“Yes.”
“So good looking, and such nice manners. You would never have thought that he——”
“Was in trade?”
“Not quite that, dear, but selling things for money.”
“Of course, he might give them away. I suppose his social position would be greatly improved!”
“I don’t think that would be quite feasible, dear. Really, sometimes, you are almost simple.”
Canterton was walking through the woods, head bent, his eyes curiously solemn.
“What I want! She will bring me back what I want. What is it that I want?”
He came suddenly from the shadows of the woods into the full splendour of the evening light upon blue hills and dim green valleys. He stopped dead, eyes at gaze, a spasm of vague emotion rising in his throat. This sun-washed landscape appeared like a mysterious projection of something that lay deep down in his consciousness. What was it he wanted? A vital atmosphere such as this—comradeship, sympathy, passionate understanding.