She sat down on the end of Constance's
bed, and took out some knitting from her pocket. She foresaw a
conversation in which she would need her wits about her, and some
mechanical employment steadied the mind.

"Annette, you know," said Constance slowly, "I've got to be married some
time."

"I've heard you say that before." Annette began to count some stitches.

"Oh, it's all very well," said Constance, with amusement--"you think you
know all about me, but you don't. You don't know, for instance, that I
went to ride over a week ago with a young man, without telling you, or
Aunt Ellen, or Uncle Ewen, or anybody!" She waited to see the effect of
her announcement. Annette did appear rather startled.

"I suppose you met him on the road?"

"I didn't! I made an appointment with him. We went to a big wood, some
miles out of Oxford, belonging to some people he knows, where there are
beautiful grass rides. He has the key of the gates--we sent away the
groom--and I was an hour alone with him--quite! There!"

There was a defiant accent on the last word. Annette shook her head. She
had been fifteen years in the Risboroughs' service, and remembered
Connie when she was almost a baby.

"Whatever were you so silly for? You know your mamma wouldn't have let
you."

"Well, I've not got my mamma," said Connie slowly. "And I'm not going to
be managed by Aunt Ellen, Netta. I intend to run my own show."

"Who is it?" said Annette, knitting busily.

Connie laughed.

"Do you think I'm going to tell you?"

"You needn't. I've got eyes in my head. It's that gentleman you met in
France."

Connie swung herself round and laid violent hands on Annette's knitting.

"You shan't knit. Look at me! You can't say he's not good-looking?"

"Which he knows--a deal sight more than is good for him," said Annette,
setting her mouth a little grimly.

"Everybody knows when they're good-looking, you dear silly! Of course,
he's most suitable--dreadfully so. And I can't make up my mind whether I
care for him a bit!"

She folded her arms in front of her, her little chin fell forward on
her white wrappings, and she stared rather sombrely into vacancy.

"What's wrong with him?" said Annette after a pause--adopting a tone in
which she might have discussed a new hat.

"Oh, I don't know," said Connie dreamily.

She was thinking of Falloden's sudden departure from Oxford, after his
own proposal of two more rides. His note, "crying off" till after the