she can stay here," said Stella.

"Oh, rather, of course," Alan echoed.

Next morning it rained hard, and Michael thought he saw Stella making
signs of dissent when at breakfast Alan proposed taking him over to a
farm a couple of miles away. He was furious to think that Stella was
objecting to being left alone with Lily, and he retired to the
billiard-room, where he spent half an hour playing a game with himself
between spot and plain, a game which produced long breaks that seemed
quite unremarkable, so profound was the trance of vexation in which he
was plunged.

A fortnight passed, through the whole of which Alan never once referred
to Lily; and, as Michael was always too proud to make the first advance
toward the topic, he felt that his friendship with Alan was being slowly
chipped away. He knew that Stella, on the other hand, was rather anxious
to talk to him, but perversely he avoided giving her any opportunity. As
for Lily, she seemed perfectly happy doing nothing and saying very
little. Obviously, however, this sort of existence under the shadow of
disapproval could not continue much longer, and Michael determined to
come to grips with the situation. Therefore, one morning of strong
easterly wind when Lily wanted to stay indoors, he proposed a walk to
Stella.

They crossed three or four fields in complete silence, the dogs
scampering to right and left, the gale crimsoning their cheeks.

"I don't think I care much for this country of yours," said Michael at
last. "It's flat and cold and damp. Why on earth you ever thought I
should care to live here, I don't know."

"T