Page:The White Peacock, Lawrence, 1911.djvu/255

Rh “I ought to work, because it all counts in the valuation. But I don’t care.”

He lay looking at me for some time. Then he said:

“I don’t suppose I shall have above twenty pounds left when we’ve sold up—but she’s got plenty of money to start with—if she has me—in Canada. I could get well off—and she could have—what she wanted—I’m sure she’d have what she wanted.”

He took it all calmly as if it were realised. I was somewhat amused.

“What frock will she have on when she comes to meet me?” he asked.

“I don’t know. The same as she’s gone to Nottingham in, I suppose—a sort of gold-brown costume with a rather tight fitting coat. Why?”

“I was thinking how she’d look.”

“What chickens are you counting now?” I asked.

“But what do you think I look best in?” he replied.

“You? Just as you are—no, put that old smooth cloth coat on—that’s all.” I smiled as I told him, but he was very serious.

“Shan’t I put my new clothes on?”

“No—you want to leave your neck showing.”

He put his hand to his throat, and said naïvely:

“Do I?”— and it amused him.

Then he lay looking dreamily up into the tree. I left him, and went wandering round the fields finding flowers and bird’s nests.

When I came back, it was nearly four o’clock. He stood up and stretched himself. He pulled out his watch.