I'm going to write a book." Here he withdrew his arm from hers, lit his
pipe, and they tramped on in a sagacious kind of comradeship, the most
complete they had attained in all their friendship.

"And what's your book to be about?" she said, as boldly as if she had
never come to grief with Ralph in talking about books. He told her
unhesitatingly that he meant to write the history of the English village
from Saxon days to the present time. Some such plan had lain as a seed
in his mind for many years; and now that he had decided, in a flash,
to give up his profession, the seed grew in the space of twenty minutes
both tall and lusty. He was surprised himself at the positive way in
which he spoke. It was the same with the question of his cottage. That
had come into existence, too, in an unromantic shape--a square white
house standing just off the high road, no doubt, with a neighbor who
kept a pig and a dozen squalling children; for these plans were shorn
of all romance in his mind, and the pleasure he derived from thinking
of them was checked directly it passed a very sober limit. So a sensible
man who has lost his chance of some beautiful inheritance might tread
out the narrow bounds of his actual dwelling-place, and assure himself
that life is supportable within its demesne, only one must grow turnips
and cabbages, not melons and pomegranates. Certainly Ralph took some
pride in the resources of his mind, and was insensibly helped to right
himself by Mary's trust in him. She wound her ivy spray round her
ash-plant, and for the first time for many days, when alone with Ralph,
set no spies upon her motives, sayings, and feelings, but surrendered
herself to complete happiness.

Thus talking, with easy silences and some pauses to look at the view
over the hedge and to decide upon the species of a little gray-brown
bird slipping among the twigs, they walked into Lincoln, and after
strolling up and down the main street, decided upon an inn where the
rounded window suggested substantial fare, nor were they mistaken. For
over a hundred and fifty years hot joints, potatoes, greens, and apple
puddings had been served to generations of country gentlemen, and now,
sitting at a table in the hollow of the bow window, Ralph and Mary took
their share of this perennial feast. Looking across the joint, half-way
through the meal, Mary wondered whether Ralph would ever come to look
quite like the other people in the room. Would he be absor