f flower roots in the cart, she
turned round suddenly and we came face to face with the gate
between us. For a moment we stared at each other, I reflecting
that she really was very pretty with her delicately-shaped
features, her fresh, healthy-looking complexion, her long dark
eyelashes and her lithe and charming figure. What she reflected
about me I don't know, probably nothing half so complimentary.
Suddenly, however, her large greyish eyes grew troubled and a
look of alarm appeared upon her face.

"Is anything wrong with my father?" she asked. "I don't see
him."

"If you mean Mr. Marnham," I replied, lifting my hat, "I believe
that Dr. Rodd and he--"

"Never mind about Dr. Rodd," she broke in with a contemptuous
little jerk of her chin, "how is my father?"

"I imagine much as usual. He and Dr. Rodd were here a little
while ago, I suppose that they have gone out" (as a matter of
fact they had, but in different directions).

"Then that's all right," she said with a sigh of relief. "You
see, I heard that he was very ill, which is why I have come
back."

So, thought I to myself, she loves that old scamp and
she--doesn't love the doctor. There will be more trouble as sure
as five and two are seven. All we wanted was a woman to make the
pot boil over.

Then I opened the gate and took a travelling bag from her hand
with my politest bow.

"My name is Quatermain and that of my friend Anscombe. We are
staying here, you know," I said rather awkwardly.

"Indeed," she answered with a delightful smile, "what a very
strange place to choose to stay in."

"It is a beautiful house," I remarked.

"Not bad, although I designed it, more or less. But I was
alluding to its inhabitants."

This finished me, and I am sure she felt that I could think of
nothing nice to say about those inhabitants, for I heard her
sigh. We walked side by side up the rose-fringed path and
presently arrived at the stoep, where Anscombe, whose hair I had
cut very nicely on the previous day, was watching us from his
long chair. They looked at each other, and I saw both of them
colour a little, out of mere foolishness, I suppose.

"Anscombe," I said, "this is--" and I paused, not being quite
certain whether she also was called Marnham. "Heda Marnham," she
interrupted.

"Yes--Miss Heda Marnham, and this is the Honourable Maurice
Anscombe."

"Forgive me for not rising, Miss Marnham," said Anscombe in his
pleasant voice (by the way