was not alone, probably he would go to a new place at once. He may have
told you the truth in saying he was going to Jersey.'

'Then it was needless to add the untruth. I did not ask him where he
would live. Sit down, dear.'

'Thank you. I shall not stay now. I thought it was better to come to
you with this at once. Please destroy the letter.'

Mrs. Ormonde mused.

'Can you still go to your aunt's?' she asked, when Annabel moved for
leave-taking.

'You are taking the truth for granted, Mrs. Ormonde.'

'I mean that we have no way of discovering whether it is true or not.'

'It will make no change. I shall not speak of it to father. There will
be no change, in any case.'

Again there fell a short silence.

'I can only wait in hope of hearing from him,' Mrs. Ormonde said.

'Of course. If my aunt says anything to me about it, I will write to
you. Good-bye.'

'I shall see you to-morrow, as we arranged?'

'Oh yes. But, please, we won't refer again to this.'

They parted as on an ordinary occasion.

But Annabel did not go home at once. She walked down to the shore, and
stood for a long time looking upon the dim sea. It was the very spot
where Thyrza had stood that Sunday morning when she came out in the
early sunlight.

Annabel had often thought how fitting it was that at this period of her
life she should leave the calm, voiceless shore of Ullswater for the
neighbourhood of the never-resting waves. The sea had a voice of
craving, and her heart responded with desire for completion of her
being, with desire for love.

The thought that she would be near Walter Egremont had a great part in
her anticipation of London.

She was not hitherto sure that she loved him. It was rather, 'Let me
see him again, and discover how his presence affects me.' Yet his
manifest coldness at the last meeting had caused her much vague
heartache. She blamed herself for being so cold: was it not natural
that he should take his tone from her? He would naturally watch to see
how she bore herself to him, and, remembering Ullswater, he could not
press for more than she seemed ready to give. Yet her reserve had been
involuntary; assuredly she was not then moved with a longing to recover
what she had rejected.

There was a change after the meeting with Thyrza Trent. It seemed to
her very foolish to remember so persistently that Egremont had said
nothing of the girl's strange loveliness, yet she could not help
thinking of the omission