But he drew away at last, and kissed her and covered her over, and began to cover himself. She lay looking up to the boughs of the tree, unable as yet to move. He stood and fastened up his breeches, looking round. All was dense and silent, save for the awed dog that lay with its paws against its nose. He sat down again on the brushwood and took Connie’s hand in silence.

She turned and looked at him. “We came off together that time,” he said.

She did not answer.

“It’s good when it’s like that. Most folks lives their lives through and they never know it,” he said, speaking rather dreamily.

She looked into his brooding face.

“Do they?” she said. “Are you glad?”