She remembered the funny old mistress, whose assistant she had become, whom she had loved to help in the private school.

And she still had the Bible that John Field had given her.

She used to walk home from chapel with John Field when she was nineteen.

He was the son of a well-to-do tradesman, had been to college in London, and was to devote himself to business.
She could always recall in detail a September Sunday afternoon, when they had sat under the vine at the back of her father's house.

The sun came through the chinks of the vine-leaves and made beautiful patterns, like a lace scarf, falling on her and on him.