“Well,” I said, “I have no wish to change; and here, I am glad to think, there is never any doubt about what one is meant to do.”

And so the subject dropped.

How little I thought then that this was to be the end of the old scene, and that the curtain was to draw up so suddenly upon a new one.

But the following morning I had been wandering contentedly enough in the wood, watching the shafts of light strike in among the trees, upon the glittering fronds of the ferns, and thinking idly of all my strange experiences.  I came home, and to my surprise, as I came to the door, I heard talk going on inside.  I went hastily in, and saw that Cynthia was not alone.  She was sitting, looking very grave and serious, and wonderfully beautiful—­her beauty had grown and increased in a marvellous way of late.  And there were two men, one sitting in a chair near her and regarding her with a look of love; it was Lucius; and I saw at a glance that he was strangely changed.  He had the same spirited and mirthful look as of old, but there was something there which I had never seen before—­the look of a man who had work of his own, and had learned something of the perplexity and suffering of responsibility.  The other was Amroth, who was looking at the two with an air of irrepressible amusement.  When I entered, Lucius rose, and Amroth said to me: 

“Here I am again, you see, and wondering whether you can regain the pleasure you once were kind enough to take in my company?”

“What nonsense!” I said rather shamefacedly.  “How often have I blushed in secret to think of that awful remark.  But I was rather harried, you must admit.”

Amroth came across to me and put his arm through mine.

“I forgive you,” he said, “and I will admit that I was very provoking; but things were in a mess, and, besides, it was very inconvenient for me to be called away at that moment from my job!”

But Lucius came up to me and said: 

“I have come to apologise to you.  My behaviour was hideous and horrible.  I won’t make any excuses, and I don’t suppose you can ever forget what I did.  I was utterly and entirely in the wrong.”

“Thank you, Lucius,” I said.  “But please say no more about it.  My own behaviour on that occasion was infamous too.  And really we need not go back on all that.  The whole affair has become quite an agreeable reminiscence.  It is a pleasure, when it is all over, to have been thoroughly and wholesomely shown up, and to discover that one has been a pompous and priggish ass.  And you and Amroth between you did me that blessed turn.  I am not quite sure which of you I hated most.  But I may say one thing, and that is that I am heartily glad to see you have left the land of delight.”

“It was a tedious place really,” said Lucius, “but one felt bound in honour to make the best of it.  But indeed after that day it was horrible.  And I wearied for a sight of Cynthia!  But you seem to have done very well for yourselves here.  May I venture to say frankly how well she is looking, and you too?  But I am not going to interrupt you.  I have got my billet, I am thankful to say.  It is not a very exalted one, but it is better than I deserve; and I shall try to make up for wasted time.”