She glanced at him.

‘I do not know much about work,’ she said.  ’What I suppose you would call work.  It has not come into my hands.’

‘It has not come into mine,’ said Rollo.  ’But can there be rest without work going before it?’

‘Such stillness?’ she said, looking up at the white flecks again.  ’But according to that, we do not either of us know rest.’

‘Well,’ said he smiling, ‘I do not.  Do you?’

‘I used to think I did.  What do you mean by rest, Mr. Rollo?’

’Look at those lines of cloud.  They tell.  The repose of satisfied exertion; the happy looking back upon work done, after the call for work is over.’

She looked up, and kept looking up; but she did not speak.  Somehow the new combinations of these last weeks had made her sober; she did not get used to them.  The little wayward scraps of song had been silent, and the quick speeches did not come.

‘But then,’ Rollo went on again presently, ’then comes up another question.  What is work?  I mean, what is work for such people as you and I?’

‘I suppose,’ said Hazel, ‘whatever we find to do.’

’I have not found anything.  Have you?  Those clouds somehow seem to speak reproach to me.  May be that is their business.’

‘I have not been looking,’ said Hazel.  ’You know I have been shut up until this summer.  But I should think you might have found plenty,—­going among people as you do.’

‘What sort?’

’Different sorts, I suppose.  At least if you are as good at making work for yourself in some cases as you are in others,’ she said with a queer little recollective gleam in her face.  ’Did it never occur to you that you might set the world straight—­and persuade its orbit into being regular?’

‘No,’ said Rollo carelessly, ’I never undertake more than I can manage.  Here is a good place for a run.’

They had come into the long level lane which led to Morton Hollow; and giving their horses the rein they swept through the October air in a flight which scorned the ground.  When the banks of the lane began to grow higher and to close in upon the narrowing roadway, which also became crooked and irregular, they drew bridle again and returned to the earth.

‘Don’t you feel set straight now?’ said Rollo.

‘Thank you—­no.’

‘I am afraid you will give me some work to do, yet,’ said he audaciously, and putting his hand out upon Wych Hazel’s.  ’Do not carry quite so loose a rein.  Jeannie is sure, I believe, and you are fearless; but you should always let her know you are there.’

‘Mr. Rollo—­’ said the girl hastily.  Then she stopped.

‘What?’ said Rollo innocently, riding close alongside and looking her hard in the face.  ‘I am here.’

‘Nothing.’

Then he changed his tone and said gently, ’What was it, Miss Hazel?’

‘Something better unsaid.’

He was silent a minute, and went on gravely—­