"A child," said I, sitting down by her side. "My dear, do you realize that I'm as old as the Cotswold Hills."
"There now, Adam. And so am I."
"No," I said firmly, "certainly not."
"But—"
"I don't care. You're not. Goddesses are immortal and their youth dies not."
"I suppose I ought to get up and curtsey."
"If you do, I shall have to rise and make you a leg, so please don't."
For a moment she smiled into the fire. Then:
"I wonder if two people have ever sat here before, as we're sitting now?"
"Many a time," said I. "Runaway couples, you know. I expect the old wood walls think we're another pair."