lf away by
betraying it.

There was a decided pause before she made up her mind how to pursue the
subject.

"I had no idea that an American could be shy," she said then.

Carfax turned with his pleasant smile.

"No? We're a pushing race, I suppose. But I think Cochrane had some
excuse for his timidity this time."

"Yes?" said Priscilla.

He began to laugh quietly.

"You see, it turned out that he was expected to marry the old maid of
the family--Lady Priscilla. Naturally he kicked at that."

Priscilla bent sharply over Romeo, and began to examine one of his huge
paws. Her face was a vivid scarlet.

"It wasn't surprising, was it?" said Carfax, tossing another pebble into
the stream. "It was more than enough, in my opinion, to make any fellow
feel shy."

Priscilla did not answer. The colour was slow to fade from her face.

"I wonder if you have ever seen the lady?" Carfax pursued. "She was out
of town when I was there."

"Yes; I have seen her."

Priscilla spoke with her head bent.

"You have? What is she like?"

He glanced round with an expression of amused interest. Priscilla looked
up deliberately.

"She is quite old and ugly. But I don't think Mr. Ralph Cochrane need be
afraid. She doesn't like men. I am rather sorry for her myself."

"Sorry for her? Why?"

Carfax became serious.

"I think she is rather lonely," the girl said, in a low voice.

"You know her well?"

"Can any one say that they really know any one? No. But I think that she
feels very deeply, and that her life has always been more or less of a
failure. At least, that is the sort of feeling I have about her."

Again, but more gradually, the colour rose in her face. She took up her
basket, and began to unpack it.

Carfax turned fully round.

"You go in for character-study," he said.

"A little," she owned. "I can't help it. Now let me give you some tea. I
have enough for two."

"I shall be delighted," he said courteously. "Let me help you to
unpack."

Priscilla could never recall afterwards how they spent the golden hours
till six o'clock. She was as one in a dream, to which she clung closely,
passionately, fearing to awake. For in her dream she was standing on the
threshold of her paradise, waiting for the opening of the gates.

IV

ON THE THRESHOLD

Raffold Abbey was huge and rambling, girt with many memories. They spent
nearly two hours wandering through the house and the old, crumbling
chapel.

"There