It was June.
"It's the laziest sound on earth," said Wyverton.
Molly turned off the road to a stile.

"You ought to take a holiday," she said, as she mounted it.
He vaulted the railing beside it and gave her his hand.

"I'm not altogether a drone, Miss Neville," he said.
Molly seated herself on the top bar and surveyed him.

"Of course not," she said.

"You are here on business, aren't you ?" Wyverton's extended hand fell to his side.