“Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest. But as the next moment all was profound darkness, Jack easily managed to break away from them. It's a long time since we met, eight years and more. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. All this was the work of a minute. I tell you I’m Meysey Hill, the railway man. Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti.
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