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And two days before her month at the bungalow was up, she went, leaving Betty and little Gyp to follow on the last day. Winton, pale and somewhat languid, as men are when they have been cured, found her when he came in from the club. She had put on evening dress, and above the pallor of her shoulders, her sunwarmed face and throat had almost the colour of a nectarine.
But there were times too, when she felt though always with a certain contempt of herself, as when she sat on that sunwarmed stone below the tor a queer dissatisfaction, a longing for something outside a world where she had to invent her own starvations and simplicities, to make-believe in earnestness. She had seen Courtier three times.
In that sunwarmed silence the wind whispered softly through the pines, a sound like the monotonous, musical murmur of distant seas. "But you will forget all that," she said suddenly. "You will go back to the world. I know." He smiled invincibly. "How do you know?" She tapped her breast lightly with her jewel-encrusted hand. "From myself.
The soil has already been made mellow, and certainly nothing is gained by turning up the cold earth in the bottom of the bed. Sow the seed at once on the sunwarmed surface. The rows should be nine inches apart, and about twelve seeds sown to every inch of row. The drills should be scarcely an eighth of an inch deep. Indeed, a firm patting with the back of a spade would give covering enough.
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