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He looked down at her amusedly.

“Why, of course. There’s a track. Races. Awful sport. You ought to get your mother to take you one day, if you’re so keen.”

“Oh, she will,” Laura assured him happily. “She always does what I want. I’ll get her to, directly after tea. Unless——” she glanced up at the heavy sky. “Oh, I oughtn’t to be talking. I must get on. I shall be so dreadfully late. If you’ll just tell me which road to take——” She paused. “I suppose—is it specially your haystack?” she hinted delicately.

“Why?”

“Because, if you didn’t mind—if you’d help me up—it’s so high——”

Justin leant over good-naturedly and held out his hands to her. She caught at them and was swung up with a crow of delight.

“You’re stronger than Mother!”

He threw her gently from him on to the hay.

“Here, don’t splash me all over. You’re as wet as the Thames.” For her dripping hair had whipped across his face.

“Horrid, sergy wet!” She sniffed at herself in delicate disgust.

“Well, and now you’re up, what do you want to do?”