Jean followed him down the bank, whilst he plunged his hand into his basket and dangled a very fine specimen of Devonshire trout before her eyes.
"You shall have that for your supper," he said. "Now will you say you are glad to see me?"
Jean could keep grave no longer. It was impossible to resist Charlie Oxton's gaiety.
"Of course I am glad to see you," she said. "Have you seen Miss Lorraine lately?"
"Haven't been to town since you left. How is your old feudal room getting on? Seen any ghost in it? Now own up, are you really working or playing down here? I've a suspicion that you are just wandering round in buttercup meadows and making every honest labourer stop his work to talk to you."
"As I am doing at this moment," retorted Jean. "I will not be your interruption, for I'll depart at once."
"You'll do no such thing. Sit down under this tree, and tell me what you're doing. I don't believe they're feeding you well. You look pale. That's your farm up there, isn't it?"
"How do you know?" asked Jean.
"Oh, my landlady told me."
"You were never cut out for a story-teller!" said Jean. "You're such an audacious bungler!"