Miriam glanced at Paul.

He was pale and impassive.

It seemed cruel to her that his eyes and brows, which she loved, could look so hurting.
"Has the wind made you tired ?" she asked.

She detected an underneath feeling of weariness about him.
"No, I think not," he answered.
"It must be rough on the road--the wood moans so." "You can see by the clouds it's a south-west wind; that helps me here." "You see, I don't cycle, so I don't understand," she murmured.
"Is there need to cycle to know that!" he said.
She thought his sarcasms were unnecessary.

They went forward in silence.
Round the wild, tussocky lawn at the back of the house was a thorn hedge, under which daffodils were craning forward from among their sheaves of grey-green blades.