He inquired of her whether the mother should be told.
She shook her head.
"Poor thing, not just now: let's wash it, and bind it up first." Together therefore they washed and bound up the cut.

Having finished, she looked at Miltoun, and seemed to say: "You would do the telling so much better than I." He, therefore, told the mother and was rewarded by a little smile from the grave lady.
From that meeting he took away the knowledge of her name, Audrey Lees Noel, and the remembrance of a face, whose beauty, under a cap of squirrel's fur, pursued him.

Some days later passing by the village green, he saw her entering a garden gate.

On this occasion he had asked her whether she would like her cottage re-thatched; an inspection of the roof had followed; he had stayed talking a long time.

Accustomed to women--over the best of whom, for all their grace and lack of affectation, high-caste life had wrapped the manner which seems to take all things for granted--there was a peculiar charm for Miltoun in this soft, dark-eyed lady who evidently lived quite out of the world, and had so poignant, and shy, a flavour.