On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. She was bathed in turbid water that had already been used. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. “You will come back, won’t you?” He nodded cheerfully.
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