He pulled out his watch and looked at it reflectively.
“Half-past six. Where are you staying?”
“At the ‘Black Boar.’”
“I have something that I should like to show you. Have you time?”
She smiled at him shyly.
“Now and again time doesn’t matter.”
Canterton led her through the great plantations to the wild land on the edge of the fir woods where he had built the new cottage. It was finished, but empty. The garden had been turfed and planted, and beyond the young yew hedge the masses of sandstone were splashed with diverse colours.
“It’s new!”
“Quite! I built it in the winter.”
She stood at gaze, her lips quivering.