For it was at this moment that Blossom dragged the cart a step forward, and Elizabeth, calling manfully. "Whoa-back!" in imitation of Mr. Price, reached up to her head again, and pulled her round.
I suppose to the end of his days one man will see Elizabeth as she was at that moment in the field of roots.
It was a colourful and blowy day. The sky, threatening rain, showed capricious clouds, dove-grey and silver-white, tossing across the blue. A mauve screen of Welsh hills, a nearer fringe of budding elms bordered that big field of lush brown-and-purply-green. Set in the middle of it like a giant's toy was the scarlet-painted farm-cart with the white mare; a small, boyish, crop-haired, smocked and breeched Land-girl at her head.
Colour and sunburn suited my chum's small face. The Land Army hat had been drenched by several showers to a becoming softness over her thick hair. She held herself (even in those early days of freedom from skirts) with a new poise. She was as effective as any poster in the Tube! but with no Tube atmosphere about her; no! the strong scents of earth, the wine-sweet breath of Spring wind that tossed the black locks on her rosied cheeks, and flapped in her smock, billowing it out below her belt or furling it above her legs—her legs which were at once sturdy and dainty. Briefly, she looked ripping. And I saw that Colonel Fielding saw it even in that first moment of his greeting her.
It was not much more than a greeting and a good-bye; a word to the farmer about "hoping he didn't mind"—which would appear to be the youthful colonel's pet stand-by of a phrase.
"Er—I might be down for some time probably," he concluded, reddening again. "Perhaps I might be allowed to call?"
Elizabeth, without looking at him, answered in a tone like the shutting of a door:
"We live in camp here. Men aren't allowed there."
"Oh—sorry. I hope you didn't mind. Perhaps," he added—faint but pursuing—"I shall see you again—er—somewhere——"
Elizabeth, stony little wretch, said nothing at all. I think I began to say "Are you staying at Careg?" out of sheer pity, but it was Mr. Price, the gentle Welsh giant, who broke in: