"Oh, it's you," she said. She did not know whether she was glad or annoyed to be interrupted.
"Yes, it's me," he replied placidly.
She was silent for a moment; then: "I thought you hadn't to hang about here?" she said.
"Well," he put it to her candidly, "how can I get over the stile when you're sitting on it? How can I, now?"
She laughed. "Well, I must get off on my proper side." She did so. "There," she said.
He climbed over with great deliberateness, walked a few yards with his piece of timber, and then turned again.
"No, you can't see her from here," he said. "She's down under the hill there. I don't think she's worth bothering about, but Izzard says she'll be quite all right with a new stay or two. I suppose I shall have to get 'em."
Louie felt a return of her amusement.
"Who's Izzard?" she asked.
"Izzard?" He looked at her as if she ought to know that. "Izzard's the other chap. Always painting, you know. Painting and mooning about and leaving me to do all the work. He's away there somewhere now." He pointed vaguely across the Channel. "I suppose he'll come back when he's ready. She is an old egg-box!—I say, how's your cousin Eric? And that girl—what's her name—Cynthia, wasn't it?"