“Sing, Jon!”
Jon sang. The larks joined in, sheep-bells, and an early morning church far away over in Steyning. They went on from tune to tune, till Fleur said:
“My God! I am hungry now!”
“Oh! I am sorry!”
She looked round into his face.
“Jon, you're rather a darling.”
And she pressed his hand against her waist. Jon almost reeled from happiness. A yellow-and-white dog coursing a hare startled them apart. They watched the two vanish down the slope, till Fleur said with a sigh: “He'll never catch it, thank goodness! What's the time? Mine's stopped. I never wound it.”
Jon looked at his watch. “By Jove!” he said, “mine's stopped; too.”
They walked on again, but only hand in hand.
“If the grass is dry,” said Fleur, “let's sit down for half a minute.”