Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. The man lingered. Would to God I had.
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