"You're a wonderful friend to me. Good-night."
He watched her move away, but when she had gone a few paces she ran back.
"It wasn't quite the truth," she said. "It was only partly Notya."
"You're not angry with me?"
"With you? I couldn't be. It was just my silly self, only I didn't want to be half truthful with you."
Their hands touched and parted, and he waited until she was out of sight before he went back to Miriam.
"You're a little pest," he said, "wasting my time—"
"Ha, ha! I knew. I won't waste any more of it. Wasn't it horrid of me? If you hadn't scolded me I might have been kind; but I always, always pay people out."
"Silly thing to do," he muttered, and went off.
Miriam chuckled under her whistling as she strolled across the moor. She did not whistle a tune, but uttered sweet, plaintive notes like a bird's call, and as she reached the stream a tall figure rose up from the darkness of the ground.