lanced at his companion, and he distinctly saw a little
grimace. Saton would have passed on, for Rochester's nod was of the
slightest, but Lois insisted upon stopping.

"Mr. Saton," she said, "I have been hearing all sorts of wonderful
things about your house. When are you going to ask us all to tea to
see your curiosities?"

Saton looked into Rochester's immovable face.

"Whenever you choose to come," he answered calmly. "I am nearly always
at home in the afternoon, or rather I shall be after next Thursday,"
he added, as an afterthought. "I am going to town this evening."

"Going away?" she asked, a little blankly.

"I have to go up to London," he answered, "but it is only for two
days."

There was a short, uneasy silence. Rochester purposely avoided speech.
He understood the situation exactly. They had something to say to one
another, and wished him away.

"You won't be able to send me that book, then?" she asked.

"I will leave it at the house this afternoon, if I may," he answered,
half looking toward Rochester.

Rochester made no sign. Saton raised his cap and passed on.

"Wonderful syringa bush, that," Rochester remarked, pointing with his
stick.

"Wonderful!" Lois answered.

"Quite an ideal village, mine," he continued. "You see there are
crocuses growing out even in the roadway."

"Very pretty!" she answered.

"You are not by any chance annoyed with me?"

"I did not think you were very civil to that poor young man."

"Naturally," he answered. "I didn't mean to be civil. I am one of
those simple folk who are always annoyed by the incomprehensible. I do
not understand Mr. Bertrand Saton. I do not quite understand, either,
why you should find him an interesting companion for your morning
walks."

"You are a hateful person!" she declared, as he held open the gate
which led back to the Park.

"I intend to remain so," he answered drily.

The sound of footsteps coming along the path which they had just
quitted, attracted his attention momentarily. He turned round. Lois,
too, hesitated.

"I beg your pardon, sir," the newcomer said, "but can you tell me
whereabouts in this neighborhood I can find a house called Blackbird's
Nest? A Mr. Bertrand Saton lives there, I believe."

Rochester hesitated for a few seconds. He looked at the woman, summing
her up with swift comprehension. Lois, by his side, stared at her in
surprise. She was inclined to be stout, and her face was flushed with
walking, no