‘Determined chap,’ suggested her husband.
‘Oh, I think he fell for the lady too, but the house started it. He was a widower and she wasn’t a girl. It’s a queer place, though. People do go silly about it.’
‘I know why,’ Lugg said thickly. ‘It’s got the ole come-’ither. Look at ’er. “Come ’ere and be ’appy, dear,” that’s what she’s sayin’. I should say so! “Come ’ere and rest, duck. Wot’s an ole death-watch beetle among frens? And if we lie a bit low, damp won’t ’urt a great strong bloke like you.” You can see it in every line of ’er. Lumme,’ he added, sitting up as abruptly as his bulk would allow, ‘wot’s that? Indians?’
He pointed across the glistening landscape to one of the wilder enclosures where, amid stones and huge clumps of bramble, there were two or three unmistakable wigwams.
