It was the first time he had seen her by daylight.  He had been uncertain whether she used any artificial colour on her cheeks; seemingly she did, for now she looked much paler than usual.  But the perfect clearness of her complexion, the lustre of her eyes, appeared to indicate complete health.  She breathed the fresh sun-lit air with frank enjoyment, and smiled to herself at objects on either side of the river.

“By the by,” Waymark said, when no words had been exchanged for some minutes, “you didn’t tell me where you were going; so I took no ticket, and left matters to fate.”

“Are you a good walker?” Ida asked.

“Fairly good, I flatter myself.”

“Then this is what I propose.  It’s a plan I carried out two or three times by myself last summer, and enjoyed.  We get off at Putney, walk through Roehampton, then over the park into Richmond.  By that time we shall be ready for dinner, and I know a place where we can have it in comfort.”

There was little thought of weariness throughout the delightful walk.  All three gave themselves up for the time to simple enjoyment; their intercourse became that of children; the troubles of passion, the miseries of self-consciousness, the strain of mutual observation fell from them as the city dropped behind; they were once more creatures for whom the external world alone had reality.  There was a glorious June sky; there were country roads scented with flower and tree; the wide-gleaming common with its furze and bramble; then the great park, with felled trunks to rest upon, and prospects of endlessly-varied green to soothe the eye.  The girls exhibited their pleasure each in her own way.  Sally threw off restraint, and sprang about in free happiness, like one of the young roes, the sight of which made her utter cries like a delighted child.  She remembered scenes of home, and chattered in her dialect of people and places strange enough to both her companions.  She was in constant expectation of catching a glimpse of the sea; in spite of all warnings it was a great surprise and disappointment to her that Richmond Hill did not end in cliffs and breakers.  Ida talked less, but every now and then laughed in her deep enjoyment.  She had no reminiscence of country life it was enough that all about her was new and fresh and pure; nothing to remind her of Regent Street and the Strand.  Waymark talked of he knew not what, cheerful things that came by chance to his tongue, trifling stories, descriptions of places, ideal plans for spending of ideal holidays; but nothing of London, nothing of what at other times his thoughts most ran upon.  He came back to himself now and then, and smiled as he looked at the girls, but this happened seldom.

The appetites of all three were beyond denying when they had passed the “Star and Garter” and began to walk down into the town.  Waymark wondered whither their guide would lead them, but asked no questions.  To his surprise, Ida stopped at a small inn half way down the hill.