They had said little as they climbed, as one does, for it is a climb, but now they turned to the left and walked slowly along the close-cropped ride through the tufted hummocky grass, skirting that ridge below which Fordham and Steyning nestle and a down winds to the sea.
"Now," she said, "what's the matter? Don't you think you'd like to tell me?"
"I would," cried Paul eagerly, "I'd love to. Besides——" He broke off, puzzling at her as they walked.
"Well?"
"I say, how did you know anything was the matter?"
"I saw last night," she said imperturbably. "It struck me that you were down and out, and hadn't a soul to speak to."
"You're right. But why do you bother with me?"
She walked on deliberately. "I'm not bothering. You see, I like you, and I like your verse, and you're the sort of person it's worth while talking to in life."
"That's very good of you," said Paul. "But I don't deserve all that. I'm an awful fool, and I've floundered about till I've got fairly well bogged."
"I thought so. Tell me."