A hush had fallen upon that high world of grass and sunlight.

The birds were still.

They talked of this and that, the latest crisis in Europe and the growth of Socialism, all very wisely and with great indifference like well-bred people at a dinner-party.
Not thus had Stella thought to ride home when the message had come that morning that the horses would be at her door before ten.

She had ridden out clothed on with dreams of gold.

She rode back with her dreams in tatters and a sort of incredulity that to her too, as to other girls, all this pain had come.
They came to a bridle-path which led downwards through a thicket of trees to the weald and so descended upon Great Beeding.