ouched the shoulders with a suggestion of
restless virility. When she walked there was an imperious tilt to her
head; but no matter how carefully planned her toilette, or how cleverly
her coiffure might have been arranged by her maid, there was nearly
always some stray bit of colour or carelessly chosen flower that
combined with her nature in a suggestion of outlawry: the same instinct
of rebellion that had dominated her brother Dick during their
childhood. Inside the house she would sometimes look, in her quickly
changing moods, as if she were some creature of Nature imprisoned
within the walls.

Selwyn wondered if heredity, in one of its strange jests, had recalled
the spirit of the smuggler ancestor and recast it into the soul of the
girl.

They were nearing the house, when, emerging upon a clearing, they came
to a rustic bench looking across a short field lined with shrubbery.

'Let us sit down a minute,' she said. 'We can hear the dinner-gong
from here.'

He took his seat beside her, and dreamily watched the yellow rays of
the sun casting their receding tints along the bushes opposite them.
It was strangely quiet, and the hum of insects seemed like a soft
orchestral accompaniment to the crickets' song.

'It is not very sporting of me, Mr. Selwyn,' she said softly, but with
her old staccato mannerism, 'to force my mood on you like this. I did
it once before--that dreadful night at the Cafe Rouge--and I know that
you must think it is just selfishness on my part that makes me so
unhappy. But--you know I never had a real friend--except little
Dick--and I felt to-night as if I had lost all my courage about life.
That's why I followed you. I knew you would be patient and kind.'

'My dear girl,' said Selwyn gently, speaking almost listlessly for fear
the smouldering power of retort should be fanned into being, 'for
months I have been hoping that some day we should be able to talk like
this, as friends. Perhaps it was my fault, but there always seemed a
sort of third-person-singular attitude in our talk, as if we were
speaking at each other, which served to block our friendship from
becoming anything of value to each other. Naturally I have seen that
you are not happy, though there have been moments when you were the
very personification of light-hearted ness, and I have known for a long
time that the motif of your whole nature is resentment. Believe me,
Miss Durwent, if I could be a friend--and I mean that