"It's quite large enough for cricket," said Chris, looking at the lawn with satisfaction in his eyes.
Diana walked on to the trees. She stopped beneath an old medlar tree with low branches almost reaching the ground.
"I shall sit up there and write my stories," she said with a rapt smile.
But Noel had trotted on; he had found between some high shrubs a little twisting path which led to two gates. One gate opened into a small kitchen garden. Noel surveyed this, with his chin resting on the top bar of the gate. It did not appeal to him; he turned to the other, opened it and disappeared. Diana and Chris did not miss him, they were so accustomed to only having each other, that they both climbed up into the medlar tree and began to discuss this wonderful new life of theirs.
"Isn't it perfectly lovely!" Diana said. "And when the summer comes, Chris, think of the garden with the flowers and the trees, and Mums in a white dress trailing about, carrying armfuls of roses, and looking like the fairy queen."
Chris nodded.
"Go on, describe it," he said.
"And that fat girl Cassy bringing out a tray for tea on the lawn with strawberries and ices and all kinds of cakes," went on Diana enthusiastically.
"And me on the lawn with a new hat, in white flannels, and a boy friend trying to bowl me out, and Noel fielding for us," put in Chris.
"And I shall be in a hammock swinging backwards and forwards," said Diana, "and writing stories all day long."