We wandered about picking flowers and talking until teatime. A manservant came with the tea-basket, and the girls spread the cloth under a great willow tree. Lettie took the little silver kettle, and went to fill it at the small spring which trickled into a stone trough all pretty with cranesbill and stellaria hanging over, while long blades of grass waved in the water. George, who had finished his work, and wanted to go home to tea, walked across to the spring where Lettie sat playing with the water, getting little cupfuls to put into the kettle, watching the quick skating of the water beetles, and the large faint spots of their shadows darting on the silted mud at the bottom of the trough. She glanced round on hearing him coming, and smiled nervously: they were mutually afraid of meeting each other again. “It is about teatime,” he said. “Yes—it will be ready in a moment—this is not to make the tea with—it’s only to keep a little supply of hot water.” “Oh,” he said, “I’ll go on home—I’d rather.” “No,” she replied, “you can’t because we are all having tea together: I had some fruits put up, because I know you don’t trifle with tea—and your father’s coming.” “But,” he replied pettishly, “I can’t have my tea with all those folks—I don’t want to—look at me!” He held out his inflamed, barbaric hands. She winced and said: “It won’t matter—you’ll give the realistic touch.” He laughed ironically. “_No_—you must come,” she insisted. “I’ll have a drink then, if you’ll let me,” he said, yielding. She got up quickly, blushing, offering him the tiny, pretty cup. “I’m awfully sorry,” she said. “Never mind,” he muttered, and turning from the proffered cup he lay down flat, put his mouth to the water, and drank deeply. She stood and watched the motion of his drinking, and of his heavy breathing afterwards. He got up, wiping his mouth, not looking at her. Then he washed his hands in the water, and stirred up the mud. He put his hand to the bottom of the trough, bringing out a handful of silt, with the grey shrimps twisting in it. He flung the mud on the floor where the poor grey creatures writhed. “It wants cleaning out,” he said. “Yes,” she replied, shuddering. “You won’t be long,” she added, taking up the silver kettle. In a few moments he got up and followed her reluctantly down. He was nervous and irritable.