hine through the branches of some
great beech trees, and the dense undergrowth around screened him from
the observation of any chance passer by walking along the path
behind. . . . "You can't do anything," the mocking voice would
continue. "So why worry?"

But the mental jaundice was passing--and the natural belief of man in
himself was coming back. Ho felt the gas expert had been right, even
though he had died. And so Vane became a reader of books of a type
which had not formerly been part of his daily programme. He was
groping towards knowledge, and he deliberately sought every help for
the way. He tried some of H. G. Wells's to start with. . . .
Previously he had read the "First Men in the Moon," because he'd been
told it was exciting; and "Ann Veronica," because he had heard it was
immoral. Now he tried some of the others.

He was engaged thus when Joan Devereux found him one afternoon in his
favourite haunt. She had stumbled on his hiding place by mistake, and
her first instinct was to retire as quickly as she had come. Since
their first meeting, their conversation, on the rare occasions they had
met at Rumfold Hall, had been confined to the most commonplace remarks,
and those always in the presence of someone else. Any possibility of a
_tete-a-tete_ she had avoided; and the necessary mental effort had
naturally caused her to think all the more about him. Now, just as she
halted in her tracks and prepared to back out through the undergrowth,
Vane looked up at her with his slow lazy smile.

"Discovered!" he remarked scrambling to his feet, and saluting her.
"Joan, you have come in the nick of time."

"I would prefer you not to call me Joan," she answered coldly. "And
after your abominable rudeness last time we were alone together, I
don't want to talk to you at all."

"I suppose I was rather rude," answered Vane reflectively. "Though, if
it's any comfort to you to know, I was much ruder to two men going up
in the train a few days later. . . ."

"It isn't of the slightest interest to me," she returned, "whom you're
rude to, or how you spend your spare time. The habits of an
ill-mannered boor are not of great importance, are they?" She turned
her back on him, and parted the undergrowth with her hands, preparatory
to leaving.

"Don't go." His voice close behind her made her pause. "I need
you--officially."

She looked round at him, and despite herself the corners of her lips
began to twitch.