Mr. Sumption, after one or two abortive attempts at persuading Ivy to take his boy, tried to detach Jerry from the vain quest which was spoiling these precious days. “There’s many another girl that would have you, Jerry—and a better match, too, for a clergyman’s son.” “I know there is—and I’ve had ’em—and thrown ’em away again. She’s the only one I’ve ever wanted for keeps.” When he heard this, Mr. Sumption felt as if his heart would break. At last came the end of Jerry’s leave. It was starless dusk, with clouds swagging on the thundery wind. Pools and spills of white light came from the west, making the fields look ghostly in the dripping swale. At Worge a scent of withering corn-stalks came from the fields where the crops had been cut at last, and as Jerry stood in the doorway the first dead leaves of the year fell on his shoulders. “Come out with me, Ivy. It’s for the last time, and I hate your kitchen with the ceiling on my head, and your mother spannelling round.” Ivy was in a good humour. The joy of freedom was already upon her—she felt confident, and knew that there would be no lapses this evening. So she put a shawl over her head and went out with him. They passed through the yard and the orchard into the grass-fields by Forges Wood. The field was tangled and soggy, full of coarse, sour grass. In the dip of it, by the wood’s edge, toadstools spread dim tents, or squashed invisibly underfoot, as the twilight drank up all colours save white and grey. “I’ve trod on a filthy toadstool, and my foot’s all over scum,” said Ivy, rubbing her shoe in the grass. “Let’s git through the hëadge, Jerry, into the dry stubble.” “This is a better place to say good-bye.” “We’ll say good-bye in the house. Now, none of your nonsense, Jerry Sumption”—as he put his arm round her waist. “But it’s my last evening.” “Well, I’ve come for a walk. Wot more d’you want? I’m naun for cuddling, if that’s wot you’re after. I’ll give you a kiss, full and fair, when we say good-bye in the house, but there’s to be no lovering under hëadges.” “You’ve been unkind all along. You’ve spoilt my leave.” “That’s your own fault, surelye. I’ve bin straight wud you.” He laughed bitterly. Then his laugh broke into a gipsy whine. “Ivy, are you sure—quite sure you’ll never love me?” “Quite sure—as I’ve told you a dunnamany times.” “But I don’t mean now ... some day ... Ivy?” In the dusk his face showed white as the toadstools at her feet, but she stood firm, for his sake as well as her own. “It’s no use talking about ‘some day’—I tell you it’s never.” “Never!—and you’ve let me hold you and kiss you....” “Only now and then—saum as I’d let any nice lad.” His eyes blazed. “You little bitch!” “Mind your words, my boy—and leave hoald of my arm, and come into the next field, or I’ll git hoame.” But he did not move, and his grip on her arm tightened.