iii
They found themselves autobiographical in a very short time. Patricia was made to give a sketch of Uncle Roly and others; and Harry detailed some of the more amusing episodes of his youth. He had been born in the country, it seemed, and had lived in the country until he was sent away to school. Patricia rejoiced. Some of her own early memories were of the country, and with her fancy quickened by the occasion she followed Harry's narrative with what she felt sure he must recognise as perfect understanding. He pictured the district in which he had lived, making little strokes in the tablecloth with his dessert knife in order to give her a rough notion of the scenes amid which he had played.
"That's the hut," he said. "The ditch was along here. Trees, you know ... and the road here. That hut was a real treasure. One never gets tired of that sort of place. It suits every game, and every weather. We slept there sometimes in the summer, in hammocks slung across. It's a queer thing to sleep out of doors in the midst of all the night noises."
"Is it alarming?" asked Patricia. She was thinking of things inexplicable.
Harry's eyes opened. He did not understand her.
"Oh, no," he said. "I only meant, queer to listen to the jolly old owls, and things."
"Had you got a river near you?" She resented his misunderstanding; but for an instant only.
"You mean, boating? No, not near. There were streams, and bits of water; but nothing big enough for boating. We used to bathe. Jove, they were days! Of course, I get some of the old pleasures now by tramping. I started it before the war, and went back to it directly I got out of uniform. There's nothing to beat the road, if one doesn't mind roughing it. You go along and along, and haven't anything to tie you to a place or a bed. You get meals where you can, and tumble in for a rest where you can, and come home when you like, and go where you like. Even now it's quite decent, so long as your passport is all right and you don't mind taking what you can get."
"And when you were a little boy, were you naughty?"
"Yes. And were you a naughty little girl?"
"No. I was a good little girl."
"What, never naughty?" His face was full of incredulity.
And so the meal progressed, and the friendship was enhanced by every piece of observation which either of them directed at the other. Seen close at hand, as Patricia knew already, Harry had all the attractiveness which belongs to good health and physical vigour. All his movements were definite, his eyes were clear and his glances assured. His hair was crisp, his colour good, his frame large and impressively well-knit. He had played forward for the Harlequins, in a pack that was both heavy and quick, a team that owed its triumphs not only to great generalship but also to the speedy adroitness of its individual members. And in spite of his years Harry was still a man of sure and rapid action. At all points he charmed Patricia.
Patricia charmed him no less. That which in him was quick and vivid found its counterpart in her. If they had had nothing intellectually in common, still their proximity would have brought happiness to both. But in addition Patricia was nimble of wit, and intrigued Harry's interest in that respect also. She was as quick as he was, and sometimes she was quicker than he. Harry could see the play of expression upon her face during the whole time that he was talking, and the play showed that she had no mental inertia, and no single inability to comprehend the meaning of all he said. Harry was quite used to the skill with which a more ignorant girl would manifest understanding of which she was incapable. He knew that in Patricia's case it was the real thing. So speaking a face could not deceive. And perhaps he did moreover "receive fair speechless messages" which increased his ardour and his already dominating confidence. He was very happy. They both were very happy, and their happiness added lustre to the beauty of both.