“We do not want the men,” said Miss Miniver; “we do not want them, with their sneers and loud laughter. I want to get away. Cased and ribbed with stone, and braced with horizontal beams of timber, the piles, which formed the foundation of these jetties, had resisted the strong encroachments of the current for centuries. Yet here you are, and at precisely the right moment, too. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. “Can’t stop, thanks,” he answered. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing.
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