It is therefore a pity that it was not strictly true.
It was a wonderful ride they had together, that ride between the police-barracks and the station, and from drowsy afternoon into cool sweet night. The crickets chirped their welcome on the very boundary, and the same stars came out that Moya had seen swept away in the morning, one by one again. Then the moon came up with a bound, but hung a little as though caught in some pine-trees on the horizon, that seemed scratched upon its disc. And Moya remarked that they were very near home, with such a wealth of tenderness in the supreme word that a mist came over Rigden's eyes.
"Thank God," said he, "that I have lived to hear you call it so, even if it never is to be."
"But it is—it is. Our own dear home!"
"We shall see."
"What do you mean, darling?"
"I am going to tell Theodore the whole thing."
"After I've taken such pains to make it certain that none of them need ever know a word?"
"Yes; he shall know; he can do what he thinks fit about letting it go any further."