he spoke slowly, as
though she were accustomed to weigh each word. It struck Malcolm that
she listened with some intentness to his answer.

"Oh yes, we are very good friends," he returned with studied
indifference.

"Mr. Templeton is more demonstrative," she said with a curiously grave
smile that seemed habitual to her. "He sings your praises, Mr. Herrick;
you would be amused to hear him. It is so refreshing to find any one
natural and unconventional in this world; but he is so nice and
frank--a nice boy," with a low laugh that showed her white teeth. Mr.
Jacobi turned round at the sound.

"Come, Leah," he said impatiently; "the horses are tired of standing,
and I want my luncheon." Miss Jacobi bowed in rather a hurried fashion
and at once rejoined her brother. Malcolm looked after the mail phaeton
as it dashed down the road, but he made no response as Mr. Jacobi waved
his whip to him in an airy fashion.

"Well, Mr. Herrick," said Mrs. Godfrey quietly, "I suppose I may ask
your opinion now?"

"I do not think I am anxious for a further acquaintance," returned
Malcolm grimly. "The big M's are too much in evidence for my taste. I
suppose I am a bit of a misanthrope, but I hate to be
hail-fellow-well-met with every one. Why, that fellow Jacobi actually
patronised me, patted me on the back, don't you know. He might have
known me for six months."

"I call that sort of thing bad form," observed Colonel Godfrey. "Jacobi
is too smooth and plausible. My wife will have it that he is not a
gentleman."

"Oh, Alick, you ought not to have repeated that."

"Why not, my dear lady?" observed Malcolm. "You are perfectly safe with
me. I expect we think alike there. Somehow Jacobi has not the right
cut."

"But his sister is very ladylike," murmured Mrs. Godfrey, her kindly
heart accusing her of censoriousness and want of charity. Both the
gentlemen agreed to this. Then Malcolm, true to his character as a
lover of the picturesque, launched into unrestrained praise of Miss
Jacobi's beauty.

"If my friend Keston were to see her," he remarked, "he would be wild
to paint her as Rebekah at the well--or Ruth in the harvest-fields. One
does not often see a face like Miss Jacobi's." And then after a little
more talk they reached the Manor House.

The following morning Malcolm spent on the river, and late in the
afternoon they drove to Glebelands--where the Etheridges lived.

The beautiful grounds sloping to the river presented a mos