"I wonder if there are any gudgeon there?" he said; "I could bring a rod—"
"Oh, but are you coming? Is that right? I think there are fish there," she added, innocently, "and I usually come after luncheon."
"And when your gowns arrive from Paris—"
"Then! Then you shall see! Oh! I shall be a very different person; I shall be timid and silent and stupid and awkward, and I shall answer, 'Oui, monsieur;' 'Non, monsieur,' and you will behold in me the jeune fille of the romances."
"Don't!" he protested.
"I shall!" she cried, shaking out her scarlet skirts full breadth. "Good-by!"
In a second she had gone, straight away through the forest, leaving in his ears the music of her voice, on his finger-tips the touch of her warm hand.
He stood, leaning on his gun—a minute, an hour?—he did not know.
Presently earthly sounds began to come back to drown the delicious voice in his ears; he heard the little river Lisse, flowing, flowing under green branches; he heard a throstle singing in the summer wind; he heard, far in the deeper forest, something passing—patter, patter, patter—over the dead leaves.