With apparent intentness she took out tools; small parts were
inspected minutely. And yet, for all that, there was something unusual
in her manner; every now and then she would lift her head, casually,
so it seemed, and glance away across the fields.
"And always to the right," murmured the man in the tree-top, after a
little.
At once the big glass swept around in that direction.
"A house," added the watcher, with great satisfaction.
The building was almost buried in a thick growth of trees; its white
sides and red roof shone in the sun through branches abud with April.
Suddenly, in the midst of her labor, Miss Vale paused; her manner
changed, the tools were dropped, the parts lost interest. Facing the
house, she yawned, with arms thrown wide after the manner of one much
wearied with a task; then she took off the gloves, unpinned her hat
and smoothed her hair. This was gone through with careful elaboration
and afterwards there was a pause; the girl then gathered up the
things, got into the machine, placed the hat upon the seat beside her,
went careening away with never a backward glance.
But the man in the tree seemed in no haste to follow; instead he
covered the distant house with his glass and waited patiently.
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