III
Next Sunday happened to be an exceptionally fine day. Quinney accompanied Susan and her mother to the Cathedral, but after the service Mrs. Biddlecombe returned to Laburnum Row, leaving the lovers in the elm-encircled Close. Quinney, whose eyes were sparkling even more than usual, strolled across the Mel, and presently he paused opposite the Dream Cottage. Susan pinched his arm.
"How horrid of you to bring me here," she whispered. "I hate the sight of it now."
"But why? Queer things girls are, to be sure."
"If it's queer not to stare at what one can't have, I'm queer," said the young lady rather shortly. "I was never one to flatten my nose against the window of a hat-shop when I'd no money to buy hats."
"You're a sensible little dear! But I brought you here because the place is sold. I knew that would cure you. Now oughtn't we to have a squint at the first?"
"It would make me squint to look at it now."
"It's nicer than a tent."
"A tent?"
"You said you would live happily in a tent with me."