“But I should like to,” said Elfrida.
Edred was obstinate. “No,” he said, “we’ll just walk.”
So they just walked, rather dismally.
The town was getting thinner, like the tract of stocking that surrounds a hole; the houses were farther apart and had large gardens. In one of them a maid was singing to herself as she shook out the mats—a thing which, somehow, maids don’t do much in towns.
“Good luck!” says I to my sweetheart,
“For I will love you true;
And all the while we’ve got to part,
My luck shall go with you.”
“That’s lucky for us,” said Elfrida amiably.
