“No.” She moved a little to one side and concealed the basket with her dress.
He began to fear that something was wrong. “Is it possible that you have ventured among those poisonous plants again?” he said. “Are you ill?”
“Not at all,” she replied, rousing herself a little. “Your solicitude is quite thrown away. I am perfectly well.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, snubbed. “I thought—Don’t you think it dangerous to sit on that damp wall?”
“It is not damp. It is crumbling into dust with dryness.” An unnatural laugh, with which she concluded, intensified his uneasiness.
He began a sentence, stopped, and to gain time to recover himself, placed his bicycle in the opposite ditch; a proceeding which she witnessed with impatience, as it indicated his intention to stay and talk. She, however, was the first to speak; and she did so with a callousness that shocked him.
“Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“About Mr. Trefusis and Agatha. They are engaged.”
“So Trefusis told me. I met him just now in the village. I was very glad to hear it.”