‘Come on, do!’ she said. ‘It’s after time.’
‘Why shouldn’t I stay here?’ he said, with a laugh.
‘You know as well as I do why,’ she said, with a managing air. ‘That new policeman, Bastard’s got eyes like a weasel.’
‘Is that all?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course that’s all.’
He came to the door and quickly closed it, then took her in his arms and kissed her. She returned his kisses.
‘Leave go of me now,’ she whispered. ‘Go out in the lane while I lock up and then come round to the back door, but don’t make too much row about it.’
‘Yo’m not codding me?’
‘Of course I’m not.’
She closed the door after him, saying ‘good-night’ in a clear voice for the benefit of the problematical constable. He heard her lock the door and slip an iron bar across into its sockets. The lighted windows went black. He slipped round to the back of the house and stood waiting in the angle that it made with an outhouse where dry bracken was stored. For a long time, as it seemed, he stood there staring at the faint and frosty stars. Then the door opened softly. She did not speak, but he stole on tiptoe to the door and entered the kitchen. Inside it was quite dark, for the shutters were closed and the fire banked down. He could not see her, being only conscious of her warm and fragrant presence. He groped in the dark, suddenly finding her face on his own.