now facing him was slight, and there was something of the
child left in her bright eager face, but she carried herself with all
the graceful assurance of an older woman. Her soft, dark eyes were
lit with pleasure and excitement, her delicately traced eyebrows and
delightful smile were somehow suggestive of her foreign descent. Her
clothes were country-made, but perfect as regarded fit and trimness,
her beflowered hat was worn with a touch of coquettish grace, a trifle
un-English, but very delightful. She had not an atom of shyness or
embarrassment. Only there was a great surprise in her face as she held
out her hands to Wingrave.

"I know who you are," she exclaimed. "You are Sir Wingrave Seton. To
think that I never guessed."

"You remember seeing me, then?" he remarked, and his tone sounded all
the colder after the full richness of her young voice.

"I just remember it--only just," she answered. "You see you did not
take much notice of me that time, did you? But I have lived amongst your
ancestors too long to make any mistake. Why have you stayed away from
Tredowen so long?"

"I have been abroad," Wingrave answered. "I am not fond of England."

"You had trouble here, I know," she said frankly. "But that is all past
and over. I think that you must forget how beautiful your home is or
you would never bear to live away from it. Now, please, may I ask you a
question?"

"Any that you think necessary," Wingrave answered. "Spare me as much as
possible; I am not fond of them."

"Shall I leave you two together for a little time?" Mr. Pengarth
suggested, gathering up some papers.

"Certainly not," Wingrave said shortly. "There is not the slightest
necessity for it."

Mr. Pengarth resumed his seat.

"Just as you please," he answered. "But you must sit down, Juliet.
There, you shall have my clients' chair."

The girl accepted it with a little laugh. There was no shadow of
embarrassment about her manner, notwithstanding the cold stiffness of
Wingrave's deportment. He sat where the sunlight fell across his chair,
and the lines in his pale face seemed deeper than usual, the grey hairs
more plentiful, the weariness in his eyes more apparent. Yet she was not
in the least afraid of him.

"First of all, then, Sir Wingrave, may I ask you why you have been so
extraordinarily kind to me?"

"There is nothing extraordinary about it at all," he answered. "Your
father died and left you friendless in a parish of which I am Lor