It was long since she had ridden here without
encountering Francis Sales, who was bound up with her knowledge of the
country, and who, quite evidently, wished to annex some of the love
she lavished on it. This was a ridiculous desire which made her smile
again, yet, while she was glad to be alone, she missed the attention
of his presence. He had developed a capacity, which was like another
sense, for finding her when she rode on his domains or in their
neighbourhood, and she was surprised to feel a slight annoyance at his
absence, an annoyance which, illogically, was increased by the sight
of his black spaniel, the sure forerunner of his master, making his
way through the hedge. A moment later the tall figure of Sales himself
appeared above the budding twigs.
He greeted her in the somewhat sulky manner to which she was
accustomed. He was a young man with a grievance, and he looked at her
as though to-day it were personified in her.
She answered him cheerfully: 'What a wonderful day!'
'The day's all right,' he said.
Holding the primroses to her nose, she looked round. Catkins were
swaying lightly on the willows, somewhere out of sight a tiny runnel
of water gurgled, the horse ate noisily, the grass had a vividness of
green like the concentrated thought of spring.
'I don't see how anything can be wrong this morning,' she said.
'Ah, you're lucky to think so,' he answered, gazing at her clear, pale
profile.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25