ton a message from me. My name is Valerie Carr. You hear it? Valerie Carr. Tell him that, and tell him I think he is the meanest man I ever heard of, the meanest man. You say that.”
The boy’s impassive face was raised to hers.
“He not like the people who make a picnic, miss,” he said gravely.
“I understand, but you tell him what I said.”
She took up her things and followed him out to the road.
“How far does his land go?” she asked.
“There, to that big tree, miss,” he pointed.
“I see. Be sure you tell him what I said, and my name, Valerie Carr,” and she walked on.
She was not angry now. She was amused and excited. If the boy gave Dane her message she knew that he would be bound to tender her some kind of apology. She wandered on wondering if he would and how he would do it. Then she resettled herself on the bank of the river a mile further on, and tried to forget the incident. But it kept intruding itself upon the pages of Esther Waters and upon her rambling thoughts. The only time she was really oblivious of it was when for two hours she lay asleep.
Later in the afternoon she crossed the road and climbed a hill by a rough track. There was a fine view from the top, and she ate her remaining sandwiches and stayed there till the sun dropped out of sight behind her. It was dusk when she reached Dane Barrington’s retreat. She lingered along by the old buried fence listening for sounds from within. She wondered again if anybody but his servants lived there with him. She craved to go in, defying the notice at the gate. She thought it the most seductive place she had ever found beside a lonely road.
It was seven when she reached the News office with three
