He gave her arm a gentle shake.
"Let's get out of this, Alwynne," he began persuasively. "I think you're rather done for. There's been a hot sun to-day, and you've been stooping till you're dizzy. Come on. What a lot of flowers you've picked! Come, let's get out of this place."
"Yes," she said; "let's get out of this place."
"What about your bunch?" he questioned, glancing down at the hyacinths' heaped disorder. "Don't you want it?"
He felt her shiver.
"No," she said, "no." She hesitated. "Could we hide it? Cover it up? It ought to be buried. I can't leave it—just lying there——" There was a catch in her voice.
He concealed his astonishment and looked about him.
"Of course not," he said cheerfully. "Here—what about this?"
A huge tussock of bleached grass, its sodden leaves as long as a woman's hair, caught his eye. He parted the heavy mass and showed her the little cave of dry soil below.
"What about this? They'll be all right here," he suggested gravely.