He picked up another stone and held it in his hand.

"I should hate it."

He had lifted his hand for the throw, but he kept hold of the stone.

"What, pity that came straight out of love?"

"Any sort of pity."

"You must be very proud--much prouder than I am then. If I were unhappy
I should wish to have pity from you."

"Perhaps you have never been really unhappy."

Dion laid the stone down. He thought hard for a moment.

"Without any hope at all of a change back to happiness--no, actually I
never have."

"Ah, then you've never had to brace up and see if you could find a
strong voice to utter your 'farewell'!"

She spoke with firmness, a firmness that rang like true metal struck
with a hammer and giving back sincerity.

"That sounds tremendously Doric," he said.

His lips were smiling, but there was an almost surprised expression in
his eyes.

"Dion, do you know you're intuitive to-day?"

"Ah, your training--your training!"

"Didn't you say we should have to be Doric ourselves if----?"

"Come, Rosamund, it's time for the Parthenon."

Once more they went over the uneven ground to stand before its solemn
splendor.

"Shall we have learnt before we go?" said Dion.

"It's strange, but I think the tombs teach me more. They're more within
my reach. This is so tremendous that it's remote. Perhaps a man, or--or
a boy----"

She looked at him.

"A boy?"

"Yes."

He drew her down. She clasped her hands, that looked to him so capable
and so pure, round her knees.

"A boy? Go on, Rose."

"He might learn his lesson here, with a man to help him. The Parthenon's
tremendously masculine. Perhaps women have to learn from the gentleness
of those dear tombs."

Never before had she seemed to him so soft, so utterly soft of nature.

"You've been thinking a great deal to-day of our boy, haven't you?" he
said.

"Yes."

"Suppose we did have a boy and lost him?"

"Lost him?"

Her voice sounded suddenly almost hostile.

"Such a thing has happened to parents. It might happen to us."

"I don't believe it would happen to me," Rosamund said, with a sort of
curious, almost cold decision.

"But why not?"

"What made you think of such a thing?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it was because of what you said this morning
about grief, and then about bracing up and finding a firm voice to utter
one's 'farewell.'"

"You don't understand what a woman would feel who lost her child."

"Are you sure that you do?"