They reached the stile. He strode over and reached back a hand to her. She took it, mounted and stepped over, then sat down unexpectedly on the top bar with the hand in hers.
"Jeff!" she said.
He looked up at her. Her voice was small and shy, her cheeks very delicately flushed.
"What is it?" said Jeff.
She looked down at the brown hand she held, all roughened and hardened by toil, and hesitated.
"Well?" said Jeff.
She turned her eyes upon his face. "Are you going back to work to-day, just as if—as if nothing had happened?" she asked.
He looked straight back at her. "You don't want me, do you?" he said.
She nodded. "Shall we go for a picnic?" she said.