ot heard his steps upon the rough footpath, but apparently
she was too absorbed to hear anything at all. He was exceedingly
relieved and drew aside stealthily, prepared to return quickly the way
he had come. But before he started he glanced once more, for something
in her quiet pose struck oddly upon his heart. She looked very slim
and graceful and girlish in a simple washing frock of some soft grey
material, with little Quakerish cuffs and collar, and the big, shady
hat tied on with a ribbon. And all in a moment he was transported
years before, and there was a Devonshire wood, and a slim lassie, and
little Quakerish cuffs and collar, and eyes that watched and
waited--watched and waited for him.

And then....

No, not even in thought would he dwell again upon what followed. It
was a weakness he had fought down. A weakness that even now, given
rein, could unman him. The quick light vanished from his eyes, the
mouth grew stern again, and he turned to descend.

At the same moment Meryl turned also and came towards his
hiding-place. He had just time to step further back and take shelter
behind a low, bushy tree, which would hardly reveal his khaki, before
she passed. And just in front of him she raised her head and glanced
upwards, so that he saw her eyes, and for a moment his pulses seemed
to stop beating. If her pose had reminded him of someone it was as
nothing compared to her face with that upward glance. The delicate
contour, the fine features, the wistful, dreamy, quiet eyes. Were they
blue, or were they grey?... How came they with long, dark, curling
lashes when her hair was a dusky, light shade, with soft waves and
gleams of sunlight? In his hiding-place he stood very still and very
rigid. For a moment he might have been part of the rock behind him.
Then she passed on up the steep ascent, and he came out and retraced
his steps, feeling a little dazed.

Who could she be?... But, of course, the party must have arrived
unexpectedly: had not remained in Edwardstown as they intended. And she
was one of the heiresses--one of the flaunting, gaping, vulgar,
dressed-up young women he had been secretly so resentful over. And, of
course, she was none of these. Then suddenly he almost laughed; almost
laughed aloud. For she was worse--far, far worse. The gushing,
loud-voiced heiress he might have coped with. His frigidity froze most
people if he chose; and avoidance was not difficult. But what could he do
with Joan--his lov