Someone else had discovered the
pleasure there was in watching the sun-flecked sparkle of the
water as it flowed over the clean sand and stones. A girl in a
yellow-straw hat; yes, and precisely the person he had hoped, at
the first glance, that it might be. He made no haste as he drew
nearer on the descending path. At length his footstep was heard;
Marian Yule turned her head and clearly recognised him.
She assumed an upright position, letting one of her hands rest
upon the rail. After the exchange of ordinary greetings, Jasper
leaned back against the same support and showed himself disposed
for talk.
'When I was here late in the spring,' he said, 'this ash was only
just budding, though everything else seemed in full leaf.'
'An ash, is it?' murmured Marian. 'I didn't know. I think an oak
is the only tree I can distinguish. Yet,' she added quickly, 'I
knew that the ash was late; some lines of Tennyson come to my
memory.'
'Which are those?'
'Delaying, as the tender ash delays
To clothe herself when all the woods are green,
somewhere in the "Idylls.
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