"You haven't the slightest right to be here at all," she reminded him.
"I didn't even invite you to come in."
He sighed.
"Women have so little sense of consequence," he murmured. "When you came in through that gate without saying good-bye, I naturally concluded that I was expected to follow, especially as you had just pointed this out to me as being your favorite seat."
Again she laughed. Then she stopped suddenly and looked at him. He really was a somewhat difficult person to place.
"If I hadn't a very irritable parent to consider," she declared, "I think I should ask you to tea."
Burton looked very sad.
"You need not have put it into my head," he objected gently. "The inn smells so horribly of the beer that other people have drunk. Besides, I have come such a long way—just for a glimpse of you."
It seemed to her like a false note. She frowned.
"That," she insisted, "is ridiculous."
"Is it?" he murmured. "Don't you ever, when you walk in your gardens, with only that low wall between you and the road, wonder whether any of those who pass by may not carry away a little vision with them? It is a beautiful setting, you know."