"Now _that_ would be suitable!" he said in Lady Barbara's ear, nodding
toward the pair. "You saw how they came in together. But of course it's a
blind. Any one with half an eye can see that she's just fishing for
Harry!"

XII

Faversham sped home through the winding Cumbrian lanes, driven by the new
chauffeur just imported from Manchester. The hedges were thick with
meadow-sweet and its scent, mingled with that of new-mown hay, hung in
the hot, still air. In front of him the Ullswater mountains showed dimly
blue. It was a country he was beginning to love. His heart rose to it.

Small wonder in that! For here, in this northern landscape, so strange to
him but three months ago, he had first stumbled on Success--and he had
first met Lydia.

Was there any chance for him? Through all his talks with the country
neighbours, or with Lady Tatham, he had been keenly on the watch for
anything that might show him what Lydia's position in the Duddon Castle
circle actually was. That Tatham was in love with her was clear. Mrs.
Penfold's chatter as to the daily homage paid by the castle to the
cottage, through every channel--courtesies or gifts--that the Tathams'
delicacy could invent, or the Penfolds' delicacy accept, had convinced
him on that point. And Faversham had seen for himself at Duddon that
Tatham hung upon her every movement and always knew where she was and to
whom she was talking; nor had the long conversation in the rose-walk
escaped him.

Well, of course, in the case of any other girl in the world than Lydia,
such things would be conclusive. Who was likely to refuse Tatham, plus
the Tatham estates? But unless he had mistaken her altogether--her
detachment, her unworldliness, her high spirit--Lydia Penfold was not
the girl to marry an estate. And if Tatham himself had touched her
heart--"would she have allowed me the play with her that she has done
this last fortnight?" She would have been absorbed, preoccupied; and she
had been neither. He thought of her kind eyes, her frank, welcoming ways,
her intense interest in his fortunes. Impossible--if she were in love
with or on the point of an engagement to Harry Tatham.

She had forgiven him for his touch of jealous ill-temper! As they stood
together at the last in the Duddon garden, she had said, "I _must_ hear
about to-night! send me a word!" And he carried still, stamped upon his
mind, the vision of her--half shy, half eager--looking up.

For the rest, th