"Have you counted them?" he asked.

"Did you like them?" she replied.

"I must have. I didn't think about them. Yes, I have. Six months
ago I should have fretted myself sick. Remember at Cairo? I've
only had two or three bad times. Am I getting better, or is it
senile decay?"

"Climate, all climate." Sophie swung her new-bought English
boots, as she sat on the stile overlooking Friars Pardon, behind
the Clokes's barn.

"One must take hold of things though," he said, "if it's only to
keep one's hand in." His eyes did not flicker now as they swept
the empty fields. "Mustn't one?"

"Lay out a Morristown links over Gale Anstey. I dare say you
could hire it."

"No, I'm not as English as that--nor as Morristown. Cloke says
all the farms here could be made to pay."

"Well, I'm Anastasia in the 'Treasure of Franchard.' I'm content
to be alive and purr. There's no hurry."

"No." He smiled. "All the same, I'm going to see after my mail."

"You promised you wouldn't have any."