"Let's sit down for a bit," she suggested.
They sat down by the water side, crushing the meadowsweet till its sickliness grew almost fierce with bruising. She sidled into his arms, and her own crept round him. "Bertie ..." she whispered. Her heart was throbbing quickly, and, as it were, very high—in her throat—choking her. She began to tremble. Looking up she saw his eyes above her, gazing down at her out of a mist—everything seemed misty, trees and sky and sunshine and his dear face.... She was holding him very tight, so tight that she could feel his collar-bones bruising her arms. He was kissing her now, and his kisses were like blows. She suddenly became afraid, and struggled.
"Jo, Jo—don't be a fool—don't put me off, now ... you can't, I tell you."
But she had come to herself.
"No—let me go. I ... it's late—I've got to go home."
She was strong enough to push him from her, and scrambled to her feet. They both stood facing each other in the trodden streamside flowers.
"I beg your pardon," he said at last.
"Oh, it doesn't matter."
She was ashamed.