“I wondered what it could be compared to,” she resumed with great rapidity. She did not show her disappointment at his disregard of the glory of mellow growth which he had taken the trouble to indicate. “Oh, what is worthy of being mentioned in the same breath as this?... But how did you come here from that direction?” “I crossed the river by the bridge and took a stroll through the woods,” said he. “I was not sure that I should find a path through this field, but when I saw the stile I had hopes.” “That is how people come upon the best things that life has in store for them--by the merest fluke,” said she, and she made a movement as if she understood that they were to walk together to The Weir. “Don’t let us go away for another minute,” said he, without moving. She turned her head only, with the sunshade over it. An enquiry was on her face. “Don’t go away,” he repeated. “I was going to put those words of yours to the test.” “What words? Did I say anything? Oh, the beauty of the wheatfield? I will not have it analysed by any canon of criticism. If you say that it is too yellow I shall never speak to you again.” “I will not say that, and yet perhaps you will never speak to me again.” The smile faded away from her face at the tone of his voice. “I will listen to you,” she said resolutely. He looked into her face for a few moments and then he took a step or two away from her, actually turning round to do so. His eyes were fixed on the ground. “You said that people come upon the best things in life as--as I came here--to you, and I am going to find out whether I have come upon the best or the worst thing that life has to offer me, for I am going to tell you that I love you and to ask you if you can give me any hope that you will one day think of me as loving you.” He was now standing face to face with her. He spoke in a low voice but not in even tones, until she gave a little cry--it sounded like a sob--when he was half way through his sentences, making a motion of protest with one hand; then his voice became quite steady--steady almost to a point of coldness. She did not answer him at once. But there came a silence, through which they could both hear the hum of the wild bees on the green bank. Two sulphur butterflies danced above them in the air. She watched the butterflies, and then glanced at the bank. “There is sweet briar about here I am sure,” she said, as if they had been discussing the herbarium. He thought he appreciated her mood of the moment. “Yes,” he said; “I think there must be sweet briar somewhere.” He did not stir hand or foot. His hands were in the pocket of his jacket. She took a few steps to the bank; then her sunshade slipped from her shoulder and fell awkwardly on the ground behind her; for she had no hand to hold it; she was holding both her hands to her face sobbing in them.