"I'm not sure," she said, half to herself.
He pressed up alongside her, lifting his face.
"I'm not!" he cried. "I'm not!" eager as a boy in his protestations. "You can't chuck that up at me any more."
Boy refused to face him or to be convinced.
"I don't," she said. "I don't believe in class. It's the man that matters."
"Hear, hear," he cried. "It's the man—not the money. I see it now. I haven't got tuppence to my name."
She turned her eyes down on him, brushing aside his coquetry with the sweep of her steady gaze.
"D'you mind?" she asked in her direct and simple way as they emerged on to the open Downs.
He sobered to her mood.
"Only in this way," he answered, "that it was my father's show, and I don't like to have let it down."