“It's their sense of property,” he said, “which makes people chain things. The last generation thought of nothing but property; and that's why there was the War.”
“Oh!” said Fleur, “I never thought of that. Your people and mine quarrelled about property. And anyway we've all got it—at least, I suppose your people have.”
“Oh! yes, luckily; I don't suppose I shall be any good at making money.”
“If you were, I don't believe I should like you.”
Jon slipped his hand tremulously under her arm. Fleur looked straight before her and chanted:
“Jon, Jon, the farmer's son, Stole a pig, and away he run!”
Jon's arm crept round her waist.
“This is rather sudden,” said Fleur calmly; “do you often do it?”
Jon dropped his arm. But when she laughed his arm stole back again; and Fleur began to sing:
“O who will oer the downs so free, O who will with me ride? O who will up and follow me—-”