get up, he must hear her coming. He looked like a gentleman.
"How do you do?" she said, a little coldly.
He was studying the pebbles; at the sound of her voice he twisted and looked up over his shoulder. He seemed faintly shy, yet also entirely composed.
"Hullo!" he said. "I mean, how do you do." His voice was very gentle. (How different from George.) Something extraordinary about his way of looking at her; what clear hazel eyes. Instead of offering any explanation he seemed waiting for her to say something. She had confidently expected a quick scramble to his feet, a courteous apology for intruding. She felt a little angry at herself for not being able to speak as reprovingly as he deserved. But there was a crumb on his chin, somehow this weakened her. A man who would come into people's gardens and ask for cake and not even wipe the crumbs off his chin. He must be someone rather special.
"You're doing just what I wanted to," she said.
He looked at her, still with that placid inquiry.
"I mean lying on the ground, in the sun."
"It's nice," he said.
Really, of all embarrassing situations. If he didn't get up, she felt that in another minute she would be sprawling there herself. A very un-
