"Very well then, if you won't! I can't promise to marry you. I shall never marry at all." There was a quick vision of Robbie. "At least I don't think so, and anyway it would be some one else. Good-bye, sir, now." We were at the cemetery gates: "Unless you would wait? These primroses are for my mother. I come here to put them on her grave."
"You wouldn't like me to come?"
"Yes, you may. I want you to."
"Why?"
"Because I like you. That's a proper reason; and she wouldn't mind."
"Who? Your Grandmother you mean, or your aunt?"
"No, my mother. So come, will you please? What will you do with your horse?"
The horse was not to be a stumbling block. "Here, hi!" he called to a farmer's lad who was passing. "Hold the mare for a few minutes."
I led the way through the gate and across the familiar daisied turf. We stopped at a simple grave, kerbless, grass-grown and unpretending. On a plain upright slab of stone was inscribed
RACHEL TRAIES
These are they which came out of great tribulation.