while he threw the reins to the old groom and dismounted.

"Nice to find you waiting for me," he said. "I'm late this morning. Too
late for any work before lunch. Don't you want a little walk? You look
pale."

"I should like it very much. I may miss my afternoon walk--your father
may have business to talk over."

They went through the broad stone hall-way that traversed the house and
stepped out on the gravel walk at the back. This path, running below the
drawing-room and dining-room windows, led down on one side to the woods,
on the other to Lady Channice's garden, and was a favourite place of
theirs for quiet saunterings. Today the sunlight fell mildly on it. A
rift of pale blue showed in the still grey sky.

"I met Marjory," said Augustine, "and we had a gallop over Pangley
Common. She rides well, that child. We jumped the hedge and ditch at the
foot of the common, you know--the high hedge--for practice. She goes
over like a bird."

Amabel's mind was dwelling on the thought of shadowed brightness and
Marjory, fresh, young, deeply rooted in respectability, seemed suddenly
more significant than she had ever been before. In no way Augustine's
equal, of course, except in that impersonal, yet so important matter of
roots; Amabel had known a little irritation over Mrs. Grey's open
manoeuvreings; but on this morning of rudderless tossing, Marjory
appeared in a new aspect. How sound; how safe. It was of Augustine's
insecurity rather than of Augustine himself that she was thinking as she
said: "She is such a nice girl."

"Yes, she is," said Augustine.

"What did you talk about?"

"Oh, the things we saw; birds and trees and clouds.--I pour information
upon her."

"She likes that, one can see it."

"Yes, she is so nice and guileless that she doesn't resent my pedantry.
I love giving information, you know," Augustine smiled. He looked about
him as he spoke, at birds and trees and clouds, happy, humorous,
clasping his riding crop behind his back so that his mother heard it
make a pleasant little click against his gaiter as he walked.

"It's delightful for both of you, such a comradeship."

"Yes; a comradeship after a fashion; Marjory is just like a nice little
boy."

"Ah, well, she is growing up; she is seventeen, you know. She is more
than a little boy."

"Not much; she never will be much more."

"She will make a very nice woman."

Augustine continued to smile, partly at the thought of Marjory, and
partly