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Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. "Mother—dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. “Thanks, Mister McCloskey. “I must go. It’s the feinting tricks you have to watch for. She felt that perhaps, in her desire to play an adequate part in the conversation, she had talked rather more freely than she ought to have done, and given him a wrong impression of herself.
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