LOLLY WILLOWES
On his way back to the hut, Mr. Saunter noticed Laura. He came up and leant on his side of the gate. Though the sun had gone down, the air was still warm, and a disembodied daylight seemed to weigh upon the landscape like a weight of sleep. The birds which had sung all day now sang louder than ever.
"Hasn't it been a glorious day?" said Mr. Saunter.
"I have had my sister-in-law down," Laura answered. "She lives in London."
"My people," said Mr. Saunter, "all live in the Midlands."
"Or in Australia," he added after a pause.
Mr. Saunter, seen from above, walking among his flocks and herds—for even hens seemed ennobled into something Biblical by their relation to him—was an impressive figure. Mr. Saunter leaning on the gate was a pleasant, unaffected young man enough, but no more. Quitting him, Laura soon forgot him as completely as she had forgotten Caroline. Caroline was a tedious bluebottle; Mr. Saunter a gentle, furry brown moth; but she could brush off one as easily as the other.
Laura even forgot that she had invited the moth to settle again; to come to tea. It was
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