would be horribly disappointed if fate deprived him of the
chance of a decisive interview with Anna Pynsent.

Those who saw him at Lady Maliphant's party that afternoon, smiling,
handsome, debonnair, as usual faultlessly attired, with a pleasant word
for everyone he met and an eye that was perfectly cool and careless,
would have been amazed could they have known the leap that his heart
gave when he caught sight of Lady Pynsent's great scarlet parasol and
trailing black laces, side by side with Nan's dainty white costume. The
girl wore an embroidered muslin, with a yellow sash tied loosely round
her slender waist; the graceful curve of her broad-brimmed hat, fastened
high over one ear like a cavalier's, was softened by drooping white
ostrich feathers; her lace parasol had a knot of yellow ribbon at one
side, to match the tint of her sash. Her long tan gloves and the
Marechal Niel roses at her neck were finishing touches of the picture
which Sydney was incompetent to grasp in detail, although he felt its
charm on a whole. The sweet, delicate face, with its refined features
and great dark eyes, was one which might well cause a man to barter all
the world for love; and, in Sydney's case, it happened that to gain its
owner meant to gain the world as well. It spoke well for Sydney's
genuine affection that he had ceased of late to think of the worldly
fortune that Nan might bring him, and remembered only that he wanted Nan
Pynsent for herself.

She greeted him with a smile. She had grown a little quieter, a little
more conventional in manner of late: he did not like her any the worse
for that. But, although she did not utter any word of welcome, he
fancied from her face that she was glad to see him; and it was not long
before he found some pretext for strolling off with her to a shadowy and
secluded portion of the grounds. Even then he was not sure whether he
would ask her to be his wife that day, or whether he would postpone the
decisive moment a little longer. Nan's bright, unconscious face was very
charming, undisturbed by fear or doubt: what if he brought a shadow to
it, a cloud that he could not dispel? For one of the very few times in
his life, Sydney did not feel sure of himself.

"Where are you going this summer?" she asked him, as they stood beside
the shining water, and watched the eddies and ripples of the stream.

"I usually go abroad. But Sir John has been asking me to Culverley
again."

"You do not mean to