And that is being young, Peter Walsh thought as he passed them. To be having an awful scene--the poor girl looked absolutely desperate--in the middle of the morning. But what was it about, he wondered, what had the young man in the overcoat been saying to her to make her look like that; what awful fix had they got themselves into, both to look so desperate as that on a fine summer morning? The amusing thing about coming back to England, after five years, was the way it made, anyhow the first days, things stand out as if one had never seen them before; lovers squabbling under a tree; the domestic family life of the parks. Never had he seen London look so enchanting--the softness of the distances; the richness; the greenness; the civilisation, after India, he thought, strolling across the grass.