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"Come!" he said; "milk's spilt." "All right!" said Derek gruffly, and he went to the door. Felix made Nedda a sign and she slipped out after him. Nedda, her blue head-gear trailing, followed along at the boy's side while he passed through the orchard and two fields; and when he threw himself down under an ash-tree she, too, subsided, waiting for him to notice her. "I am here," she said at last.
That night it began to rain. Nedda, waking, could hear the heavy drops pattering on the sweetbrier and clematis thatching her open window. The scent of rain-cooled leaves came in drifts, and it seemed a shame to sleep. She got up; put on her dressing-gown, and went to thrust her nose into that bath of dripping sweetness.
After writing the little note to Nedda, he hurried to the station and found a train about to start. To see and talk with the laborers; to do something, anything to prove that this tragic companion had no real existence! He went first to the Gaunts' cottage.
You'll like your Uncle Tod; as to the others, I can't say, but your aunt is an experience, and experiences are what you want, it seems." Fervently, without speech, Nedda squeezed his arm. Stanley Freeland's country house, Becket, was almost a show place.
And at that thought which had come to her so unexpectedly a thought never before shaped so definitely Nedda planted her arms on the window-sill, with sleeves fallen down, and let her hands meet cup-shaped beneath her chin. Love!
She answered, without turning: "Have you ever seen, on jubilee nights, bonfire to bonfire, from hill to hill, to the end of the land? This is the first lighted." Nedda felt something clutch her heart. What was that figure in blue? Priestess? Prophetess?
Away to the right below her window were the first trees of the fruit garden; for many of them Spring was over, but the apple-trees had just come into blossom, and the low sun shining through a gap in some far elms was slanting on their creamy pink, christening them Nedda thought with drops of light; and lovely the blackbirds' singing sounded in the perfect hush!
That was it. She was a remarkably nice girl. But Hoddan suddenly doubted if she were a delightful one. He found himself questioning that she was exactly and perfectly what his long-cherished ambitions described. He tried to imagine spending his declining years with Nedda. He couldn't quite picture it as exciting. She did tend to be a little insipid
And yet, for him or her who loves, there is at least the sense of being alone with the loved one, of doing all that can be done; and in some strange way of twining hearts with the exiled spirit. To Nedda, sitting at his feet, and hardly ever turning eyes away from his still face, it sometimes seemed that the flown spirit was there beside her.
"Ah!" he repeated, "what is perfection? Awkward, that isn't it?" "Is it" Nedda rushed the words out "is it always to be sacrificing yourself, or is it is it always to be to be expressing yourself?" "To some one; to some the other; to some half one, half the other." "But which is it to me?" "Ah! that you've got to find out for yourself.
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