"Roo-coo-coo-coo! Roo-coo-coo-coo!"

Anne jumped up. "Come and say good-bye to my doves," she said. "They've
been moved to the side veranda. You do like doves, don't you, Reggie?"

"Awfully," said Reggie, so fervently that as he opened the French window
for her and stood to one side, Anne ran forward and laughed at the doves
instead.

To and fro, to and fro over the fine red sand on the floor of the dove
house, walked the two doves. One was always in front of the other. One
ran forward, uttering a little cry, and the other followed, solemnly bowing
and bowing. "You see," explained Anne, "the one in front, she's Mrs. Dove.
She looks at Mr. Dove and gives that little laugh and runs forward, and he
follows her, bowing and bowing. And that makes her laugh again. Away she
runs, and after her," cried Anne, and she sat back on her heels, "comes
poor Mr. Dove, bowing and bowing...and that's their whole life. They never
do anything else, you know." She got up and took some yellow grains out of
a bag on the roof of the dove house. "When you think of them, out in
Rhodesia, Reggie, you can be sure that is what they will be doing..."

Reggie gave no sign of having seen the doves or of having heard a word.
For the moment he was conscious only of the immense effort it took to tear
his secret out of himself and offer it to Anne. "Anne, do you think you
could ever care for me?" It was done. It was over. And in the little
pause that followed Reginald saw the garden open to the light, the blue
quivering sky, the flutter of leaves on the veranda poles, and Anne turning
over the grains of maize on her palm with one finger. Then slowly she shut
her hand, and the new world faded as she murmured slowly, "No, never in