"Oh, I'm afraid I cannot do much towards your happiness."
"You do a great deal simply by coming over to play tennis with me."
"Then we had better begin another game and not lose any time." She picked up a walnut on her racquet and tossed it to him.
He caught it on his and then took it in his hand. "It smells sweet and yet sharp," he said, sniffing it. "Is it like bergamot, or what?" He held it to her nose—a beautiful little nose, he thought, with its slender nostrils and delicate aquilinity—made for sweet smells, and the expression of slightly amused scorn. "It is like lemons, and verbena, and a half-a-dozen elusive odors," she declared. He dropped it on his jacket that lay on the grass. "I'm going to keep it," he said.
"But you have thousands of them." She looked up into the trees.
"None like this."
"Because I sniffed it?"
"Yes."
"If you are so silly I shall spend my morning sniffling walnuts all over the place. Then you'll have to save them all."
"I certainly shall. I'll throw the apples out of the apple-house and store all the nuts you have sniffed in there. Then I shall spend my winter in the middle of them like a luxurious squirrel."
She crossed the court laughing, but as she raised her arm to serve, the smile left her face and she stared with a puzzled look at the road. Derek's eyes followed hers. "There is something wrong with that old man on the waggon," she said. "Look. The other man is holding him up."
