"I'll be careful."
"Care is not enough without experience. The most innocent-looking grass-slopes are often the most deadly. Have you nails in your shoes?"
"No. Ought I?"
"It's not safe in these parts to leave the beaten track without them. If you take your boots to a village shoemaker, he will put in the nails. And you should get a strong pointed stick."
"And then I shall be all right?"
He shook his head.
"Not even then—going alone. Have you no one to walk with?"
"Mrs. Brutt—generally. She is a good walker; only to-day she is not well. But she doesn't care for scrambling; and I just love it. I've always loved any bit of climbing I could get hold of. And really I like going about alone. One sees so much more. And I'm beginning to find that I can make myself understood a little."
"You must be very very careful," he repeated, and he looked serious.
As before, they chatted without effort, one topic leading to another. And, as before, she had the sense of being drawn out, played upon, manipulated, made the best of. It was a delightful sensation. She was astonished presently to find that she had been more than an hour at table.