on the step of the stile. Her right hand holds the
poppies and supports the open sunshade which rests on her
shoulder. She turns her back on him._)

HE (_in a huff_). Oh, very well.

(_He commences walking towards the road gate. She half mounts
the stile, looks across the field, then pauses. He, some yards
off, is fumbling with the chain of the gate._)

SHE (_after making another movement towards the field and then shrinking
back_). Frank!

(_He does not hear._)

SHE (_louder_). Frank!

HE (_not moving_). Yes.

SHE. Come here.

(_He obeys. She remains seated on the top rung of the stile._)

SHE. Frank!

HE (_by the side of her_). Well?

SHE (_in rather an anxious voice, and pointing across the field_).
What's that?

HE. A bull.

SHE. Oh!

HE. Well?

SHE. Frank, are you sure you didn't mean to laugh at me?

HE. Quite sure.

SHE. You apologise?

HE. As much as you like.

SHE. And you'll never oppose woman's independence?

HE. Never!

SHE. Then you may carry my poppies for me.

HE. And come home with you?

SHE. If you promise not to tease.

HE (_leaping over the stile_). I promise.

SHE (_following leisurely and glancing warily across the field_). And,
Frank, dear, hadn't you better cover the poppies with your
handkerchief----

HE. Why?

SHE. Oh, because--isn't it rather glary in the field? They might fade,
you know.

On the Eve of the Regatta.

"'Why dost thou look so pale, my love?'
'I hear the raven, not the dove,
And for the marriage peal, a knell.'"

"A year to-morrow since our wedding day."

He lounged opposite to her in a Canadian canoe, now talking, now
soliloquising. Her eyes were closed, the fine pallor of her face, the
steely lights of her dusky hair showed contrastingly against cushions of
amber silk which propped her head. Grey was the background and
green--grey with falling gauzes of twilight, green with luxuriance of
leafage in its emerald prime.

They had paddled to Shiplake at set of sun, starting from their
house-boat, moored in Henley Reach, to return through the shady
backwater, which coiled like a slumberous silver snake through the heart
of a mossy lane. Here they lingered under a languishing tree--a very
Narcissus pining over its own image in the water, and shedding subtle
resinous odours of gum and sap upon the mellow air--determined to enjoy
Nature in mood of most infinite peace. Time passed unheeded, and
s