"But you must have got wet."
"No. But it would make no difference. I do not mind it. I love such a day. It is an etching. Do you go this way? I have stayed long enough."
She walked along the path in front of him, bending to avoid the low boughs, laughing when a wet leaf slapped her cheek.
"Let me go in front to clear the way," he said.
"Oh, no, I like this."
She leaped across a gulley. A briar pulled at her skirts. She turned about with the merest tint of a blush. He was not enough of an idealist to etherealize her. He felt her spirit, but acknowledged her a flesh and blood woman, belonging to the earth, but as the flower does, with a perfume. Her lips bespoke passion; her eyes control. He was glad that he saw her so clearly.
"We shall soon be to the road," she said.
"And you mean that you will leave me there as you did the other night?"
"You are quick to guess."
"Is it because you don't want to be seen with me?"