Spurlock: 'tis Roundhead, sure enough. Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. “May I enquire,” he asked smoothly, “in what way my appearance contributes to your amusement? If there is a joke I should like to share it. But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. " Together they were making habitable the second bungalow, which was within calling distance of McClintock's.
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