"Oh, if you're afraid of a drop of rain—" And Amber walked on witheringly. It was a clever move.
Walter followed in silence. Amber did not become aware of him till she was in the middle of an embryonic footpath through tall bracken that made way, courtseying, for the rare pedestrian.
"Oh!" She gave a little scream. "I thought you were studying the bees—or the moles."
"I have only been studying your graceful back."
"How mean! Behind my back!" She laughed, pleased. "I hope you haven't discovered anything Bismarckian about my back."
"Only in the sense that I followed it, and must follow—till the path widens."
"Ah, how you must hate following—you, so terrible ambitious."
"The path will widen," he said composedly.
She planted her feet firm on Mother Earth—as though it were literally her own mother—and turned a mocking head over a tantalising shoulder. "I shall stay still right here."
He smiled maliciously. "And I, too; I follow you no farther."