'How stupid you are to-day—muttering to yourself like that!' cried Rosamund, briskly. 'Anyone would think you had a headache.'
'And so I had—a very bad one,' said Raymond.
Rosamund became tender immediately.
'Oh, my poor love!' murmured she. 'And what a horrid red mark that is round your forehead, as if you had been wearing a cap that was too tight for you. Stoop down a little—let me kiss it. There, does that feel better?'
'A great deal better,' Raymond answered, with a long sigh.
So they went back, hand in hand, through the meadow. The breeze came fresh and sweet upon their faces; they smelt the fragrance of the breath of cows. As they approached their home they walked more and more slowly. Rosamund was humming a little song to herself; she was as happy as a bird.
But Raymond was silent, and pondered many things.