A faint blush caused Miss Fairbrother to turn her attention to some boats coming up the river.
"It's very nice here, isn't it?" she said.
"At present it is," said George.
Miss Fairbrother wilfully misunderstood. "In the winter, of course, it's very cold and damp."
"So it is in the summer."
"How can that be?" She looked up smiling.
"When one is alone," said George, "the greenest field might be uninteresting and the warmest day cold."
Miss Fairbrother blushed and laughed. She made no secret now of the fact that she understood the compliment.
"You think I am not in earnest," said George, boldly, placing one hand upon hers, as it plucked the grass blade by blade. "I am quite serious; I should never have enjoyed the trip alone—you know I shouldn't."
Her eyes were upon the grass, where she managed to wriggle one finger of the imprisoned hand and press the soft earth with its pink nail.