It was not till the evening that he found himself alone with her.  She was cooking the supper, and Philip was sitting on the grass by the side of the fire.  Mrs. Athelny had gone down to the village to do some shopping, and the children were scattered in various pursuits of their own.  Philip hesitated to speak.  He was very nervous.  Sally attended to her business with serene competence and she accepted placidly the silence which to him was so embarrassing.  He did not know how to begin.  Sally seldom spoke unless she was spoken to or had something particular to say.  At last he could not bear it any longer.

“You’re not angry with me, Sally?” he blurted out suddenly.

She raised her eyes quietly and looked at him without emotion.

“Me?  No.  Why should I be?”

He was taken aback and did not reply.  She took the lid off the pot, stirred the contents, and put it on again.  A savoury smell spread over the air.  She looked at him once more, with a quiet smile which barely separated her lips; it was more a smile of the eyes.

“I always liked you,” she said.

His heart gave a great thump against his ribs, and he felt the blood rushing to his cheeks.  He forced a faint laugh.

“I didn’t know that.”

“That’s because you’re a silly.”

“I don’t know why you liked me.”

“I don’t either.”  She put a little more wood on the fire.  “I knew I liked you that day you came when you’d been sleeping out and hadn’t had anything to eat, d’you remember?  And me and mother, we got Thorpy’s bed ready for you.”

He flushed again, for he did not know that she was aware of that incident.  He remembered it himself with horror and shame.

“That’s why I wouldn’t have anything to do with the others.  You remember that young fellow mother wanted me to have?  I let him come to tea because he bothered so, but I knew I’d say no.”

Philip was so surprised that he found nothing to say.  There was a queer feeling in his heart; he did not know what it was, unless it was happiness.  Sally stirred the pot once more.

“I wish those children would make haste and come.  I don’t know where they’ve got to.  Supper’s ready now.”

“Shall I go and see if I can find them?” said Philip.

It was a relief to talk about practical things.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a bad idea, I must say....  There’s mother coming.”

Then, as he got up, she looked at him without embarrassment.

“Shall I come for a walk with you tonight when I’ve put the children to bed?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you wait for me down by the stile, and I’ll come when I’m ready.”