went on with her task. A task only, it seemed now; a means to an end which she desired.
‘Leonard, tell me seriously, why do you think I gave you the trouble of coming out here?’
‘Upon my soul, Stephen, I don’t know.’
‘You don’t seem to care either, lolling like that when I am serious!’ The words were acid, but the tone was soft and friendly, familiar and genuine, putting quite a meaning of its own on them. Leonard looked at her indolently:
‘I like to loll.’
‘But can’t you even guess, or try to guess, what I ask you?’
‘I can’t guess. The day’s too hot, and that shanty with the drinks is not built yet.’