He made no reply to this; but drawing under his arm her free hand, and straightening his shoulders, he gazed up the road.

“Do you remember our night in the cornfield, Chris? After that game of bowls?”

She lifted her head and looked sharply at him, and he received the impression that he had struck an unseasonable note.

“I’m not one for forgetting, Wolf. You ought to know that by this time.”

“Urquhart gave me two hundred pounds for finishing his book, Chris. I’ve never told you that, have I?”

But she had turned her face away now and was evidently thinking about Olwen, and getting anxious to return.

“Oh, I’m so glad, my dear!” Her voice was sympathetic, but it was the calm sympathy of a friend, not the vibrant sympathy of a lover.