"Because I can't afford to be always hiring wagonettes to go to Woodford
Bridge."
"Cuckoo!"
"Caroline—do you think she could have heard?"
"Cuckoo, Aunt Bella! Cuckoo!"
IV.
On the high road the white dust had a clear, sharp, exciting smell. At the wet edges of the ford it thickened.
When you shut your eyes you could still see Bertha's scarlet frock on the white bridge path and smell the wet earth at the edges of the ford.
You were leaning over the white painted railing of the bridge when she began. The water flowed from under the little tunnel across the road into the field beyond. Deep brown under the tunnel, tawny in the shallow ford, golden patches where the pebbles showed through, and the water itself, a sheet of thin crystal, running over the colours, sliding through them, running and sliding on and on.
There was nothing in the world so beautiful as water, unless it was light. But water was another sort of light.
Bertha pushed her soft sallow face into yours. Her big black eyes bulged out under her square fringe. Her wide red mouth curled and glistened. There were yellowish stains about the roots of her black hair. Her mouth and eyes teased you, mocked you, wouldn't let you alone.