'You might lend me your parasol, Anna,' she said.
'Of course, how stupid of me when I have my large hat. But I was not thinking of parasols.'
'Because you have one. It certainly is very hot here,' she said, resting the parasol on her shoulder and twirling it to and fro.
'Stifling.'
'And on the ridge, where there's a breeze, the colour of the ling makes my eyes ache. I've been sitting there reading. There was a book of yours on the parlour table, one of Bret Harte's. I took it up and carried it all the way. I did not know I was carrying it. Strange!'
'I think you knew as little what else you were doing.'
There was another pause. Anna suspected indecision, but neither Mrs. Severn's face nor the poise of her figure betrayed any. She stood restfully. Still she was certainly pondering deeply.
'Not one of the windows opens,' she said suddenly.
Anna could not help smiling.