"Oh!" she answered.
"Yes. My father was wondering yesterday how he was getting on, so I just thought I'd come over and see him. I suppose you're busy?"
"You suppose right!"
He moved a step or two away from the door of the byre. "Then I won't hinder you in your work," he said.
"You're not hinderin' me," she replied, coming out of the dark byre as she spoke. "It would take the quare man to hinder me! Where's Mr. Marsh this mornin'?"
"Oh, somewhere!"
"I thought you an' him was always thegether. You're always about anyway!"
He felt strangely boyish while she was talking. Last night, when he had drawn her to him and had kissed her soft, moist lips, he had felt suddenly adult. While his arms were about her, he was conscious of manhood, of something new in his life, something that he had been growing to, but until that moment had not yet reached ... and now, standing in the strong sunlight and looking into her firm, laughing eyes, his manhood seemed to have receded from him, and once more he was ... a wee fellow, a schoolboy, a bit of a lad.... His vexation must have been apparent in his expression, for she said "What ails you?" to him.
"Nothing," he replied, turning away.
It was she who was making him feel schoolboyish again. She looked so capable and so assured, standing outside the byre-door, with a small crock in her hands, that he felt that she was many years older than he was, that she knew far more than he could hope to know for a long time....