watching him; she had golden-brown, calm eyes, that immediately smiled into his. He also smiled, bowed softly down and kissed her. They did not speak for some time. Then:

“What’s thy name?” he asked curiously.

“Lydia,” she said.

“Lydia!” he repeated, wonderingly. He felt rather shy.

“Mine’s Geoffrey Wookey,” he said.

She merely smiled at him.

They were silent for a considerable time. By morning light, things look small. The huge trees of the evening were dwindling to hoary, small, uncertain things, trespassing in the sick pallor of the atmosphere.