“Have you got a cat?” “Yes, he’s called Minnie.” “They are so nice to have about the house--pets, I mean.” “Yes, aren’t they?” A pause. She was wonderful, so shy and retiring. What was there to say? He sought for words. “Will you come for another walk with me one day?” “Perhaps.” “We could go to the top of Swan’s Wood. It would be very nice of you. I am so alone.” “Why do you want to go up to the top? What happens there?” --What would? “There is a view, that’s all. A lovely view that I used to look at a great deal in the old days. And you can describe it to me when we get there.” “All right. Though I don’t know what you see in views.” He was a queer person, but very exciting. They walked. He guided his steps from the sound of hers. He felt awkward. Then he stumbled and almost fell, on purpose. She stopped and laid a hand on his arm. “Take care. You mustn’t fall down and hurt yourself.” “There is no harm done. I say, June, would you mind dreadfully if I did put my hand on your arm? I should be able to get along easier then.” “If you want to.” They set out again. Was it imagination or did she press his arm under hers, close to her? Had she much on? His heart beat, one felt that one could never say anything again. Wasn’t she wonderful? “Do you like cows?” “I don’t know. Why?” “They frighten me sometimes, although I live most of the time in the country. Don’t they you?” “No, I don’t think so.” “But they looked so fierce with their horns, and sometimes when they were frightened in Norbury market their eyes went purple and they slavered at the mouth.” “They are very stupid, that’s all.” “I’m not sure. And bulls, of course, are really dangerous.” “Bulls?” She laughed. “I like calves, June.” “Yes, calves are all right. They are so funny when they are young an’ their legs go wobbly.” He laughed. That was a little more human of her. “But they are awfully dangerous when they are like that, for the mother is only too ready to attack you, isn’t she?” “Quite likely. Don’t men fight bulls in Spain or some place like that?” “Yes, they do. And in England they used to set bulldogs on to bulls, so it’s in their blood. That was why ours went for Crayshaw’s cow. But I should have thought that they ought to stage cat-and-dog fights.” “Oh?” Back to cats again. But his arm was in hers, and it was warm there. “There’s a gate coming.” “The one into the road?” “Yes, that’s it. Mind, you mustn’t hurt yourself.” She guided him through, and his feet felt the stones. “Well, this is where I leave you. I’ll walk back by the road.” “Will you be all right?” “Yes. You will be coming to-morrow to have your hand looked to, won’t you?” “I expect so.” “Poor hand, I am so sorry about it. Does it hurt very much?” “It does rather.” Here was someone to make a fuss over it, and it did hurt too. “I’m so sorry.”