Antonia frowned.

"You were very sweet to that young foreigner, Dick," she murmured with a
smile at Shelton. "I wish that we could see him."

But Shelton shook his head.

"It seems to me," he muttered, "that I did about as little for him as I
could."

Again her face grew thoughtful, as though his words had chilled her.

"I don't see what more you could have done," she answered.

A desire to get close to her, half fear, half ache, a sense of futility
and bafflement, an inner burning, made him feel as though a flame were
licking at his heart.

CHAPTER XXI

ENGLISH

Just as Shelton was starting to walk back to Oxford he met Mr. Dennant
coming from a ride. Antonia's father was a spare man of medium height,
with yellowish face, grey moustache, ironical eyebrows, and some tiny
crow's-feet. In his old, short grey coat, with a little slit up the
middle of the back, his drab cord breeches, ancient mahogany leggings,
and carefully blacked boats, he had a dry, threadbare quality not
without distinction.

"Ah, Shelton!" he said, in his quietly festive voice; "glad to see the
pilgrim here, at last. You're not off already?" and, laying his hand
on Shelton's arm, he proposed to walk a little way with him across the
fields.

This was the first time they had met since the engagement; and Shelton
began to nerve himself to express some sentiment, however bald, about
it. He squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, and looked askance
at Mr. Dennant. That gentleman was walking stiffly, his cord breeches
faintly squeaking. He switched a yellow, jointed cane against his
leggings, and after each blow looked at his legs satirically. He himself
was rather like that yellow cane-pale, and slim, and jointed, with
features arching just a little, like the arching of its handle.

"They say it'll be a bad year for fruit," Shelton said at last.

"My dear fellow, you don't know your farmer, I 'm afraid. We ought to
hang some farmers--do a world of good. Dear souls! I've got some perfect
strawberries."

"I suppose," said Shelton, glad to postpone the evil moment, "in a
climate like this a man must grumble."

"Quite so, quite so! Look at us poor slaves of land-owners; if I
couldn't abuse the farmers I should be wretched. Did you ever see
anything finer than this pasture? And they want me to lower their
rents!"

And Mr. Dennant's glance satirically wavered, rested on Shelton, and
whisked back to the ground as though he had seen