Pernambuco six months ago. It's pure
childishness to pretend that you feel nothing and care for nothing, when
we all know that you've had a sore trouble and a hard fight of it. But
you've conquered, Mr. Heron, as I thought you would."

Percival sat perfectly still. His face wore at first an expression of
great surprise. Then it relaxed, and became intently grave and even sad,
but the defiant bitterness disappeared.

"I think you're right," he said, after a long pause. "Of course,
I've--I've been hit pretty hard. But I don't want people to know. I
don't want her to know. And I don't mean either to snivel or to sulk.
But I see what you mean; and I think you may be right."

Mr. Colquhoun made some figures on his blotting-pad, and did not look up
for a few minutes. He was glad that his visitor had dropped his sneering
tone. And, indeed, Percival dropped it for the remainder of his visit,
and, although he talked of scarcely anything but trivial topics, he went
away feeling as if Mr. Colquhoun was no longer an enemy, but a
confidential friend. On his return to the hotel, he found that Vivian
had gone out with Arthur Fane. He occupied himself with strolling idly
about Dunmuir till they came back.

Vivian had ordered a dog-cart, and got Fane to drive him up to
Netherglen. He thought it possible that he might gain admittance,
although Percival had not done so. But he was mistaken. He was assured
by the impassive Stevens that Mrs. Hugo Luttrell was too unwell to see
visitors, and that Mr. Luttrell was not at home. Vivian was forced to
drive away, baffled and impatient.

"Drive me round by the loch," he said to Fane. "There is a road running
close to the water. I should like to go that way. What does the loch
look like to-day, Fane? Is it bright?"

"Yes, very bright."

"And the sky is clear?"

"Clear in the south and east. There are clouds coming up from the
north-west; we shall have rain to-night."

They drove on silently, until at last Fane said, in rather a hesitating
tone:--

"There is a lady making signs to us to turn round to wait, sir. She is a
little way behind us."

"A lady? Stop then; stop at once. Is she near? What is she like? Is she
young?"

"Very young, very slight. She is close to us now," said Fane, as he
checked his horse.

Rupert bent forward with a look of eager expectation. He heard a
footstep on the road; surely he knew it? He knew the voice well enough
as it spoke his name.

"Mr. Vivian!"