“Lettie. We’ve got notice, did you know?”
I started to my feet this time with amazement.
“Notice to leave?—what for?”
“Rabbits I expect. I wish she’d have me, Cyril.”
“To leave Strelley Mill!” I repeated.
“That’s it—and I’m rather glad. But do you think she might have me, Cyril?”
“What a shame! Where will you go? And you lie there joking!”
“I don’t. Never mind about the damned notice. I want her more than anything.—And the more I look at these naked lines, the more I want her. It’s a sort of fine sharp feeling, like these curved lines. I don’t know what I’m saying—but do you think she’d have me? Has she seen these pictures?”
“No.”
“If she did perhaps she’d want me—I mean she’d feel it clear and sharp coming through her.”
“I’ll show her and see.”
“I’d been sort of thinking about it—since father had that notice. It seemed as if the ground was pulled from under our feet. I never felt so lost. Then I began to think of her, if she’d have me—but not clear, till you showed me those pictures. I must have her if I can—and I must have something. It’s rather ghostish to have the road suddenly smudged out, and all the world anywhere, nowhere for you to go. I must get something sure soon, or else I feel as if I should fall from somewhere and hurt myself. I’ll ask her.”
I looked at him as he lay there under the holly-tree, his face all dreamy and boyish, very unusual.
“You’ll ask Lettie?” said I, “When—how?”
