, as he drove his
two-seater through the park to Ashley Gardens, sang to himself under
his breath. He resolutely shut his eyes to the hurrying streams of
khaki and blue and black passing in and out of huts and Government
buildings. They simply did not exist; they were an hallucination, and
if persisted in might frighten the mascot.

Joan was waiting for him when he drove up at half-past nine, with Binks
sitting importantly on the seat beside him.

"Get right in, lady," cried Vane, "and we'll be on to the Land of the
Pixies. But, for the love of Mike, don't put anything on Binks's
adversary in the hood. He hasn't had his proper morning battle yet,
and one squeak will precipitate a catastrophe."

Never had he seen Joan looking so charming. Of course she was in
grey--that was in the nature of a certainty on such an occasion, but
she might have been in sackcloth for all the attention Vane paid to her
clothes. It was her face that held him, with the glow of perfect
health on her cheeks, and the soft light of utter happiness in her
eyes. She was pretty--always; but with a sudden catch of his breath
Vane told himself that this morning she was the loveliest thing he had
ever seen.

"I've got the cage, Derek," she said, "and the beautifullest bone for
Binks that he's ever thought of. . . ."

"You dear," answered Vane, and for a moment their eyes met. "You
absolute dear. . . ." Then with a quick change of tone he laughed.
"Jump in, grey girl--and avaunt all seriousness. Do you mind having
Binks on your lap?"

"Do I mind?" she answered reproachfully. "Did you hear that, Binkie?
He's insulting you."

But Binks was claiming his share of the Blue Bird and refused to take
offence. He just opened one brown eye and looked at her, and then he
went peacefully to sleep again. He rather liked this new acquisition
to the family. . . .

And so began the great day. They didn't go far from the hotel; just
under the old bridge and up a little way towards Sonning lock, where
the river forks, and the trees grow down to the water's edge. To every
man whose steps lead him on to the Long Trail, there is some spot in
this island of ours the vision of which comes back to him when the
day's work is done and he lies a-dreaming of Home. To some it may be
the hills in the Highlands with the wonderful purple mist over them
growing black as the sun sinks lower and lower; to others a little
golden-sanded beach with the red sandstone