"Oh, I don't know," said Liva.
Then a silence fell, resembling nothing so much as the breath of hesitation following a faux pas, save that this silence was longer, and was terminated by Liva humming a little snatch of song to symbolize how wholly delightful everything was.
"My!" said Timothy, finally. "You wouldn't think this was the Pump pasture at all, it looks so differ'nt."
"That's so," Liva said. "You wouldn't."
It was almost as if the two were inarticulate, as the pasture had been until the strange influences of the day had come to quicken it.
While Liva, with housewifely hands, put away the lunch things in their basket, Timothy nibbled along lengths of grass and hugged his knees and gloomed at the locket. It was then that Miggy and Peter passed them and the four greeted one another with the delicate, sheepish enjoyment of lovers who look on and understand other lovers. Then Timothy's look went back to Liva. Liva's rose-pink dress was cut distractingly without a collar, and the chain seemed to caress her little throat. Moreover, the locket had a way of hiding beneath a fold of ruffle, as if it were her locket and as if Timothy had no share in it.
"Oh," cried Liva, "Timmie! That was the lion roared. Did you hear?"
Timothy nodded darkly, as if there were worse than lions.