"You were in a hurry," panted David. "I called at the Wold Farm about a quarter of an hour ago, and Violet said you had just gone out in your best frock—she didn't know where. Then I met Shepherd and he said you had gone along the field road towards Littledale. I've nearly had a heart attack negotiating these young mountains of chalk. What does happen to your roads in summer? I've never seen such ruts."
Still she did not speak, but stood quietly, wrapping her handkerchief round her pricked finger, while golden hills and blue sky and green hedge danced giddily about her.
"You're not angry with me, are you?" he asked anxiously. "You see I've really come to apologize because I'm afraid you think I've behaved rather badly. I don't know what you think about Hunting. I know you always resented anyone else interfering in your village, though why, Heaven knows, for it's really no more yours than anyone else's. He's not a bad chap really—Hunting I mean—though his clothes are appalling. And I did warn you, didn't I?"
She turned now.
"I'm not angry at all. How do you do, Mr. Rossitur?" she said primly, holding out her hand.
"I'm all right, especially now I know you're not angry, or rather I shall be all right when I've recovered from this obstacle race. But you—I say, Mrs. Robson, you don't look a bit well."
"It's this heat," said Mary unsteadily. "I was helping with the washing all the morning. It's very hot here."
"It must be. Look here, won't you sit down a minute? Unless of course you are in a great hurry to go wherever you were going so quickly. You do look tired."
He looked round for some shade. The sun was scorching the dusty grasses at their feet. On the other side of the road the ripening oats rose hardly waist-high above the shadowless ground.
"I was going to Littledale, but I don't think I'm in any particular hurry. It is so hot. There's some shade on the other side of the hedge."