ly. Old
Carnaby was trespassing on our ground, and so he hailed us in a friendly
fashion and pulled up to talk to us.

I didn't note Beatrice at all at first. I was interested in Lord
Carnaby, that remarkable vestige of his own brilliant youth. I had heard
of him, but never seen him. For a man of sixty-five who had sinned all
the sins, so they said, and laid waste the most magnificent political
debut of any man of his generation, he seemed to me to be looking
remarkably fit and fresh. He was a lean little man with grey-blue eyes
in his brown face, and his cracked voice was the worst thing in his
effect.

"Hope you don't mind us coming this way, Ponderevo," he cried; and my
uncle, who was sometimes a little too general and generous with titles,
answered, "Not at all, my lord, not at all! Glad you make use of it!"

"You're building a great place over the hill," said Carnaby.

"Thought I'd make a show for once," said my uncle. "It looks big because
it's spread out for the sun."

"Air and sunlight," said the earl. "You can't have too much of them. But
before our time they used to build for shelter and water and the high
road."

Then I discovered that the silent figure behind the earl was Beatrice.

I'd forgotten her sufficiently to think for a moment that she hadn't
changed at all since she had watched me from behind the skirts of Lady
Drew. She was looking at me, and her dainty brow under her broad brimmed
hat--she was wearing a grey hat and loose unbuttoned coat--was knit with
perplexity, trying, I suppose, to remember where she had seen me before.
Her shaded eyes met mine with that mute question....

It seemed incredible to me she didn't remember.

"Well," said the earl and touched his horse.

Garvell was patting the neck of his horse, which was inclined to fidget,
and disregarding me. He nodded over his shoulder and followed. His
movement seemed to release a train of memories in her. She glanced
suddenly at him and then back at me with a flash of recognition that
warmed instantly to a faint smile. She hesitated as if to speak to me,
smiled broadly and understandingly and turned to follow the others.
All three broke into a canter and she did not look back. I stood for a
second or so at the crossing of the lanes, watching her recede, and then
became aware that my uncle was already some paces off and talking over
his shoulder in the belief that I was close behind. I turned about and
strode to overtake him. My m