he had so loved Denis that to hurt him and leave him would have been unthinkable.  But the time was past.  Peter and Lucy had come to the place where they couldn’t share and didn’t want to, and no love but one matured.  They had left civilisation, left friendship, which is part of civilisation, behind, and knew only the primitive, selfish, human love that demands all of body and soul.  They needed no words to explain to one another their change of view.  For always they had leaped to one another’s thoughts and emotions and desires.

Lucy said wistfully, after a time, “Denis will never see us again.”

But thoughts of Denis did not, could not, dim the radiant vision of roads running merrily through the country of the spring.

Thomas here said that it was milk-time, and Peter, who had thoughtfully remembered to bring his bottle, produced it from his pocket and applied it, while Lucy looked on and laughed.

“In future,” she said, “I shall take over that job.”

“I wonder,” murmured Peter, “exactly what we contemplate living on.  Shall we sell boot-laces on the road, or play a barrel-organ, or what?”

“Oh, anything that’s nice.  But I’ve got a little, you know.  Father hadn’t much, but there was something for Felicity and me.  It’s seemed nothing, compared with what I’ve been living on lately; but it will look quite a lot when it’s all we’ve got....  Father’d be glad, Peter, if he knew.  He’d say we ought to do it, I know he would.  It’s partly him I’ve been hearing all this time, calling and calling to me to come away and live.  He did so hate fat and sweetness and all smothering things.  They just bored him dreadfully.  He wouldn’t ever come and stay with us, you know....  Oh, and I’ve written to Felicity, telling her what I meant to do.  I don’t quite know what she’ll say; nobody ever does know, with Felicity....  Now I’m going back to the house, Peter, and you and Thomas must go back too.  But first we’ll settle what to do, and when to do it.”

It didn’t take much settling, between three people who saw no difficulties anywhere, but said simply, “Let us do this,” and did it, as children do.  But such plans as they thought desirable they made, then parted.

“I shall tell Denis,” said Lucy, “I must do that.  I’ll explain to him all I can, and leave the rest.  But not yet.  I shall tell him on Sunday night.”

“Yes,” Peter agreed, simply, while the shadow fell again momentarily on his vision.  “You must do that, of course....”

He left it at that; for Denis he had no words.

Lucy got up, and laid Thomas in Peter’s arms.

“How much I’ve talked and talked, Peter.  I’ve never talked so much before, have I?  And I s’pose I never will again.  But it had to be all said out once.  I’m tired of only thinking things, even though I knew you understood.  Saying things makes them alive.  They’re alive now, and always will be.  So good-bye.”