"Surelye."
"I'm going into Folkestone next week, to that shop where I bought my party gown."
"And I'm going to Mr. Pratt to tell him to put up our banns, or we shan't have time to be cried three times before the first of June."
"The first!—I told you the twenty-fourth."
"But I'm not going to wait till the twenty-fourth. You promised me June."
"But I shan't have got in my hay, and the shearers are coming on the fourteenth—you have to book weeks ahead, and that was the only date Harmer had free."
"Joanna."
Her name was a summons, almost stern, and she looked up. She was still sitting at the table, stirring the last of her tea. He sat under the window on an old sea-chest, and had just lit his pipe.
"Come here, Joanna."
She came obediently, and sat beside him, and he put his arm round her. The blue and ruddy flicker of the wreckwood lit up the dark day.