He took it to the well and filled it, made up the fire, and reached down some things from the cupboard. She watched him, drawing her gloves through her hand, anxious that he should notice her new hat. He looked at her furtively now and then, wondering whether white muslins and pink roses would have the power to transform her into a creature of that feminine world of which it seemed to him that there could be but one real habitant. Her thick stuff gown, her untidy skirt, and pitifully cheap little hat--he looked them all over mercilessly. She felt vaguely that her appearance displeased him, yet he had seemed glad to see her. She made up her mind to believe he was glad. It had been so miserable a week--every morning she had woke up in her stuffy little room with only this thought to cheer her--that she was one day nearer Saturday. Much scheming--even a harmless little fib had gone to the buying of the new hat. She had earned it fairly enough. A record week's wages, a dizzy head, fingers and hands sore with labor. But her reward had come. She threw herself upon the turf by his side. They talked very little. The birds were singing and the west wind blowing through the tree tops. Below them a wide stretch of country, blue-carpeted woods, brown and furrowed fields, fields green with sprouting corn. The girl spoke timidly of the books she had read; he listened, blowing out dense clouds of tobacco smoke. She talked, and every now and then she sighed. "It is so beautiful here," she murmured. "If only there was no going back." He was silent. His eyes were fixed upon the tall chimneys and smoky clouds which hung over the city. The girl was picking grass and throwing it away. Her hand met his, sought his touch--and Strone, so unused to anything of the sort, was embarrassed, and clumsily removed it. She rose up at once. "You don't want me here any longer," she said. "I'm off." He stopped her. "Why, what's the matter, Milly?" he exclaimed. "You have not had your tea yet." "I don't want any tea." She stood with her back turned to him. He had an uncomfortable suspicion that she was crying. "What nonsense," he said. "Sit down while I see about it." "I don't want any," she repeated. "I'm sorry I came. I'm sorry I ever saw you. I'm off!" She started down the turf walk, pushing her dusty old bicycle. Strone groaned to himself as he followed in pursuit. He caught her by the gate, touched her arm. She shook herself free. "Let me be," she said, keeping her face averted. He saw the gleam of tears in her eyes, and felt himself a brute. Then, somehow, he scarcely knew how it happened, his arm was around her waist and he had kissed her. After that there was no more talk of her going. She sobbed herself into an ecstasy. They returned together. "I thought that you wanted me gone," she said, in a broken tone, mopping her eyes with her handkerchief. "I was so miserable."