"I never knew the dog that didn't; but don't make him too soft, or he'll be no good to you."
"Well," she said gaily, "you are not likely to break into our house!"
His flush alarmed her, for it told her that she had happened on the neighbourhood of his thoughts, and her mind was in a flurry to assert her innocence and engender his, but no words came to her, and her hand joined his in fondling the dog's head.
"Well, I must be going on," George said, and after an uncertain instant he walked away, impoverished and enriched.
Helen sat down heavily, as though one of her own heart-beats had pushed her there, and putting her arm round Jim's neck, she leaned her head on him.
"Jim," she said, "don't you wish Zebedee would come back? If I hadn't promised—" She looked about her. George had disappeared, and near by grey sheep were eating with a concentration that disdained her and the dog. It was a peaceful scene, and a few early lambs dotted it with white. "It's silly to feel like this," she said. "Let's go and find Miriam."
She was discovered in the garden, digging.
"But why?" Helen asked.
"I must have exercise." Her hair was loosened, her teeth worked on her under-lip as her foot worked on the spade. "You don't know how I miss my riding!"
"I've just seen George."