“I must ask her quick, while I feel as if everything had gone, and I was ghostish. I think I must sound rather a lunatic.” He looked at me, and his eyelids hung heavy over his eyes as if he had been drinking, or as if he were tired. “Is she at home?” he said. “No, she’s gone to Nottingham. She’ll be home before dark.” “I’ll see her then. Can you smell violets?” I replied that I could not. He was sure that he could, and he seemed uneasy till he had justified the sensation. So he arose, very leisurely, and went along the bank, looking closely for the flowers. “I knew I could. White ones!” He sat down and picked three flowers, and held them to his nostrils, and inhaled their fragrance. Then he put them to his mouth, and I saw his strong white teeth crush them. He chewed them for a while without speaking; then he spat them out and gathered more. “They remind me of her too,” he said, and he twisted a piece of honeysuckle stem round the bunch and handed it to me. “A white violet, is she?” I smiled. “Give them to her, and tell her to come and meet me just when it’s getting dark in the wood.” “But if she won’t?” “She will.” “If she’s not at home?” “Come and tell me.” He lay down again with his head among the green violet leaves, saying: “I ought to work, because it all counts in the valuation. But I don’t care.” He lay looking at me for some time. Then he said: “I don’t suppose I shall have above twenty pounds left when we’ve sold up—but she’s got plenty of money to start with—if she has me—in Canada. I could get well off—and she could have—what she wanted—I’m sure she’d have what she wanted.” He took it all calmly as if it were realised. I was somewhat amused. “What frock will she have on when she comes to meet me?” he asked. “I don’t know. The same as she’s gone to Nottingham in, I suppose—a sort of gold-brown costume with a rather tight fitting coat. Why?” “I was thinking how she’d look.” “What chickens are you counting now?” I asked. “But what do you think I look best in?” he replied. “You? Just as you are—no, put that old smooth cloth coat on—that’s all.” I smiled as I told him, but he was very serious. “Shan’t I put my new clothes on?” “No—you want to leave your neck showing.” He put his hand to his throat, and said naïvely: “Do I?”—and it amused him. Then he lay looking dreamily up into the tree. I left him, and went wandering round the fields finding flowers and bird’s nests. When I came back, it was nearly four o’clock. He stood up and stretched himself. He pulled out his watch. “Good Lord,” he drawled, “I’ve lain there thinking all afternoon. I didn’t know I could do such a thing. Where have you been? It’s with being all upset you see. You left the violets—here, take them, will you; and tell her: I’ll come when it’s getting dark. I feel like somebody else—or else really like myself. I hope I shan’t wake up to the other things—you know, like I am always—before them.” “Why not?”