Later, she saw him remark her new blouse, saw that the artist approved, but it won from him not a spark of warmth.
She was nervous, could hardly reach the teacups from the shelves.
When the men went out to milk, she ventured to address him personally.
"You were late," she said.
"Was I ?" he answered.
There was silence for a while.
"Was it rough riding ?" she asked.
"I didn't notice it." She continued quickly to lay the table.

When she had finished-- "Tea won't be for a few minutes.

Will you come and look at the daffodils ?" she said.
He rose without answering.

They went out into the back garden under the budding damson-trees.

The hills and the sky were clean and cold.
Everything looked washed, rather hard.