to her that he paid her any
attention! If he were a human being, could she really be one, too? But
that, after all, was no more odd than everything. Why, for instance, the
spring flowers in that woman's basket had been born; why that high white
cloud floated over; why and what was Nedda Freeland?

At the entrance of the little restaurant she saw Mr. Cuthcott waiting.
In a brown suit, with his pale but freckled face, and his gnawed-at,
sandy moustache, and his eyes that looked out and beyond, he was
certainly no beauty. But Nedda thought: 'He's even nicer than I
remembered, and I'm sure he knows a lot.'

At first, to be sitting opposite to him, in front of little plates
containing red substances and small fishes, was so exciting that she
simply listened to his rapid, rather stammering voice mentioning that the
English had no idea of life or cookery, that God had so made this country
by mistake that everything, even the sun, knew it. What, however, would
she drink? Chardonnet? It wasn't bad here.

She assented, not liking to confess that she did not know what Chardonnet
might be, and hoping it was some kind of sherbet. She had never yet
drunk wine, and after a glass felt suddenly extremely strong.

"Well," said Mr. Cuthcott, and his eyes twinkled, "what's your
botheration? I suppose you want to strike out for yourself. MY
daughters did that without consulting me."

"Oh! Have you got daughters?"

"Yes--funny ones; older than you."

"That's why you understand, then"

Mr. Cuthcott smiled. "They WERE a liberal education!"

And Nedda thought: 'Poor Dad, I wonder if I am!'

"Yes," Mr. Cuthcott murmured, "who would think a gosling would ever
become a goose?"

"Ah!" said Nedda eagerly, "isn't it wonderful how things grow?"

She felt his eyes suddenly catch hold of hers.

"You're in love!" he said.

It seemed to her a great piece of luck that he had found that out. It
made everything easy at once, and her words came out pell-mell.

"Yes, and I haven't told my people yet. I don't seem able. He's given
me something to do, and I haven't much experience."

A funny little wriggle passed over Mr. Cuthcott's face. "Yes, yes; go
on! Tell us about it."

She took a sip from her glass, and the feeling that he had been going to
laugh passed away.

"It's about the daughter of a laborer, down there in Worcestershire,
where he lives, not very far from Becket. He's my cousin, Derek, the son
of my other unc