aughed merrily. Elvesdon noticed that her
laugh was light, open, free-hearted. There was no affectation, or
posing, about it.

"I like that," she said, "the more so that it is absolutely true. I
suppose you are often over at the Thornhills', Mr Elvesdon, as you are
so near?"

"Oh yes. I put in Sundays with them, and enjoy it. Your relative is a
particularly cultured and companionable man, Miss Carden, and in his
quiet way, very genial."

"And--Edala?"

This with just a spice of mischief, which the other ignored.

"I have already given you my opinion on that subject," he said.

"How delightful. I am so glad I came up here. I only put it off
because some people whose acquaintance I made on board ship asked me out
to stay with them at their place near Malvern. I do hope, though, that
Mr Thornhill won't be offended with me about the non-delivery of the
wire, but it really wasn't my fault."

Here Elvesdon did not entirely agree. He thought she ought to have made
more sure. But he said:

"You need have no uneasiness on that score. Thornhill is a man with a
large up-country experience, and I know of no better training for
teaching a man to take things as they come."

"Better and better," she pronounced. "Why, how interesting he will be.
But, you yourself, Mr Elvesdon--you must have some strange experiences
too?"

"Well, you see, one can't go through an official life like mine without.
But, for the most part, they are experiences of queer and out of the
way phases of human nature. I haven't had any serious adventures if
that's what you mean."

"No?"

"No. Never mind. I'm used to that note of disappointment. When I was
over in England on leave three years and a half ago, I was always being
asked how many lions I'd shot--the impression apparently being that one
strolled out after office hours and bagged a few brace--and I answered
frankly that I'd never seen a lion outside a cage--though I've heard
them, by the way, at a long and respectful distance--I went down like a
shot in general estimation. At last I began to feel like Clive, when
hauled up over the looting business, `astonished at my own moderation,'
and thought it time to invent a lion lie or two. But it was too late
then."

Again she laughed--heartily, merrily. She turned a glance of
unmitigated approval upon the man beside her. He, too, seemed rather
unlike other people, with his easy, unconventional flow of talk and
ideas; yet whe