‘Not working at the catalogue, then, this morning?’ he said. ‘I wondered whether you would or not.’
‘I meant to,’ she said, ‘until I smelt the wind. Then it was impossible. I should not care if every book in the world was burned, I think. And you, not at the Cathedral this morning?’
‘And that might be burned too,’ he said.
She laughed.
‘I’m a Pagan to-day,’ she said, ‘and so it appears are you. Pan is sitting somewhere in this wood. Did you hear his flute?’
‘No: only the wind and the song of a skylark.’
‘Perhaps that was he. He’s all over the place this morning.’
‘You told me about Pan,’ he said. ‘I had never heard of him before.’
‘Well, you heard him to-day. He was the wind and the skylark. He always is if you know how to listen. But I mustn’t keep you. You are going farther.’
He looked at his watch, not deriving any impression from it, then back at her.