you at all. It will give you an idea of what a windmill can be."
"But I meant a real windmill. I'm only interested in real things, anyway."
"A Hobbema is better than real."
"Better than real," said June, opening wide eyes.
"When you see it, you'll understand what I mean. I do hope you'll come and look at it."
June was such a practical person that her first instinct was to refuse to do anything of the kind. But that instinct was overborne by the complexity of her feelings. In some ways he was the simplest Simon of them all; a longing to shake him was growing upon her, but the disconcerting fact remained that after a fashion he was decidedly clever. And leaving his mental qualities out of the case, when you got his face at an angle and you caught the light in his eyes, he was by far the handsomest young man she had ever seen. Therefore her promise was reluctantly given that on Saturday afternoon she would go with him to the National Gallery to see what a windmill was really like.
