ave a present when I have been away."

Lord and squire went for a wonderful walk. The woodland and meadows of
Hertfordshire fairly beggared the Parks....

Tea at a tiny inn sunk in a dell through which a sleepy lane trickled
between high banks--tea in the pocket garden under sweet-smelling
limes, where stocks stood orderly and honeysuckle sprawled over the
brick-nogging, brought back old days of happy fellowship, just to
outshine their memory.

From the cool of the house came on a sudden the click of metal and the
swift whirr of wheels. Somewhere a clock was in labour--an old, old
timepiece, to whom the telling of the hours was a grave matter. A
moment later a thin old voice piped out the birth of a new period.

Five o'clock.

Peacefully Lyveden expelled a cloud of smoke. He need not be moving
for another quarter of an hour. Upon the warm red bricks at his feet
Patch lay dozing after his dish of weak tea.

"Could you give it me in the garden?"

The fresh clear voice floated out of the doorway just in front of my
lady herself. Arrived there, she stood for a moment looking pleasedly
round. It is doubtful whether the old woodwork had ever before framed
such a picture.

There was nothing remarkable about the dress, except her wearing of it.
There is a grace of carriage that will make purple of sackcloth.
Still, the gown was well cut of fawn-coloured stuff, which her
stockings and shoes matched. Her face was generous--proud, too, yet
tender and very beautiful. The soft rose of her cheeks, the misty blue
of her eyes stood there for gentleness, the curve of the red lips for
pride. Wisdom sat in her temples under the thick dark hair. Strength
herself had moulded the exquisite chin. And a rogue of a dimple was
there to mock the lot of them--the print of the delicate finger of
Laughter herself, set in a baby's cheek twenty-five years before. A
tiny watch upon a silk strap served to enhance the slenderness of a
white wrist. Against the dark cloud of hair, which they were setting
straight, the pointed fingers stood out like living statuary. Lifted
elbows gave you the graceful line of her figure: the short skirt,
ankles to match the wrists....

Looking upon her, Lyveden forgot the world. He may be forgiven, for
she was a sight for sore eyes.

Having set her hair to her liking she put on her hat, pulling it down
with a fine careless confidence such as no manner of mirror could give.

She had not seen Lyv