She sipped. The kettle threw out sprays of steam and bubbles bubbled angrily about the lid. Sometimes the lid would rise as if to let something out, and there would be a hissing in the fire and then it would fall back again. The room was full of movement with sudden still glowing colours here and there on the furniture where the fire caught it. A late fly dozed just within the half-circle of light thrown out by the fire on the ceiling and where the shadows crept up from the corners trying to choke the light. The room was so warm. And the figure in the chair sat straight and quiet with hands crossed on her lap, and the whalebone in her collar kept the chin from drooping. * * * * * “So we are going to Swan’s Wood, are we?” “Yes, do you mind?” “No.” He pressed closer. “This silence with the sun and with the sharpness of the frost still on the ground and with you here ...” he said, but she did not answer. “The breadth and distance there is in the country to-day, June, don’t you feel it?” “I don’t know.” “The country is so full of the sun to-day, June, and I am away from them all, for you have rescued me from the house, so that I am with you. And we have hours of time, this will be the longest walk of all that we have had yet. It is such an adventure. Do you like walking with me, June?” “Perhaps I do, perhaps I don’t.” “But you must, or else it will be so dull for you. And you are kind to take me out, for they are old in the house, so old. Poor Nan is dying, and William the butler who is waiting for a pension, and old Pinch who is going to retire next week. Mamma is giving him a cottage rent free. He has worked in the garden for forty years.” “Do they get pensions? How much?” “Enough to live on, when they have deserved it. But listen to that cock, June, crowing so boastfully such miles away. And the car droning up Bodlington Hill on its way to Norbury, with the stream just near hurrying by over the stones. And the birds are singing to the fine day, there are so many of them. Do you know the names of birds?” “No, an’ I wish I did.” “Nor do I, it does not really matter. But what luck that we should have the sun for our walk. We have had so much rain up to now.” “An’ I hate rain.” “So do I! Listen to the starlings on that tree, screaming at us, perhaps. June, did you say the other day that you lived alone with your father?” “Yes. Why not?” “I did not mean that. It is a very excellent thing to do. But you must be very lonely sometimes.” “Sometimes.” “Then do you never see anyone? It must be so dull: I know how it is.” “Oh yes, I see one or two.” She laughed. “Who? But I never see anyone, except stewed people that Mamma serves up, when there is no way of keeping them out. And you are nicer than any of them.” “You are a funny card.”