"Boarzell."
She lifted her eyes to the shape between her and the sky, and as unconsciously he had flushed so unconsciously she shuddered.
"Well, what about it?" she asked in a voice that stuck a little.
"It's wunnerful ..." he murmured, "all that great big dark Moor, wot's going to be mine."
She did not speak.
"Mine!" he repeated almost fiercely.
Then suddenly she began to plead:
"Can't you let it alone, Reuben?—we—we've been so happy these last months not worrying about it. Must we ever start again?"
Her voice came anxiously, timidly like a child's. He dropped her hand from his arm.
"Yes—we must," he said shortly.