It was a curiously elliptical conversation throughout, and at the gate of No. 24 they both seemed eager not to prolong it by standing. They said good-bye immediately, and both were conscious of electricity in the atmosphere.
That evening Catherine found herself unable to concentrate on homework. Mr. Weston was out at night-school, and she was thus left alone in the house. The nine o’clock rule was now virtually inoperative, since her father did not return till half-past ten on three nights out of the week. At about ten past nine Catherine put aside her books and went out for a walk. She had finished all her work excepting the map.
Cubitt Lane at this time on a glorious June evening was full of courting couples. They lurched along in a peculiarly graceless fashion, each leaning against the other.
“I wouldn’t do that,” thought Catherine, virtuously. “That is silly, if you like.”
At the bridge over the railway she heard a brisk “good evening” addressed to herself. She turned and saw it was George Trant....
“Where’re you off to?” he asked good-humouredly.
“Taking a walk.”
“So’m I.... Let’s go up the road....”
“All right.” ... They climbed the hill past the King’s Arms, and entered the Forest.