As he pulled out a tea basket from the back of the car she watched him calmly. She still thought him excessively good-looking. In their engaged days they had often escaped into the country—but on foot—and picnicked together; each had known the other to be the most wonderful person in the world. Now that love had passed the memory was well worth keeping, and she enjoyed it quietly as she sat in the car, looking down upon the back of his head bent over his task. He sat down again, opening the basket between them, and set up the spirit stove and lighted it for her to boil the minute kettle upon it. While she did this, it was his turn to watch her; and presently from his moroseness he said in a very soft voice:
"It's like old days, isn't it?"
"Only we're more gorgeous."
"You're enjoying it?"
"Immensely. Why wouldn't you take George?"
"I didn't want him. Did you?"
"I always want him."
"We're going to stay out till long past his bedtime."
"Are we?"
"There's a moon. It's tophole for motoring. I'm—taking this car out again to-morrow."