Thus the hours they spent together became to Howard not only a source of joy, but an extraordinary simplification of everything.  Maud seemed to have lived an absolutely uncalculating life, without any idea of making any position for herself at all; and it sickened Howard to think how so much of his own existence had been devoted to getting on the right side of people, driving them on a light rein, keeping them deftly in his own control.  Maud laughed at this description of himself, and said, “Yes, but of course that was your business.  I should have been a very tiresome kind of Don; we don’t either of us want to punish people, but I want to alter them.  I can’t bear stupid people, I think.  I had rather people were clever and unsatisfactory than dull and good.  If they are dull there’s no reason for their being good.  I like people to have reasons!”

They talked—­how often they did that!—­about the complications that had beset them.

“The one thing I can’t make out,” said Maud, “is how or why you ever thought I cared for that little boy.  He was such a nice boy; but he had no reasons.  Oh, dear, how wretched he made me!”

“Well,” said Howard, “I must ask you this—­what did really happen on that awful afternoon at the Folly?”

Maud covered her face with her hands.  “It was too dreadful!” she said.  “First of all, you were looking like Hamlet—­you don’t know how romantic you looked!  I did really believe that you cared for me then—­I couldn’t help it—­but there was some veil between us; and the number of times I telegraphed from my brain to you that day, ‘Can’t you understand?’ was beyond counting.  I suppose it was very unmaidenly, but I was past that.  Then there was that horrible imitation; such a disgusting parody! and then I was prouder of you than ever, because you really took it so well.  I was too angry after that for anything, and when you went off with father, and Monica sketched and Jack lay down and smoked, Freddy Guthrie walked off with me, and I said to him, ’I really cannot think how you dared to do that—­I think it was simply shameful!’ Well, he got quite white, and he did not attempt to excuse himself; and I believe I said that if he did not put it straight with you, I would never speak to him again:  and then I rather repented; and then he began making love to me, and said the sort of things people say in books.  Howard, I believe that people really do talk like books when they get excited—­at all events it was like a bad novel!  But I was very stern—­I can be very stern when I am angry—­and said I would not hear another word, and would go straight back if he said any more; and then he said something about wanting to be friends, and wanting to have some hope; and then I got suddenly sorry about it all—­it seemed such a waste of time—­and shook hands with him, feeling as if I was acting in an absurd play, and said that of course we were friends; and I think I insisted again on his apologising to you, and he said that I seemed to care more for your peace of mind than his; and I simply walked away and he followed, and I shouldn’t be surprised if he was crying; it was all like a nightmare; but I did somehow contrive to make it up with him later, and told him that I thought him a very nice boy indeed.”