She didn't know, and told him so; she did not tell him that she didn't care either. He cogitated for a moment, and then said:
"But I say—what do you do at this place? Seems funny to me.... Mind yourself—somebody wants to get over——"
She had not heard anybody approach. It was Priddy, going down to Mazzicombe. Louie stood aside from the stile. Priddy climbed over it and began to descend the hill. Lovenant-Smith looked at Louie in surprise.
"I say," he said, "that's cool! Don't those fellows take their hats off to you?"
"No," said Louie. Then she turned her clear grey eyes on him. She had been fairly caught.
"Don't they? By Jove!... What are you looking at me like that for?"
The rippling laugh with which Louie replied dropped a note. "Guess!" she said.
"How can I guess?" he asked, with his innocent and statue-like stare.
For answer, Louie glanced to where Priddy's brown bowler hat was disappearing over the edge of the hill. Roy Lovenant-Smith saw—he really saw——
"What?" he exclaimed. "You don't mean to say that that chap will——?"