“I must be moving on,” he said.
Neil, too, had risen. He held out the limp book. Peter took it and put it in his pocket.
“Chaucer or you,” he said, “which am I to believe?”
“Believe which you like,” retorted Neil. “Time will bring the proof. I’m glad I met you.” He held out his hand.
Peter took it. “Common politeness,” he said, “should make me echo that sentiment. Truth obliges me to hesitate. Yet frankly I like you. Perhaps you have sufficient acumen to guess at the reason for my hesitation. Well, good-bye.”
Peter vaulted over a stile that led into the high-road. He turned and waved his hat in the direction of the man looking after him, then started off at a swinging pace. Ten minutes took him into the valley, then he began to ascend. Part way up the hill he turned and looked at the now distant field.
“Oh, damn!” he said half ruefully. “Why the devil did I meet him!”
CHAPTER II