and lastly of his taking the mayor's daughter for a drive. Lovering became sleepy but Kirke would not let him be. He even flung his arm about his neck and, hugging him, exclaimed:
"Who knows! I may be Mayor of Brancepeth yet, mysel'." His accent broadened with his emotion.
"Get off me, Duncan," growled Lovering, trying to free his burly neck. "Tha'rt choking me. What's all this fuss about? As for Miss Earle, she has no more life in her than a sheep, and no more beauty. And if tha'rt going to be mayor, I'll get out and that's flat."
Like a red lily blooming on a dung heap, Delight lived tranquilly in the midst of all the sordid gossip and sluggish passions surrounding her. She worked till she was tired, she ate little because of the great heat, and slept lightly in the stifling little back room.
The sun had ceased to be a beneficent friend to the fruit-growers on the Peninsula. Instead he had become a sinister tyrant whose rising was watched with dread, who walked with brazen feet over the vines, scorching, shrivelling, drying the life-blood of the fruit.
The bar of The Duke of York was the coolest place in the town. The kitchen was certainly the hottest. Once more Mrs. Bye flew about the panting range; the girls flew at her command, and Mrs. Jessop retired to her storeroom and linen closet.
It was Sunday evening and Delight and Jimmy were sitting on the sofa in the third-floor hall. The window was open beside them, and a sultry breeze had sprung up, stirring the boy's hair on his flushed forehead and kissing the girl's bare throat as her head tilted back on his
