er.

The alteration in his voice as he addressed Nan was quite perceptible
to anyone well-versed in the symptoms of the state of being in love,
and his piercing light-grey eyes beneath their shaggy, sunburnt
brows--fierce, far-visioned eyes that reminded one of the eyes of a
hawk--softened amazingly as they rested upon her charming face.

"Oh, we're quite all right, thanks," she answered. "That is, when
people don't drop suddenly from the clouds and galvanise us into action
this warm weather."

She regarded him with a faintly quizzical smile. He was not
particularly attractive in appearance, though tall and well-built.
About forty-two, a typical English sportsman of the out-door,
cold-tub-in-the-morning genus, he had a square-jawed, rather ugly face,
roofed with a crop of brown hair a trifle sunburnt at its tips as a
consequence of long days spent in the open. His mouth indicated a
certain amount of self-will, the inborn imperiousness of a man who has
met with obedient services as a matter of course, and whose forebears,
from one generation to another, have always been masters of men. And,
it might be added, masters of their women-kind as well, in the good,
old-fashioned way. There was, too, more than a hint of obstinacy and
temper in the long, rather projecting chin and dominant nose.

But the smile he bestowed on Nan when he answered her redeemed the
ugliness of his face considerably. It was the smile of a man who could
be both kindly and generous where his prejudices were not involved, who
might even be capable of something rather big if occasion warranted it.

"It was too bad of me to startle you like that," he acknowledged.
"Please forgive me. I caught sight of you both through the trees and
declared myself rather too suddenly."

"Always a mistake," commented Nan, nodding wisely.

Roger Trenby regarded her doubtfully. She was extraordinarily
attractive, this slim young woman from London who was staying at
Mallow, but she not infrequently gave utterances to remarks which,
although apparently straight-forward enough, yet filled him with a
vague, uneasy feeling that they held some undercurrent of significance
which had eluded him.

He skirted the quicksand hastily, and turned the conversation to a
subject where be felt himself on sure ground.

"I've been exercising hounds to-day."

Trenby was Master of the Trevithick Foxhounds, and had the reputation
of being one of the finest huntsmen in the count