He picked it up, and dusted it. “I think it fell off,” he said. “It was confoundedly in the way, you know!”
“Wretch! You pushed it off, as though I had a dozen hats to my name!” she said merrily, stretching out her hand for it.
He gave it to her, but before she could put it on again, took her back into his arms. “If you must go, kiss me goodbye!”
She drew his head down. “Stoop, then, my giant! You are out of my reach!” There was a pause; she said uncertainly: “Let me go now! John, I must go!”
“Yes,” he said, releasing her. “You must, of course. Come! I’ll put you up in the saddle!”
They went out into the autumn sunlight. He went to fetch her hack from the sheep-fence, to which she had hitched the bridle, and led him up to her, testing the girths before he threw her into the saddle. As she arranged the folds of her skirt, he said: “When shall I see you again?”
“Tomorrow, unless Grandpapa should be ill, or—or there was some other impediment. Henry, by the by, has been asking me the most searching questions about you. I almost fear that he may suspect me of having a tendre for a mere gatekeeper, but I think I fobbed him off.”
“I don’t think it’s that. He passed the gate this morning, and tried his best to discover what has become of Brean.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing: I was the very picture of bovine stupidity! He is frightened of something—and I wish I knew what it may be!”