heroics and even talking them, and surely heroics were a little out of
date.

She looked across a wide green space, and saw, through the distant trees,
the procession of the church parade. She felt as if she ought to be
there, and half unconsciously glanced at her dress. A couple of terriers
ran scurrying across the grass, and a seat-ticket man came round the
corner. Behind them a taxi hooted, and some sparrows broke out into a
noisy chatter in a bush. And here was Peter talking of death, and the
Cross--and out of church, too.

She gave a little shudder, and glanced at a wrist-watch. "Peter," she
said, "we must go. Dear, for my sake, do think it over. Wait a little,
and see what happens. I quite understand your point of view, but you must
think of others--even your Vicar, my parents, and of me. And Peter, shall
we say anything about our--our love? What do you think?"

Peter Graham looked at her steadily, and as she spoke he, too, felt the
contrast between his thoughts and ordinary life. The London curate was
himself again. He got up. "Well, darling," he said, "just as you like,
but perhaps not--at any rate until I know what I have to do. I'll think
that over. Only, we shan't change, shall we, whatever happens? You _do_
love me, don't you? And I do love you."

Hilda met his gaze frankly and blushed a little. She held out a hand to
be helped up. "My dear boy," she said.

After luncheon Peter smoked a cigar in the study with Mr. Lessing before
departure. Every detail of that hour impressed itself upon him as had the
events of the day, for his mind was strung up to see the inner meaning of