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the fragrance of apple-blossoms even
now brought an ache to his heart; the
sunlight on the trunk of the birch
across the road reminded him of the
gold of her hair. The first thing to do
was to get away from the Green.
After that? He wondered what
other men had done in like quandaries.
In books they went to war or sea or
lost themselves in dim corners of the
world. Sometimes they were killed,
usually with the girl's name on their
lips; sometimes they came back after
many years and found the girl unmarried
or widowed and ready to fall into
their arms. Miles smiled grimly. He
hadn't any desire to be killed; neither
Africa nor Thibet nor South America
appealed to him. He supposed what
a sensible man would do would be to
"buck up"—to use the phrase occurring
to him—and go ahead with his
