to display a bold front to the people
she disliked.

She threw him one of her quick glances as he reached her, and noted with
distaste the extreme fieriness of his red hair in the light of the
sinking sun. His hair had always been an offence to her. It was so
obtrusive. But she could have borne with that alone. It was the green
eyes that mocked at everything from under shaggy red brows that had
originally given rise to her very decided antipathy, and these Olga
found it impossible to condone. People had no right to mock, whatever
the colour of their eyes.

He joined her as though wholly unaware of her glance of disparagement.

"I fear I am spoiling a charming picture," he observed as he did so.
"But since there was none but myself to admire it, I felt at liberty to
do so."

Again momentarily Olga's eyes flashed upwards, comprehending the whole
of his thick-set figure in a single sweep of the eyelids. He was
exceedingly British in build, possessing in breadth what he lacked in
height. There was a bull-dog strength about his neck and shoulders that
imparted something of a fighting look to his general demeanour. He bore
himself with astounding self-assurance.

"Have you had any tea?" Olga inquired somewhat curtly. She was inwardly
wondering what he had come for. He usually had a very definite reason
for all he did.

"Many thanks," he replied, balancing himself on the edge of the hammock.
"I am deeply touched by your solicitude for my welfare. I partook of tea
at the Campions' half an hour ago."

"At the Campions'!" There was quick surprise in Olga's voice.

It elicited no explanation however. He sat and swayed in the hammock as
though he had not noticed it.

After a moment she turned and looked at him fully. The green eyes were
instantly upon her, alert and critical, holding that gleam of satirical
humour that she invariably found so exasperating.

"Well?" said Olga at last.

"Well, fair lady?" he responded, with bland serenity.

She frowned. He was the only person in her world who ever made her take
the trouble to explain herself, and he did it upon every possible
occasion, with unvarying regularity. She hated him for it very
thoroughly, but she always had to yield.

"Why did you go to the Campions'?" she asked, barely restraining her
irritation.

"That, fair lady," he coolly responded, "is a question which with regret
I must decline to answer."

Olga flushed. "How absurd!" she said quickly. "Dad would