knowledge that she had been describing Reddin.

'It doesn't signify very much,' said Mrs. Marston (severely for her),
'what you like, dear. But I suppose'--she softened--'that you do really
like Edward, since he has chosen you and you are pledged?'

Hazel shook her shoulders as if she wanted to get rid of a yoke. They
fell into silence, and as Mrs. Marston dozed, Hazel was able to fulfil
her desire that had sprung into being at the moment of seeing Mrs.
Marston's hat--namely, to squash one of those very round and brittle
grapes.

Her quick little hand, gleaming in the sun, hovered momentarily above
the black hat like a darting dragon-fly, and the mischief was done--bland
respectability smashed and derided.




Chapter 12


They went gallantly, if slowly, on through narrow ways, lit on either
side by the breath-taking freshness of new hawthorn leaves. Primroses,
wet and tall, crisply pink of stalk and huge of leaf, eyed them, as
Madonnas might, from niches in the isles of grass and weed.

Carts had to back into gates to let them go by, and when they came into
the main road horses reared and had to be led past. Hazel found it all
delightful. She liked, when the driver pulled up outside little wayside