fully conscious of his own inferiority, for he did not speak again. It
was for him to wait. The silence deepened; in the heart of the wood a
blackbird was piping madly on a blackthorn.

"Before you go away," Chesney hazarded, "I should very much like----"

"But I am not going away, at least not yet. Besides, I have a purpose to
serve. I am waiting until those impossible people leave Goldney Park. I
understand that they have already gone, but on that head I am not sure.
I want to go over the house. The late owner, Mr. Mainbrace, was a great
friend of my family. Before he died he was so good as to express a wish
that the heir to the property should come and see us and--but that part
is altogether too ridiculous. And as an only daughter----"

"I see," Chesney said reflectively. "The heir and yourself. It sounds
ridiculous. Now, if you had been in the least like the romantic type of
young woman, perhaps----"

"How do you know that I am not? Am I like Byron's woman: 'Seek roses in
December, ice in June'? Well, perhaps you are right. After all, one
doesn't find ice in June. However, the heir to the Goldney Park estate
and myself never met. He let the place to those awful Gosway people for
three years and went abroad. There was not even the suspicion of a
romance. But I am curious to see the house, all the same."

"Nothing easier, Miss Marsh. Let us go and see it after luncheon. The
Gosways have gone, you may take my word for that, and only a caretaker
is in possession. Will you come with me this afternoon?"

The prospect was not displeasing. Miss Marsh poised it in her mind for a
few moments. There was Chesney's education to be thought of as well. On
the whole, she decided that there might be less pleasant ways of
spending a hot August afternoon.

"I think I'll come," she said. "I want to see the old furniture and the
pictures. I love old furniture. Perhaps if the heir to the property had
gone on his knees whilst I was seated on a priceless Chippendale settee,
I might----"

"You might, but I don't think you would," Chesney interrupted. "Whatever
your faults may be I am sure you are not mercenary."

"Really! How good of you! The thing that we are apt to call
depravity----"

"Is often another name for the promptings of poor human nature."

Miss Marsh turned and stared at the speaker. Really, his education was
progressing at a most amazing rate. Without the least sign of mental
distress he had delivered himself of an