“There are nine cottages, three farmhouses, and a general shop in St. David’s,” she remarked. “Also about fifteen fishermen’s cottages dotted about the marsh. Your business, I presume, is with the general shop?”
He shook his head, falling into step with her.
“What I want,” he explained, “is to find a woman to come in and look after me at the Tower. Your servant who valets me has given me two names.”
Something of the lightness faded from her face.
“So you have quite made up your mind to leave us?” she asked slowly. “Mother wasn’t able to persuade you to stay?”
He shook his head.
“She was very kind,” he said, “but there are really grave reasons why I feel that I must not accept Mr. Fentolin’s hospitality any longer. I had,” he went on, “a very interesting talk with your mother.”
She turned quickly towards him. The slightest possible tinge of additional colour was in her cheeks. She was walking on the top of a green bank, with the wind blowing her skirts around her. The turn of her head was a little diffident, almost shy. Her eyes were asking him questions. At that moment she seemed to him, with her slim body, her gently parted lips and soft, tremulous eyes, almost like a child. He drew a little nearer to her.
“I told your mother,” he continued, “all that I have told you, and more. I told her, dear, that I cared for you, that I wanted you to be my wife.”
She was caught in a little gust of wind. Both her hands went up to her hat; her face was hidden. She stepped down from the bank.