“I suppose you find it frightfully dull down here?”
Magda laughed a little.
“Is that because I told you to come and amuse me? . . . No, I don’t find it dull. Change is never really dull.”
“Well, you must find it change enough here from the sort of life you’ve been accustomed to lead.”
“How do you know what sort of life I lead?”—teasingly.
“I can guess. One has only to look at you. You’re different—different from everyone about here. The way you move—you’re like a thoroughbred amongst cart-horses.” He spoke with a kind of sullen bitterness.
Magda drew her feet up on to the rock and clasped her hands round her knees.
“Now you’re talking nonsense, you know,” she said amusedly. “Frankly, I like it down here immensely. I happened to be—rather worried when I came away from London, and there’s something very soothing and comforting about the country—particularly your lovely Devon country.”
“Worried?” Storran’s face darkened. “Who’d been worrying you?”
“Oh”—vaguely. “All sorts of things. Men—and women. But don’t let’s talk about worries to-day. This glorious sunshine makes me feel as though there weren’t any such things in the world.”