h a gate out of a field."

I coughed down the beginning of a most improper fit of laughter, and
felt ashamed of myself. Her eyes raised for a moment seemed full of
innocent suffering and unexpressed menace in the depths of the dilated
pupils within the rings of sombre blue. It was--how shall I say it?--a
night effect when you seem to see vague shapes and don't know what
reality you may come upon at any time. Then she lowered her eyelids
again, shutting all mysteriousness out of the situation except for the
sobering memory of that glance, nightlike in the sunshine, expressively
still in the brutal unrest of the street.

"So Captain Anthony joined you--did he?"

"He opened a field-gate and walked out on the road. He crossed to my
side and went on with me. He had his pipe in his hand. He said: `Are
you going far this morning?'"

These words (I was watching her white face as she spoke) gave me a
slight shudder. She remained demure, almost prim. And I remarked:

"You have been talking together before, of course."

"Not more than twenty words altogether since he arrived," she declared
without emphasis. "That day he had said `Good morning' to me when we
met at breakfast two hours before. And I said good morning to him. I
did not see him afterwards till he came out on the road."

I thought to myself that this was not accidental. He had been observing
her. I felt certain also that he had not been asking any questions of
Mrs Fyne.

"I wouldn't look at him," said Flora de Barral. "I had done with
looking at people. He said to me: `My sister does not put herself out
much for us. We had better keep each other company. I have read every
book there is in that cottage.' I walked on. He did not leave me. I
thought he ought to. But he didn't. He didn't seem to notice that I
would not talk to him."

She was now perfectly still. The wretched little parasol hung down
against her dress from her joined hands. I was rigid with attention.
It isn't every day that one culls such a volunteered tale on a girl's
lips. The ugly street-noises swelling up for a moment covered the next
few words she said. It was vexing. The next word I heard was
"worried."

"It worried you to have him there, walking by your side."

"Yes. Just that," she went on with downcast eyes. There was something
prettily comical in her attitude and her tone, while I pictured to
myself a poor white-faced girl walking to her death with an unc