‘No, I must turn too,’ he said. ‘Mayn’t I walk with you?’
‘Naturally till we get to the town, and then, as naturally, not. But we must wait in this hollow a little longer. It is brimful of spring. Look at the clumps of bluebell leaves. In a month there will be a thick blue carpet spread here.’
‘Which are the bluebells?’ he asked.
She pointed, and then bending down found in the centre of one the bud from which the blossom would expand.
‘I thought they were just some sort of grass,’ he said. ‘The woods are covered with them. Will you show them to me when they are all out?’
‘Oh, Mr Keeling,’ she said. ‘You will surely be able to see them for yourself.’
‘Not so well.’
She rose from her examination of the bud, her face still flushed.
‘Yes, we’ll see them together some Saturday afternoon then,’ she said. ‘I won’t have any hand in your not going to Cathedral on Sunday morning. I suppose we must be getting back. What time was it when you looked at your watch just now?’
‘I forget. I don’t think I saw.’