“Well, I’m much taller than Angèle Saumarez, at any rate.”
“There’s no comparison between you in any respect.”
And this young spark three short hours ago, behind the woodpile, had gazed into Angèle’s eyes!
“Do you remember—we were talking about her when that creature flew at me?”
He laughed. It was odd how Angèle’s name kept cropping up. The church clock struck nine. They listened to the chimes. Neither spoke until the tremulous booming of the bell ceased.
“I’m afraid I must be going,” said Martin, without budging an inch.
“Did you—did you—find any difficulty—in opening the gate? It is rather stiff. And your poor hands must be so sore.”
From excessive politeness, or shyness, Elsie’s tongue tripped somewhat.
“It was a bit stiff,” he admitted. “I had to reach up, you know.”