"Just think of the thousands who would give their eyes for your chances," she urged.
"If their fathers had plenty of money like mine, they'd probably do as I."
"Your father wants to see you worthy of it."
"I am. I've all sorts of expensive tastes."
Later, when they walked in the direction of Melkbridge, it seemed to Mavis as if she were talking to a friend of many years; he seemed to comprehend her so intimately that she felt wholly at home with him. He had changed into his flannel suit, which had been dried before the inn kitchen fire. He walked with his careless stride, his cap thrust into his pocket. Now and again, Mavis found herself glancing at his fair young face, his steely blue eyes, the wind-disturbed curls upon his head. Their way led them past a field carpeted with cowslips.
"Oh, look!" she cried, delightedly.
"Cowslips! Are you keen on wildflowers?"
"They're the only ones I care for."
"I only care for artificial ones. Shall I get you some cowslips?"
"If you wouldn't mind. We'll both go."