207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. There is a small yewtree west of the church. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. ‘You are wise, Marthe. She repeated this breathlessly. There is no Heaven for your mother. . All these wonderful comrades, henceforth and for ever hers. Could it be him you mean?" "No. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time. ” He took his place by her side, and they talked lightly of London, the shops and people.
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