rifles, all
mixed together, all of great importance in the valley of the Blent. Who
cares about such things in London, about anybody's family, or anybody
himself? There is no time for such things in London. It is very
different in the valley of the Blent when the sun is low and the cry of
a bird makes a sound too shrill to be welcome.

Turning by chance to look up the road toward Mingham, she saw a man
coming down the hill. He was sauntering idly along, beating the grass by
the road-side with his stick. Suddenly he stopped short, put his hand
above his eyes, and gave her a long look; he seemed to start. Then he
began to walk toward her with a rapid eager stride. She turned away and
strolled along by the Pool on her way back to Blent Hall. But he would
not be denied; his tread came nearer; he overtook her and halted almost
by her side, raising his hat and gazing with uncompromising straightness
in her face. She knew him at once; he must be Harry Tristram. Was
lounging about the roads his pressing business?

"I beg your pardon," he said with a curious appearance of agitation. "I
am Harry Tristram, and you must be----?"

"Cecily Gainsborough," said she with a distant manner, inclined to be
offended that their meeting should be by accident. Why had he not
received his guests if he had nothing to do but lounge about the roads?

"Yes, I was sure. The moment I thought, I was sure." He took no heed of
her manner, engrossed in some preoccupation of his own. "At first I was
startled." He smiled now, as he offered her his hand. Then he
recollected. "You must forgive me for being out. I have been hard at
work all day, and the craving for the evening was on me. I went out
without thinking."

"They said you were engaged on pressing business."

"They lied for me. I forgot to leave any message. I'm not generally
discourteous."

His apology disarmed her and made her resentment seem petty.

"How could you think of us at such a time? It's good of you to have us
at all."

"My mother wanted you to come." He added no welcome of his own. "You
never saw her, did you?" he asked a moment later.

Cecily shook her head. She was rather confused by the steady gaze of his
eyes. Did Cousin Harry always stare at people as hard as that? Yet it
was not exactly a stare; it was too thoughtful, too ruminative, too
unconscious for that.

"Let's walk back together. You've had a look at the place already
perhaps?"

"It's very beautiful."

"Ye