‘Because of the useless misery ... and because they’ve—withered up your heart—so that you couldn’t recall them—even if you tried.’
‘Yes, my dear.’
‘I’ve had—one or two unhappinesses in my life. Everybody has, I suppose. I want to forget them....’
‘Of course, Judy, of course. You must never tell me anything you’d rather not.’
She put her arms round his neck a moment.
‘Thank you, Martin.’ She dried her eyes and said: ‘I won’t be so silly any more.’
And if a doubt or a fear had begun to cloud his mind, his voice was none the less gentle, his eyes none the less trusting.
He took her back to the garden and gathered sun-warmed strawberries for her; and they talked cheerfully together until lunch time.
That afternoon Martin fished for trout in the stream, and she sat on the bank and read a page of her book now and then; and sometimes watched him; and mostly dreamed.
His small-boyish absorption was amusing and rather appealing. He was immensely happy, moving along the bank in cautious excited silence, casting deftly up and down stream. If he were to be disturbed or upset in his pursuit, he would say ‘Ach!’ and swear, and flush all over his face, just as he had in the old days. Even if she were the disturber, it would make no difference. She knew better than to interfere, or to speak except when spoken to, and then briefly and to the point. That was in his eyes one of her most admirable qualities. He loved to have her beside him, behaving nicely and looking pretty, shewing interest, and smiling when it was seemly.