I’ll have to think of something else. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her. And he would express various artistic sensibilities and aesthetic appreciations in carefully punctuated sentences and a large, clear voice. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. “Mid-thirties.
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