The Twelve Pound spinney stood about thirty yards back from the Street, behind the Bethel, and was reached by a little path and a stile opposite the Horselunges. As they passed the inn, Ivy saw Mrs. Breathing opening the door and the shutters for the Sunday’s short traffic, and at the same time saw ahead of her a dusty khaki figure ambling towards the sign with the particular padding unsoldierly tread of Jerry Sumption.
“He’s on the drink, now’s he knows as he can’t git me,” she thought—“the bad gipsy.” Then a feeling of regret and hopelessness came over her. Here were two men whose love she had muddled—one who had hurt her and one whom she had hurt. Was love all hurting and sorrow? For the first time the careless game of a girl’s years became almost a sinister thing. Her hand dragged at Seagrim’s arm, as if unconsciously and despite herself her body appealed to the man her soul despised ... then she lifted her eyes, and looked into Jerry’s as he passed, trotting by with hanging head and queer look, like a mad dog ... yes, love was a tar’ble game.
The black, still shadows of Twelve Pound Wood swallowed her and Seagrim out of the glare. The clop of hoofs and bowl of wheels on the Street came as from a great way off, and the hum of poised and darting insects, thick among the foxgloves, seemed to shut them into a little teeming world of buzz and pollen-dust and sun-trickled green. Seagrim stood still, and his arm slid from the crook of Ivy’s across her back, drawing her close. But with a sudden twisting movement she set herself free, standing before him in the path, with the tall foxgloves round her, flushed and freckled like her face, and behind her the pale cloud of the bennet heads like melting smoke.
“Kip clear of me, Willie Seagrim—I’ll have no truck wud you. I’ve met your wife.”
The man, slow of speech, gaped at her without a word.
“Yes. She caum round to our plaace three days agone, and shamed me before my mother. But I said I knew as you wur married, and to-day I walked out wud you to show the foalkses here I aun’t bin fooled. Now I’ve shown’ em, you can go. I’m shut of you.”
“Ivy—yo’re telling me that my Bess——”
“Yes—your Bess, wud gloves and buttoned boots and——” She checked herself. “Yes, she caum, and tried to put me to shaum. But I druv her off, surelye; and now I’m shut of you, fur a hemmed chap wot fooled me wud a lie.”
“But A no harmed yo’——”
“Harmed me!”—she gasped.