ree, Mr. Falkirk?' said a voice
from the further end of the coach. Wych Hazel drew in her head
and her attention, and sat back to listen.

'I did not say I was going there,' said her guardian dryly.

'Two and two make four, my good sir. There's not even a sign
of a place of entertainment between Stone Bridge and Crocus,
and Stone Bridge you have confessed to.'

'You consider places of entertainment among the essentials
then?'

'Why, in some cases,' said the gentleman, with a suspicious
glance at Wych Hazel's brown veil.

'How long is it since you were there, Mr. Falkirk?' inquired
Mr. Kingsland's next neighbour.

The speaker was a younger man than Mr. Kingsland, and whereas
that gentleman was a dandy, this one's dress was just one
remove from that, and therefore faultless. About his face, so
far off as the other end of the stage, there seemed nothing
remarkable; it was grave, rather concise in its indications;
but the voice prepared you for what a smile declared,--a nature
joyous and unembittered; a spirit pure and honest and keen.
Even Wych Hazel's guardian softened at his look.

'Pray, Mr. Falkirk?' said the other stranger, 'what is
supposed to be the origin of the word "veil"?'

'I never heard,' said Mr. Falkirk dryly. 'Lost in the early
records of civilization.'

'My dear sir!--of Barbarism!'

'Civilization has never entirely got rid of barbarism, I
believe,' said Mr. Falkirk between his teeth; then out, 'By
what road are you going, Rollo?'

'I should be happy to act as guide, sir. I leave the direct
route.'

'Mr. Falkirk,' said Wych Hazel, 'just put your head a little
this way, and see the veil of mist thrown over the top of that
hill.'

Mr. Falkirk looked hastily, and resumed: 'You have lately
returned, I hear, from your long foreign stay?'

'It was time.'

'Mr. Falkirk,' said his ward, 'do you consider _that_ a remnant
of the dark ages?'

'It keeps its place too gracefully for that,' said her
guardian dropping his voice, as he looked across Wych Hazel
out of the coach window.

'Mr. Falkirk' (sotto voce), 'you are charming!--Between
ourselves, this is a hard place to keep gracefully. Please
take out your watch, sir.'

Which Mr. Falkirk did, and silently showed it. Forth to meet
his came a little gold hunting watch from behind the brown
veil.

'You are a minute slow, sir--as usual.' Then very softly,--'Mr.
Falkirk, what with being pressed and repressed, I am dying by
quarter inches!