Then came the thoughts of her unknown father again.
"Ee-oooo-eee!"
She sat up. The whistle came from the stile up the hill. And suddenly she knew it was no curlew. It was Roy.
She listened.
"Ee-oooo-eee!"
It was Roy.
She knew he would not seek her farther than the stile. Had there not been other sleepers just below the orchard, it would still have been the extreme of his boldness that he had got so far. But—she remembered how from the first she had been the prime mover in their entirely wanton flirtation—was it necessarily the extreme of hers?
Then, as the devil would have it, something brought Mrs. Lovenant-Smith into her head again.
That woman!
All the blood left her cheeks and thronged to her heart again.