They stood together in the middle of the lawn without speaking. At last Gabrielle shivered. Arthur noticed it quickly. "I hope you're not cold," he said.
"No, I'm not cold—only—only we're so exposed out here. If we could get a little more into the shadow I should feel more comfortable——"
"That's easily managed," he said laughing. "We can go over by the sundial. It's called a yew-parlour, I think. It might have been made for us."
So they passed into its shade. Mrs. Payne noticed eagerly that his hand was not on her arm. The yew hedge that now sheltered them concealed her also from their sight, and, greatly relieved, she crept along her cover of privet into the shadow of a mulberry tree where, by stooping a little, she could watch them unperceived.
"What a wonderful night," Gabrielle whispered.
"I never knew such a night," he said. "It feels a bit like that evening when we stood leaning over the bridge by the lake."
"Don't," she said. "I want to forget it. Can you smell the dew?"
"Yes, and the scent of may coming over from the meadows."
"We call it whitethorn in Ireland."
There was a long pause, then he spoke again.