“Shall we go for a walk?” he said instead, “round the lawn?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I fetch you a wrap to put over that frock?”
“Oh, no. It’s perfectly warm, thanks.”
“Oh.... Very well.”
And so, at the dusk of the day, just as in the morning sunshine of it, I found myself pacing a garden path by his side, and wishing to goodness he’d get this over, out of the way.
He ought to be made to grovel, of course; that was as it should be.
But the longer he delayed mentioning that grotesque incident, the more it loomed!
It seemed to hang over my head like the shade of the trees that bordered the further edge of the lawn, which we had now reached. The great spread of turf was gleaming greyly in the dew. A bat, attracted by the whiteness of my gown, flickered out of the shade and wheeled above us.