s to gather mushrooms; and at the waning of
the moon they rose early on many milk-white dawns instead, when the
mushrooms at such an hour were veritably the spoil of dew, gleaming in
their baskets under veils of gossamer. On these serene mornings the
sound of autumnal bird-song came to them out of misted trees, so that
they used to talk of the woods in the next Spring-time, themselves
moving about the wan vapors with that very air of people who scarcely
live in the present. There was in this plaintive music of robins and
thrushes a regret for the days of Summer spent together that were now
passed away, and yet a more robust melody might have affronted the
wistful air of these milk-white dawns. The frail notes of the birds
hinted at silence beyond, and through the opalescent and transuming
landscape Guy and Pauline floated in fancy once more down the young
Thames from Ladingford. The sad stillness of the year's surrender to
decline admonished them to garner these hours, making a ghost even of
the sun, as if to warn them of the fleeting world, the covetous and
furtive world. They wonderfully enjoyed these hours, but Pauline, when
at breakfast the mushrooms came fizzling to the table, could never
believe that she had been with Guy, and she used often to be
discontented on being reminded by her mother of how much of the day she
had already spent in his company. Looking back at these immaterial
mornings of autumnal mist, she saw them upon the confines of sleep:
silvery spaces they seemed that were not robbed from any familiar time.

There was during all this month a certain amount of congratulation which
had to be endured, and Margaret was angry one day because Mr. and Mrs.
Ford came over from Little Fairfield and alluded at tea to their hope of
Richard and her soon being engaged. Pauline was naturally subject to the
inquisitiveness of everybody, but as she could not without being
absent-minded talk about anything except Guy, she found the general
curiosity not very troublesome. Guy, however, resented this atmosphere
of inquiry and was always more and more anxious to carry her out of
reach of Wychford gossip.

One day in mid-October they had set out together with the intention of
taking a long walk to the open upland country on the other side of the
town, when, as they were going up High Street, they saw two of the local
chatter-boxes.

"I will not stop and talk to Mrs. Brydone and Mrs. Willsher," Guy
grumbled. "Let's cut