‘How good it is!’ she said. ‘How nice to have breakfast together.’

He ate in silence, his mind on the time that was quickly passing. That made her remember.

‘Oh, how I wish I could stay here with you, and Wragby were a million miles away! It’s Wragby I’m going away from really. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Ay!’

‘And you promise we will live together and have a life together, you and me! You promise me, don’t you?’

‘Ay! When we can.’

‘Yes! And we WILL! we WILL, won’t we?’ she leaned over, making the tea spill, catching his wrist.

‘Ay!’ he said, tidying up the tea.

‘We can’t possibly NOT live together now, can we?’ she said appealingly.

He looked up at her with his flickering grin.

‘No!’ he said. ‘Only you’ve got to start in twenty–five minutes.’

‘Have I?’ she cried. Suddenly he held up a warning finger, and rose to his feet.

Flossie had given a short bark, then three loud sharp yaps of warning.

Silent, he put his plate on the tray and went downstairs. Constance heard him go down the garden path. A bicycle bell tinkled outside there.

‘Morning, Mr Mellors! Registered letter!’

‘Oh ay! Got a pencil?’

‘Here y’are!’

There was a pause.

‘Canada!’ said the stranger’s voice.

‘Ay! That’s a mate o’ mine out there in British Columbia. Dunno what he’s got to register.’

‘‘Appen sent y’a fortune, like.’

‘More like wants summat.’

Pause.

‘Well! Lovely day again!’

‘Ay!’

‘Morning!’

‘Morning!’

After a time he came upstairs again, looking a little angry.

‘Postman,’ he said.

‘Very early!’ she replied.

‘Rural round; he’s mostly here by seven, when he does come.

‘Did your mate send you a fortune?’

‘No! Only some photographs and papers about a place out there in British Columbia.’

‘Would you go there?’

‘I thought perhaps we might.’

‘Oh yes! I believe it’s lovely!’ But he was put out by the postman’s coming.

‘Them damn bikes, they’re on you afore you know where you are. I hope he twigged nothing.’

‘After all, what could he twig!’

‘You must get up now, and get ready. I’m just goin’ ter look round outside.’

She saw him go reconnoitring into the lane, with dog and gun. She went downstairs and washed, and was ready by the time he came back, with the few things in the little silk bag.

He locked up, and they set off, but through the wood, not down the lane. He was being wary.

‘Don’t you think one lives for times like last night?’ she said to him.

‘Ay! But there’s the rest o’times to think on,’ he replied, rather short.