That the time, as far as Cheriton was concerned, had not yet arrived, was rather obvious, however.  His manners to Peter on the sands were still quite queer—­so queer that Peter and Leslie only stayed a few minutes more.  Peter refused Urquhart’s suggestion that they should have tea together on the island, and they crossed over to the lagoon side and got into their waiting gondola.

The lagoon waters were smooth like glass, and pale, and unflushed as yet with the coming sunset.  Dark lines of stakes marked the blue ship-ways that ran out to open sea, and down them plied the ships, spreading painted wings to the evening breeze.

Leslie said, “I see in the Gem that there is a good old well-head to be had from a man on the Riva Ca’ di Dio.  I want well-heads, as you know.  We’ll go and see, shall we?”

The crystal peace of the lagoon was shattered for Peter.  He had been getting into a curious mood of late; he almost disliked well-heads, and other purchasable forms of beauty.  After all, when one had this limpid loveliness of smooth water and men walking on its surface like St. Peter, why want anything more?  Because, Leslie would say, one wants to possess, to call beauty one’s own.  Bother, said Peter, the vice of the age, which was certainly acquisitiveness.  He was coming to the conclusion that he hated buying things.  And it was so awkward to explain to Leslie about Hilary and the Gem.  He had spent the last few days in trying, without too much giving Hilary away, to restrain Leslie from following his advice.  He said now, “All right; we’ll go and see.  But, to say the truth, I’m not sure that Hilary is a very good authority on well-heads.”  He blushed a little as he said it; it seemed to him that he had been saying that sort of thing very often of late.  Leslie was so persistent, so incorrigibly intent on his purpose.

Leslie looked at him now over his large cigar a little speculatively.

“According to you,” he remarked placidly after a moment, “your brother is uncommonly little of an authority on anything he mentions.  Fraternal scepticism developed to its highest point.”

Peter nodded.  “Our family way,” he said; and added, “Besides, that Vyvian man does as much of the Gem as Hilary.  There’s a young man, Leslie!  My word, what a dog!  Talks about gurls.  So I left him.  I turned upon him and said, ‘Sir, this is no talk for a gentleman to listen to.’  I said it because I knew it was what he would expect.  Then I turned on my heel and left him without a word.  He ground his teeth and hissed, ’A time will come.’  But Cheriton seems rather a rude man, all the same.  He hurts my feelings too, whenever I meet him.  I too hiss, ‘A time will come.’  But I don’t believe it ever will.  Do you suppose the water is shallow over there, or that the men walking on it are doing miracles?  It must be fun, either way.  Let’s do it instead of buying well-heads, Leslie.  The fact is, buying so many things is rather demoralising, I think.  Let’s decide to buy no more.  I’m beginning to believe in the simple life, like Rodney.  Rodney hates men like you and Urquhart—­rolling plutocrats.  He wanted me to leave you and the other plutocrats and be a travelling pedlar.  I’m not sure that I shan’t, before long.”