“I’ll show her and see.”
“I’d been sort of thinking about it—since father had that notice. It seemed as if the ground was pulled from under our feet. I never felt so lost. Then I began to think of her, if she’d have me—but not clear, till you showed me those pictures. I must have her if I can—and I must have something. It’s rather ghostish to have the road suddenly smudged out, and all the world anywhere, nowhere for you to go. I must get something sure soon, or else I feel as if I should fall from somewhere and hurt myself. I’ll ask her.”
I looked at him as he lay there under the holly-tree, his face all dreamy and boyish, very unusual.
“You’ll ask Lettie?” said I, “When—how?”
“I must ask her quick, while I feel as if everything had gone, and I was ghostish. I think I must sound rather a lunatic.”
He looked at me, and his eyelids hung heavy over his eyes as if he had been drinking, or as if he were tired.
“Is she at home?” he said.
“No, she’s gone to Nottingham. She’ll be home before dark.”
“I’ll see her then. Can you smell violets?”
I replied that I could not. He was sure that he could, and he seemed uneasy till he had justified the sensation. So he arose, very leisurely, and went along the bank, looking closely for the flowers.