"Oh, you beautiful doll, You great big beautiful doll..."
We finished the verse together, the cows watching us with big eyes.
"I think we're rather good," said I, when it was over.
"I know we're both mad," said she. "And I don't feel a bit like singing really, either."
"Oh, great and beautiful one," said I, "what is the matter? Indicate to me the fly that dares to lurk in this fair bowl of ointment."
She looked away over the river. Then:
"After all, it's nothing to do with you."
"Nothing whatever." said I.
"Then why do you ask?"
"Something to say, I suppose. Is not the clemency of the weather delightful?"