“The girls are getting coffee,” he said, “and then they are going to stroll out and see the bridges. Will you come?”
“Better not. I walk so slowly. I’ll come and meet you.”
“Come now,” said Cuthbert. “This trip isn’t quite answering for you. What is it? You must tell me just what you like.”
“Well—new places and so many changing people worry me. He—it looks uncommonly grim and grotesque in new combinations. It spoils the look of the world. It’s a little queer, you know, and tiring. I’m much stronger, really; I can do what I’ve got to do. But I expect that’s about all. It’s months since the real trouble touched me; but I think there’s something more to come—some day.”
“Suppose we find some more out-of-the-way place, and stay there quietly. What you really want is rest.”
“No. I like this place, and everything is really going on well with us. Godfrey shall get out of his hole yet. Oh no, I’m not beaten. We’re not going to the dogs ourselves, nor is Waynflete. And as for other things—well—the world goes wrong with others.”
He glanced at Cuthbert for a moment, then sat upright, and said—
“It won’t do, of course, to shirk any of it. I’ll come. I want to cultivate Miss Constancy, and improve my mind.”
Cuthbert made no demur. He thought that the change, however painful, had not come a moment too soon. He had never favoured the notion of a definite task to be accomplished; a definite foe to be conquered. He could not square such a view with any habit of his mind. But Guy had certainly accomplished something. Was it given to man to do so much, and yet to have more? Cuthbert knew well how sweet the outlook was into “the level of every day,” how natural and healthful were the hopes, and even the fears, that had dawned on Guy’s spirit. But could flowers grow on such a field of battle?
Constancy and her friends intended to spend at least a week at Zwei-brücken.