Fifteen from forty is twenty-five. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. I’d only get a pack of lies in reply. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. ‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. I suppose most of our daughters would marry organ-grinders if they had a chance—at that age. His guardian angel warned Spurlock to speak carefully. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs.
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