"No, I was just being friendly to you."
He took a step nearer. "That's all very well. Last time I met you you hadn't a look for me, and you saw me right enough."
"Yes, George, I saw you, but I wasn't in the mood for you."
"And now you are?"
She looked down. "Do you like people always to be the same? I don't." Laughter bubbled in her voice. "I get moments, George, when my thoughts are so—so celestial that though I see earthly things like you, I don't understand them. They're like shadows, like trees walking." She pointed a finger. "Tell me where that comes from!"
He looked about him. "What?"
She addressed the stream. "He doesn't know the foundation of the English language, English morals—I said morals, George—the spiritual food of his fathers. Do you ever go to church?"
He did not answer: he was frowning at his boots.
"Neither do I," she said. "Help me up."
His hand shot out, but she did not take it. She leapt to her feet and jumped the stream, and when he said something in a low voice she put her fingers to her ears and shook her head, pretending that she could not hear and smiling pleasantly. Then she beckoned to him, but it was his turn to shake his head.