The wind, too, must have changed--the perfume of the roses reached him no more.
"I thought you understood," he said slowly.
She did not speak again for several moments.

Then she rose a little abruptly to her feet.
"You can walk as far as the hayfield with me," she said.
They passed down the narrow garden path in single file.

There had been a storm in the night and the beds of pink and white stocks lay dashed and drooping with a weight of glistening rain-drops.

The path was strewn with rose petals and the air seemed fuller than ever of a fresh and delicate fragrance.

At the end of the garden, a little gate led into the orchard.