“We’re getting near,” said Fleur; “the towing-path’s awfully exposed.  One more!  Oh!  Jon, don’t forget me.”

Jon answered with his kiss.  And very soon, a flushed, distracted-looking youth could have been seen—­as they say—­leaping from the train and hurrying along the platform, searching his pockets for his ticket.

When at last she rejoined him on the towing-path a little beyond Caversham lock he had made an effort, and regained some measure of equanimity.  If they had to part, he would not make a scene!  A breeze by the bright river threw the white side of the willow leaves up into the sunlight, and followed those two with its faint rustle.

“I told our chauffeur that I was train-giddy,” said Fleur.  “Did you look pretty natural as you went out?”

“I don’t know.  What is natural?”

“It’s natural to you to look seriously happy.  When I first saw you I thought you weren’t a bit like other people.”

“Exactly what I thought when I saw you.  I knew at once I should never love anybody else.”

Fleur laughed.

“We’re absurdly young.  And love’s young dream is out of date, Jon.  Besides, it’s awfully wasteful.  Think of all the fun you might have.  You haven’t begun, even; it’s a shame, really.  And there’s me.  I wonder!”

Confusion came on Jon’s spirit.  How could she say such things just as they were going to part?

“If you feel like that,” he said, “I can’t go.  I shall tell Mother that I ought to try and work.  There’s always the condition of the world!”

“The condition of the world!”

Jon thrust his hands deep into his pockets.

“But there is,” he said; “think of the people starving!”

Fleur shook her head.  “No, no, I never, never will make myself miserable for nothing.”

“Nothing!  But there’s an awful state of things, and of course one ought to help.”

“Oh! yes, I know all that.  But you can’t help people, Jon; they’re hopeless.  When you pull them out they only get into another hole.  Look at them, still fighting and plotting and struggling, though they’re dying in heaps all the time.  Idiots!”

“Aren’t you sorry for them?”

“Oh! sorry—­yes, but I’m not going to make myself unhappy about it; that’s no good.”

And they were silent, disturbed by this first glimpse of each other’s natures.

“I think people are brutes and idiots,” said Fleur stubbornly.

“I think they’re poor wretches,” said Jon.  It was as if they had quarrelled—­and at this supreme and awful moment, with parting visible out there in that last gap of the willows!

“Well, go and help your poor wretches, and don’t think of me.”

Jon stood still.  Sweat broke out on his forehead, and his limbs trembled.  Fleur too had stopped, and was frowning at the river.

“I must believe in things,” said Jon with a sort of agony; “we’re all meant to enjoy life.”