“Hello!” he said.
She put an arm round his neck and drew his face down to hers.
He smiled and began to tease her.
“Is our honeymoon going to last for ever?” he asked, holding his head back so that his lips did not quite touch hers.
“Very well, then,” she said; “I don’t want to kiss you.”
He looked up the garden to the field where the thick weeds grew profusely many feet high.
“Shall we hide ourselves in the grass?” he asked.
She pretended to draw away from him. So he put his arm about her waist and compelled her to walk by his side. They passed through the flowers and reached the edge of the field. When they stepped into the luxuriant weeds, the grasses almost touched their shoulders. At the field’s centre they stopped.
“I love you much better than Pierre,” she whispered.
“Who is Pierre?” he asked indifferently, taking his lips from her neck in order to speak.