“I can’t.  It’s impossible.  I can’t leave the farm.”

“My dear girl, you mustn’t be tied to it like that.  Don’t you ever get away?”

“Not unless Jerrold or Colin are here.  We can’t all three be away at once.  But it’s awfully nice of you to think of it.”

“I didn’t.  It was Maisie.”

Maisie?  Would she never get away from Maisie, and Maisie’s sweetness and kindness, breaking her down?

“She’ll be awfully disappointed if you don’t go.”

“Why should she be?”

“Because she wants you to.”

“Maisie?”

“Yes.  Surely you know she likes you?”

“I was afraid she was beginning to—­”

“Why?  Don’t you want her to like you?  Don’t you like her?”

“Yes.  And I don’t want to like her.  If I once begin I shall end by loving her.”

“My dear, it would be the best thing you could do.”

“No, Eliot, it wouldn’t.  You don’t know....  Here she is.”

Maisie came to them along the terrace.  She moved with an unresisting grace, a delicate bowing of her head and swaying of her body, and breathless as if she went against a wind.  Eliot gave up his chair and limped away from them.

“Has he told you about Taormina?” she said.

“Yes.  It’s sweet of you to ask me to go with you——­”

“You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Why ever not?”

“I can’t leave the land for one thing.  Not if Jerrold and Colin aren’t here.”

“Oh, bother the old land!  You must leave it.  It can get on without you for a month or two.  Nothing much can happen in that time.”

“Oh, can’t it!  Things can happen in a day if you aren’t there to see that they don’t.”

“Well, Jerrold won’t mind much if they do.  But he’ll mind awfully if you don’t come.  So shall I. Besides, it’s all settled.  He’s to come back with Eliot in time for the hay harvest, and you and I and Colin are to go on to the Italian Lakes.  My father and mother are joining us at Como in June.  We shall be there a month and come home through Switzerland.”

“It would be heavenly, but I can’t do it.  I can’t, really, Maisie.”  She was thinking:  He’ll be back for the hay harvest.

“But you must.  You can’t go and spoil all our pleasure like that.  Jerrold’s and Eliot’s and Colin’s. And mine.  I never dreamed of your not coming.”

“Do you mean you really want me?”

“Of course I want you.  So does Jerrold.  It won’t be the same thing at all without you.  I want to see you enjoying yourself for once.  You’d do it so well.  I believe I want to see that more than Taormina and the Italian Lakes.  Do say you’ll come.”

“Maisie—­why are you such an angel to me?”

“I’m not.  I want you to come because—­oh because I want you.  Because I like you.  I’m happy when you’re there.  So’s Jerrold.  Don’t go and say you care more for the land than Jerrold and me.”