was not so much as a sheep in sight: there was only the horse who,
careless of these human beings, still ate eagerly, chopping the good
grass with his teeth, and the spaniel who panted self-consciously and
with a great affectation of exhaustion. The place was beautiful and
the sunlight had some quality of enchantment. Faint, delicious smells
were offered on the wind and withdrawn in caprice; the trees were all
tipped with green and interlaced with blue air and blue sky; she
wished she could say she loved him, and she repeated her denial half
regretfully.

'Rose,' he pleaded, 'I've known you all my life!'

'Perhaps that's why. Perhaps I know you too well.'

'You don't. You don't know how--how I love you. And I should be
different with you. I should be happy. I've never been happy yet.'

'You can't,' she said slowly, 'get happiness through a person if you
can't get it through yourself.'

'Yes--if you are the person.'

She shook her head. 'I'm sorry. I can't help it.'

He reproached her. 'You've never thought about it.'

'Well, isn't that the same thing? And,' she added, 'you're so far
away.'

'I can get through the hedge,' he said practically.