The conversation he had overheard in the avenue still perplexed him.

He could not reconcile it with Trefusis's profession of disinterestedness towards her.
His bicycle carried him noiselessly on its india-rubber tires to the place by which the hemlock grew and there he saw Gertrude sitting on the low earthen wall that separated the field from the road.

Her straw bag, with her scissors in it, lay beside her.

Her fingers were interlaced, and her hands rested, palms downwards, on her knee.

Her expression was rather vacant, and so little suggestive of any serious emotion that Erskine laughed as he alighted close to her.
"Are you tired ?" he said.
"No," she replied, not startled, and smiling mechanically--an unusual condescension on her part.
"Indulging in a day-dream ?" "No." She moved a little to one side and concealed the basket with her dress.
He began to fear that something was wrong.