"Well, that's a comfort, at any rate," says her affianced, dimly
conscious of a dawning civility in her last remark. "If it's really
possible for you to walk on those high heels of yours, FLORA, let's try
a promenade out-doors."

Here Miss CAROWTHERS glides into the room to look for her scissors, is
reminded by the scene before her of Breachy Mr. BLODGETT; whispers,
"Don't trifle with her young affections, Mr. DROOD, unless you want to
be sued, besides being interviewed by all the papers;" and glides out
again with a sigh.

FLORA then puts upon her head a fig-leaf trimmed with lace and ribbon,
and gets her hoop and stick from behind the hall-door. EDWIN DROOD takes
from one of his pockets an india-rubber ball, to practice fly-catches
with as he walks; and driving the hoop and throwing and catching the
ball, the two go down the ancient turnpike of Bumsteadville together.

"Oh, please, EDDY, scrape yourself close to the fences, so that the
girls can't see you out of the windows," pleads FLORA. "It's so utterly
absurd to be walking with one that one's got to marry whether one likes
it or not; and you do look so perfectly ridiculous in that short coat,
and all your other things so tight."

He gloomily scrapes against the fences, dropping his ball and catching
it on the rebound at every step. "Which way shall we go?" "Up by the
store, EDDY, dear."

They go to the all-sorts country store in question, where EDWIN DROOD
buys her some sassafras bull's-eye candy, and then they turn toward home
again.