"You must have got wet through."
"Not always. Sometimes I climbed up in the branches—in the roof, I mean. You're eclipsed to-night, aren't you?"
"What do you mean?"
"That dark cloak. The other night you were a white goddess sitting there in the moonlight. You were terribly beautiful then. It's almost a shame to be so beautiful. This is better. I rather like the cloak. You're nothing but a voice to-night, coming out of the dark."
Immediately she had a curious jealousy of the white dress that made her beautiful to him when he did not really know her face.
"You have never seen me," she said involuntarily.
"Oh yes, I have. In the shack, that night. Then the day you came. I saw you driving by."
"Where were you?"
"In the yard looking at some grafted trees. Peter was late from the train. I got impatient, so I went round fussing over the trees, to keep myself busy. Then you came up the drive, and I saw you and retreated in good order."
"You needn't have hated me so. You hadn't really seen me."