nd then go to bed.' She added, with a
laugh, 'They will sit late in the study, no doubt, with their cigars
and steaming glasses.'

Paula moved restlessly about the room for a few minutes; then from the
door she gave a 'good-night,' and disappeared without further ceremony.

The two men came in very shortly. Egremont entered the drawing-room
alone, and began to turn over books on the table. Then Annabel rose.

'It promises for another fine day to-morrow,' she said. 'I must get
father away for a ramble. Do you think he looks well?'

'Better than he did last autumn, I think.'

'I must go and say good-night to him. Will you come to the study?'

He followed in silence, and Annabel took her leave of both.

The morning broke clear. It was decided to spend the greater part of
the day on the hills. Paula rode; the others drove to a point whence
their ramble was to begin. Annabel enjoyed walking. Very soon her being
seemed to set itself to more spirited music; the veil of reflection
fell from her face, and she began to talk light-heartedly.

Paula behaved with singularity. At breakfast she had been very silent,
a most unusual thing, and during the day she kept an air of reserve, a
sort of dignity which was amusing. Mr. Newthorpe walked beside her
pony, and adapted himself to her favourite conversation, which was
always of the town and Society.

Once Annabel came up with a spray of mountain saxifrage.

'Isn't it lovely, Paula?' she said. 'Do look at the petals.'

'Very nice,' was the reply, 'but it's too small to be of any use.'

There was no more talk of Egremont's projects. Books and friends and
the delights of the upland scenery gave matter enough for conversation.
Not long after noon the sky began to cloud, and almost as soon as the
party reached home again there was beginning of rain. They spent the
evening in the drawing-room. Paula was persuaded to sing, which she did
prettily, though still without her native vivacity. Again she retired
early.

After breakfast on the morrow it still rained, though not without
promise of clearing.

'You'll excuse me till lunch,' Paula said to Annabel and Egremont, when
they rose from the table. 'I have a great deal of correspondence to see
to.'

'Correspondence' was a new word. Usually she said, 'I have an awful
heap of letters to write.' Her dignity of the former day was still
preserved.

Having dismissed her household duties, Annabel went to the morning room
and sat dow