And I found that I was wrong.
The young man who'd been tramping up that field behind us was not Captain Holiday, though he wore khaki and leggings like his.
"Er——" he began with a hand to his cap, and obviously not sure whether he ought to speak first to the farmer or to me. "I—er—saw you from the road there. If you don't mind, aren't you"—nervously—"aren't you the two ladies from London?"
"Yes," I said, standing there rather astonished.
The young officer went on with his eyes on the cart, that shut out any view of Elizabeth.
"Oh, yes. I hope you don't mind, but I thought I'd come up and—er—speak——"
At that moment I thought I had never in my life seen anybody so agonizingly timid. Gazing at the D.S.O. ribbon on his chest, I could only wonder if he had won it whilst he was in a high fever and did not know what he was doing.... Miserably shy, too, he looked to me.
But he didn't go away. He went on talking, though stammeringly.
"You know, I know you both quite well—I mean by name, of course. We've—we've exchanged plenty of letters and all that," he went on stammeringly.
"I'm afraid it's a mistake," I began.