er, they had to walk
very close to each other, their arms touching sometimes. I daresay
they were both pretty wet when they reached Craford New Manor, but I
don't think either minded much.

Miss Sandus, who met them in the hall, insisted that Susanna must go
upstairs and change; but to Anthony she said, "There 'll be tea in a
minute or two," and led the way to the drawing-room, the big, oblong,
sombre red-and-gold drawing-room, with its heavy furniture, its heavy
red damask hangings, its heavy gilded woodwork, its heavy bronzes and
paintings.

Wet as he was, he followed, and sat down, with his conductress, before
the huge red-marble fireplace, in which a fire of logs was blazing--by
no means unwelcome on this not-uncharacteristic English summer's day.

XIII

"Well, you 've had a good sousing--had you a good walk?" asked the
little brisk old woman, in her pleasant light old voice.

"Yes--to Blye, or nearly," said Anthony. "The rain only caught us
towards the end. But what I stand in need of now is your sympathy and
counsel."

She sat back in a deep easy chair, her pretty little hands folded in
her lap, her pretty little feet, in dainty slippers, high-heeled and
silver-buckled, resting on a footstool. It was a pretty as well as a
kind and clever face that smiled enquiringly up at him, from under her
soft abundance of brown hair.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing much. I 'm merely in love," he answered.

Miss Sandus sat forward.

"In love? That's delightful. Whom with? With me? Is this a
declaration? Or a confidence?"

She fixed him with her humorous bright old eyes.

"It's both. Of course, I 'm in love with you. Everyone who knows you
is that," he predicated. "But also," he added, on a key of profound
melancholy, "if you will forgive my forcing the confidence upon you,
also with _her_."

He glanced indicatively ceilingwards.

"H'm," Miss Sandus considered, looking into the fire, "also with _her_."

"Yes," said Anthony.

"H'm," repeated Miss Sandus. "You go a bit fast. How long have you
known her?"

"All my life. I never lived until I knew her," he averred.

"It was inevitable that you should say that--men always say that," the
lady generalised. "I heard it for the first time fifty-five years ago."

"Then, I expect, there must be some truth in it," was Anthony's
deduction. "Anyhow, I have known her long enough. One does n't need
_time_ in these affairs. One recog