to his pocket.

"It is," said he. Then in the fine old fashion he turned to the girl,
raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"Phyl," said Miss Pinckney, "would not you like to have a look at the
garden whilst we have a chat? Old people's talk isn't of much interest to
young people."

"Old people," cried the warrior. "There are no old people in this room."
He made for the door and opened it for Phyl, then he accompanied her into
the hall, where at the still open door he pointed the way to the garden.

CHAPTER II

Outside Phyl stood for a moment to breathe the warm scented air and look
around her.

To be treated like a child by any other person than Maria Pinckney would
have incensed her, all the same to be told to do a thing because it was
good for her, or because it was a pleasant thing to do, in the teller's
opinion, was an almost certain way of making her do the exact opposite.

The garden did not attract her, the place did.

That cypress avenue with the sun upon it, that broad sweep of drive in
front of the house, the distant peeps of country between trees and the
languorous lazy atmosphere of the perfect day fascinated her mind. She
came along the house front to the right, and found herself at the gate of
the stable yard.

The stable yard of Grangersons was an immense flagged quadrangle bounded
on the right, counting from the point of entrance, by the kitchen
premises.

There was stable room for forty horses, coach-house accommodation for a
dozen or more carriages.

The car had been run into one of the coach-houses and the yard stood
empty, sunlit, silent, save for the voices of the pigeons wheeling in the
air, or strutting on the roof of the great barn adjoining the stables.

One of the stable doors was open and as Phyl crossed the yard a young man
appeared at the open door, shaded his eyes and looked at her. Then he came
forward. It was Silas Grangerson, and Phyl thought he was the handsomest
and most graceful person she had ever seen in her life.

Silas was a shade over six feet in height, dark, straight, slim yet
perfectly proportioned; his face was extraordinary, the most vivid thing
one would meet in a year's journey, and with a daring, and at times,
almost a mad look unforgettable when once glimpsed. Like the Colonel and
like his ancestors Silas had a direct way with women.

"Hallo," said he, with the sunny smile of old acquaintanceship, "where
have _you_ sprung from?"

Phyl wa