As she did so a man stepped out from the trees. It was Hector Blunt.

The girl started. Her expression changed a little. “How you startled me⁠—I didn’t see you.”

Blunt said nothing, but stood looking at her for a minute or two in silence.

“What I like about you,” said Flora, with a touch of malice, “is your cheery conversation.”

I fancy that at that Blunt reddened under his tan. His voice, when he spoke, sounded different⁠—it had a curious sort of humility in it.

“Never was much of a fellow for talking. Not even when I was young.”

“That was a very long time ago, I suppose,” said Flora gravely.

I caught the undercurrent of laughter in her voice, but I don’t think Blunt did.