"If you would be so kind;" and John, stooping down, brushed away the dust from one dainty foot, and then the other. He could not help lingering over the task.
The widow, looking down on him, smiled to herself. "He's getting on," she murmured, and then--
"I think that will do--thank you so much. I'm afraid you have ruined that handkerchief--I'm so sorry."
John gave a last brush at the boot before him and rose. He was a little red in the face, but--he was getting on.
"I shall always keep this handkerchief sacredly, Mrs. Lamport," said he, putting it into his pocket carefully.
"How ridiculous!" And the widow gave a little toss to her head, her colour rising slightly.
They walked down the lane until they reached a small gateway. "This," said Halsa as she passed through it, "takes us into the custard apple garden, immediately behind the palm tree, and my favourite seat is there--near the well."
Galbraith followed her under the shade of the palms to the orchard. Their feet crackled over the dry leaves. A rough wooden seat was placed near a banyan tree which spread its shade over the well. Behind the seat was a thick lentena hedge in full bloom, and the butterflies were playing in a small cloud over the blossoms. Close to them a few mynas squabbled over some fallen fruit, and a gray squirrel scuttled past their feet up the trunk of the banyan, and chattered shrilly at them from its branches.
The widow sank into the seat with a comfortable purr, and began tracing imaginary diagrams with the end of her parasol among the fallen leaves at her feet. Galbraith remained standing. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Galbraith?" and Halsa pointed to the vacant space at her side. "There's room for two."
"It is not very warm to-day," he said, as he accepted the invitation.