Elfride looked at her watch and discovered that if she were going
to reach St. Launce's early enough to change her dress at the
Falcon, and get a chance of some early train to Plymouth--there
were only two available--it was necessary to proceed at once.

She was impatient. It seemed as if Pansy would never stop
drinking; and the repose of the pool, the idle motions of the
insects and flies upon it, the placid waving of the flags, the
leaf-skeletons, like Genoese filigree, placidly sleeping at the
bottom, by their contrast with her own turmoil made her impatience
greater.

Pansy did turn at last, and went up the slope again to the high-
road. The pony came upon it, and stood cross-wise, looking up and
down. Elfride's heart throbbed erratically, and she thought,
'Horses, if left to themselves, make for where they are best fed.
Pansy will go home.'

Pansy turned and walked on towards St. Launce's

Pansy at home, during summer, had little but grass to live on.
After a run to St. Launce's she always had a feed of corn to
support her on the return journey. Therefore, being now more than
half way, she preferred St. Launce's.

But Elfride did not remember this now. All she cared to recognize
was a dreamy fancy that to-day's rash action was not her own. She
was disabled by her moods, and it seemed indispensable to adhere
to the programme. So strangely involved are motives that, more