“Is six o'clock a particularly suitable time?”
“Five o'clock might be better. If you don't go early, you often find that somebody has been round the fields first.”
Festing asked where she expected to find the mushrooms, and when she told him said, “Very well; I'll meet you. It only means half an hour's journey on your fine English road; that is, if the bicycle holds up.”
“But why do you want to gather mushrooms?”
“I don't want to gather mushrooms. I really want to see you where I think you belong.”
“In the fields?” Helen suggested humorously.
“No,” said Festing. “I don't mean in the fields. I've seen you in the afternoon when the sun's on the ripening corn and the leaves are dark and thick, but they stand for fulfilment, and that's not your proper setting. Once or twice I've stopped until evening, but you don't belong to the dusk.”
“Then where do I belong?”
“To the sunrise, when the earth is fresh and the day is getting bright. Promise is your sign; fulfilment hasn't come.”
Helen colored, and as she turned her head it struck her as portentous that she glanced towards the saffron streak that glimmered in the West. When she looked back, however, her face was calm.