"You do love me this morning?" he asked. She was standing on the step of the stile, and he offered his hand to help her down. "Won't you say, 'I love you'?"
But only with her eyes could she tell him, and as, her finger-tips on his, she jumped from the step, she was imponderable as the blush upon her cheeks.
"In the Summer," said Guy, "you and I will be on the river together. Will you be shy when Summer comes?"
"Monica says I'm not nearly shy enough."
"What on earth does Monica expect?"
They were under the trees of Wychford Abbey, and Guy told her of the days he had spent here, thinking of her and of the hopelessness of her loving him.
"I could not imagine you would love me. Why do you?"
She shook her head.
"One day we'll explore the inside of the house together. Shall we?"
"Oh no! I hate that place. Oh no, Guy, we'll never go there. Come quickly. I hate that house. Margaret loves it and says I'm morbid to be afraid. But I shudder when I see it."