She neither blushed nor smiled, but seemed absorbed in thought of some kind.

But she resisted his silent effort to draw her away from the path leading to the house, and turned her face steadily homewards.

He murmured soft words, which she scarcely heard.

Right in their way was the stone trough for the fresh bubbling water, that, issuing from a roadside spring, served for all the household purposes of Haytersbank Farm.
By it were the milk-cans, glittering and clean.

Sylvia knew she should have to stop for these, and carry them back home in readiness for the evening's milking; and at this time, during this action, she resolved to say what was on her mind.
They were there.