as it was called
in this household of simple traditions. Helped by his friend's arm,
Ralph managed to hobble to table; he ate little, and talked throughout
the meal in his wonted vein of cheerful reflection. Will enjoyed
everything that was set before him; the good, wholesome food, which did
credit to Mrs. Pomfret's housekeeping, had a rare savour after months
of dining in the little parlour behind his shop, varied only by Mrs.
Wick's cooking on Sundays. One thing, however, interfered with his
ease; seated opposite to Rosamund Elvan, he called to mind the fact
that his toilet this morning had been of the most summary description;
he was unshaven, and his clothing was precisely what he had worn all
yesterday at the counter. The girl's eyes passed observantly over him
now and then; she was critical of appearances, no doubt. That his
aspect and demeanour might be in keeping, he bore himself somewhat
bluffly, threw out brief, blunt phrases, and met Miss Elvan's glance
with a confident smile. No resentment of this behaviour appeared in her
look or speech; as the meal went on, she talked more freely, and
something of frank curiosity began to reveal itself in her countenance
as she listened to him.

Ralph Pomfret having hobbled back to his study chair, to doze, if might
be, for an hour or two, the others presently strolled out into the
garden, where rustic chairs awaited them on the shadowy side.

"You have your pipe, I hope?" said the hostess, as Warburton stretched
himself out with a sigh of content.

"I have."

"And matches?"

"Yes--No! The box is empty."

"I'll send you some. I have one or two things to see to indoors."

So Will and Rosamund sat alone, gazing idly at the summer sky, hearing
the twitter of a bird, the hum of insects, whilst the scents of flower
and leaf lulled them to a restful intimacy. Without a word of ceremony,
Will used the matches that were brought him, and puffed a cloud into
the warm air. They were talking of the beauties of this neighbourhood,
of the delightful position of the house.

"You often come out to see my uncle, I suppose," said Rosamund.

"Not often, I'm seldom free, and not always in the humour."

"Not in the humour for _this_?"

"It sounds strange, doesn't it?" said Will, meeting her eyes. "When I'm
here, I want to be here always; winter or summer, there's nothing more
enjoyable--in the way of enjoyment that does only good. Do you regret
Egypt?"

"No, indeed. I shall ne