if your father is nearer than we suppose--But I
think to-morrow afternoon will be soon enough for Falmouth, anyhow."

He stopped interrogatively.

Miss Grammont's face was white. "That will do very well," she said.

Section 4.

They started, but presently they came to high banks that showed such
masses of bluebells, ragged Robin, great stitchwort and the like that
Belinda was not to be restrained. She clamoured to stop the car and go
up the bank and pick her hands full, and so they drew up by the roadside
and Sir Richmond and Miss Grammont sat down near the car while Belinda
carried her enthusiastic onslaught on the flowers up the steep bank and
presently out of earshot.

The two lovers said unheeded things about the flowers to each other
and then fell silent. Then Miss Grammont turned her head and seemed
deliberately to measure her companion's distance. Evidently she judged
her out of earshot.

"Well," said Miss Grammont in her soft even voice. "We love one another.
Is that so still?"

"I could not love you more."

"It wasn't a dream?"

"No."

"And to-morrow we part?"

He looked her in the eyes. "I have been thinking of that all night," he
said at last.

"I too."

"And you think--?"

"That we must part. Just as we arranged it when was it? Three days or
three ages ago? There is nothing else in the world to do except for us
to go our ways.... I love you. That means for a woman--It means that I
want to be with you. But that is impossible.... Don't doubt whether I
love you because I say--impossible...."

Sir Richmond, faced with his own nocturnal decision, was now moved to
oppose it flatly. "Nothing that one can do is impossible."

She glanced again at Belinda and bent down towards him. "Suppose," she
said, "you got back into that car with me; suppose that instead of going
on as we have planned, you took me away. How much of us would go?"

"You would go," said Sir Richmond, "and my heart."

"And this work of yours? And your honour? For the honour of a man in
this New Age of yours will be first of all in the work he does for the
world. And you will leave your work to be just a lover. And the work
that I might do because of my father's wealth; all that would vanish
too. We should leave all of that, all of our usefulness, all that
much of ourselves. But what has made me love you? Just your breadth of
vision, just the sense that you mattered. What has made you love me?
Just that I have understood the