Under the sycamores, before they started, they had not talked a great deal; there had been long silences: almost all her questions concerning the period of his runaway absence; she appeared to know and to understand everything which had happened since his return to the town.He had not, in his turn, reached the point where he would begin to question her; he was too breathless in his consciousness of the marvellous present hour.She had told him of the death of Roger Tabor, the year before."Poor man," she said, gently, "he lived to see `how the other fellows did it' at last, and everybody liked him.He was very happy over there."After a little while she had said that it was growing close upon lunch-time; she must be going back.
"Then--then--good-bye," he replied, ruefully.
"Why?"
"I'm afraid you don't understand.It wouldn't do for you to be seen with me.Perhaps, though, you do understand.Wasn't that why you asked me to meet you out here beyond the bridge?"In answer she looked at him full and straight for three seconds, then threw back her head and closed her eyes tight with laughter.Without a word she took the parasol from him, opened it herself, placed the smooth white coral handle of it in his hand, and lightly took his arm.There was no further demur on the part of the young man.He did not know where she was going; he did not ask.