"With my thoughts. You've enjoyed yourself, haven't you?"
She nodded.
"I never dreamed it would be such fun." She laughed shyly. "I like people to like me."
"Now, come," he said. "Wasn't it quite as amusing as a prize-giving?"
She looked up at him, puzzled. He was switching with his stick at the parsley-blooms, white against the shadows of the hedge.
"I suppose your goal is a head mistress-ship?" he suggested off-handedly.
"Why?" began Alwynne, wondering. Then, taking the bait: "Not for myself—I couldn't. I haven't been to college, you know. But if Clare got one—I could be her secretary, and run things for her, like Miss Vigers did for Miss Marsham. We've often planned it."
"Ah, that's a prospect indeed," he remarked. "I suppose it would be more attractive, for instance, than to be Lady Bountiful to a village?"
"Oh, yes," said Alwynne, with conviction. "More scope, you know. And, besides, Clare hates the country."
"Ah!" said Roger.