It was in the Convent garden that they played it out, in one final,
astounding conversation.

The nuns had brought two chairs out on to the flagged terrace and set a
small table there covered with a white cloth. Thus invited, John had no
choice but to take his place beside her. Still he retained his mood.

(The nuns had left them. Sutton was in one of the wards, helping with an
operation.)

"I thought," he said, "that I was going to have peace...."

It seemed to her that they had peace. They had been so much at the mercy
of chance moments that this secure hour given to them in the closed
garden seemed, in its quietness, immense.

"... But first it's Sutton, then it's you."

"We needn't say anything unless you like. There isn't much to be said."

"Oh, isn't there!"

"Not," she said, "if you're coming back."

"Of course I'm coming back.... Look here, Charlotte. You didn't suppose I
was really going to bolt, did you?"

"Were you going to change into your pyjamas at Ostend?"

"My pyjamas? I brought them for Gurney."