Everywhere there was a noise of birds nestling amongst the leaves,
of invisible streams running through the grass, of branches
mysteriously cracking, and, always, in the distance some one seemed
to be chopping with an axe. If you pushed a window open multitudes
of little insects fell in showers about you. All the roses were
eaten with green flies.
"What a place!" said Maggie; nevertheless it was rather agreeable
after the sand of Skeaton.
During the first three days they preserved their attitude of
friendly distance. On the fourth evening Maggie desperately flung
down her challenge. They were sitting, after supper, in the wild
deserted garden. It was a wonderful evening, faintly blue and dim
crocus with flickering silver stars. The last birds twittered in the
woods; the green arc of the hill against the evening sky had a great
majesty of repose and rest. "Now, Paul!" said Maggie.
"What is it, dear?" but he slowly changed colour and looked away
from her, out into the wood.
"We've got to face it some time," she said. "The sooner, then, the
better--"
"Face what?" he asked, dropping his voice as though he were afraid
that some one would overhear.
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