see Notya before she goes to sleep."

"Mayn't I speak to Mr. Halkett?" he asked.

She did not look at the two men as they stood together. Again she
watched the twinkling poplar leaves and listened to their voices
rustling between the human ones, and when she seemed to have been
listening for hours, she said, "Zebedee, you ought to come. It's time
Notya went to sleep."

She led him through the house, and neither spoke as they went upstairs
and down again, but at the door, she said, "I'll see you drive away,"
and followed him to the gate.

She stood there until he was out of sight, and then she went slowly to
the kitchen where George was waiting for her.

"You've been a long time."

"Have I? I mean, yes, I have."

"What have you been doing?"

"Standing at the gate."

"Talking?"

"Thinking."

"Was he thinking too?"

"I expect so."

"H'm. Do you like him to come marching through your house?"

"Why not? He's an old friend of ours."

"He seems to be! You were in a hurry to get away from me, I noticed, and
then you have to waste time mooning with him in the twilight."

"He wasn't there, George." She laid the back of her hand against her
forehead. "I watched him out of sight."

"What for?"

"He looked so lonely, going home to--that. Are you always going to be
jealous of any one who speaks to me? It's rather tiring."

"Are you tired?"

"Yes," she said with a jerk, and pressed her lips together. He pulled
her to his knee, and she put her face against his strong, tanned neck.

"Well," he said, "what's this for?"

"Don't tease me."

"I'm not so bad, then, am I?"

"Not so bad," she answered. "You have been smoking one of those cigars."

"Yes. D'you mind?"

"I love the smell of them," she said, and he laid his cheek heavily on
hers.

"George!"

"U-um?" he said, drowsing over her.

"I think the rest of the summer is going to be happy."

"Yes, but how long's this to last? I want you in my house."

"I wish it wasn't in a hollow."

"What difference does that make? We're sheltered from the wind. We lie
snug on winter nights."

"I don't want to. I like to hear the wind come howling across the moor
and beat against the walls as if it had great wings. It does one's
crying for one."

"Do you want to cry?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"No."

"When, then?"

"Don't you?"

"Of course not. I swear instead." He shook her gently. "Tell me when you
want to cry."

"Oh, just when the wind does it for me,