“At the back of orthodox religion, so far as I can see, there’s always the idea of reward—­what you can get for being good; a kind of begging for favours.  I think it all starts in fear.”

She was sitting on the sofa making reefer knots with a bit of string.  She looked up quickly: 

“I think it’s much deeper than that.”

Ashurst felt again that wish to dominate.

“You think so,” he said; “but wanting the ‘quid pro quo’ is about the deepest thing in all of us!  It’s jolly hard to get to the bottom of it!”

She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown.

“I don’t think I understand.”

He went on obstinately: 

“Well, think, and see if the most religious people aren’t those who feel that this life doesn’t give them all they want.  I believe in being good because to be good is good in itself.”

“Then you do believe in being good?”

How pretty she looked now—­it was easy to be good with her!  And he nodded and said: 

“I say, show me how to make that knot!”

With her fingers touching his, in manoeuvring the bit of string, he felt soothed and happy.  And when he went to bed he wilfully kept his thoughts on her, wrapping himself in her fair, cool sisterly radiance, as in some garment of protection.

Next day he found they had arranged to go by train to Totnes, and picnic at Berry Pomeroy Castle.  Still in that resolute oblivion of the past, he took his place with them in the landau beside Halliday, back to the horses.  And, then, along the sea front, nearly at the turning to the railway station, his heart almost leaped into his mouth.  Megan—­Megan herself!—­was walking on the far pathway, in her old skirt and jacket and her tam-o’-shanter, looking up into the faces of the passers-by.  Instinctively he threw his hand up for cover, then made a feint of clearing dust out of his eyes; but between his fingers he could see her still, moving, not with her free country step, but wavering, lost-looking, pitiful-like some little dog which has missed its master and does not know whether to run on, to run back—­where to run.  How had she come like this?—­what excuse had she found to get away?—­what did she hope for?  But with every turn of the wheels bearing him away from her, his heart revolted and cried to him to stop them, to get out, and go to her!  When the landau turned the corner to the station he could stand it no more, and opening the carriage door, muttered:  “I’ve forgotten something!  Go on—­don’t wait for me!  I’ll join you at the castle by the next train!” He jumped, stumbled, spun round, recovered his balance, and walked forward, while the carriage with the astonished Hallidays rolled on.