ed them, only to think for a moment what ugly
trees they were. Before her, east, west, and north, lay the wooded
landscape, soft of hue beneath the summer sky, spreading its
tranquil beauty far away to the mists of the horizon. In vivacious
company she would have called it, and perhaps have thought it, a
charming view; alone, she had no eye for such things--an
indifference characteristic of her mind, and not at all dependent
upon its mood. Presently another patch of shade invited her to
repose again, and again she meditated for an hour or more.

The sun had grown less ardent, and a breeze, no longer fitful, made
walking pleasant. The sight of holiday-making school-children, who,
in their ribboned hats and white pinafores, were having tea not far
away, suggested to Louise that she also would like such refreshment.
Doubtless it might be procured at the inn yonder, near the
racecourse, and thither she began to move. Her thoughts were more at
rest; she had made her plan for the evening; all that had to be done
was to kill time for another hour or so. Walking lightly over the
turf, she noticed the chalk marks significant of golf, and wondered
how the game was played. Without difficulty she obtained her cup of
tea, loitered over it as long as possible, strayed yet awhile about
the Downs, and towards half-past six made for the railway station.

She travelled no further than Sutton, and there lingered in the
waiting room till the arrival of a certain train from London Bridge.
As the train came in she took up a position near the exit. Among the
people who had alighted, her eye soon perceived Clarence Mumford.
She stepped up to him and drew his attention.

'Oh! have you come by the same train?' he asked, shaking hands with
her.

'No. I've been waiting here because I wanted to see you, Mr.
Mumford. Will you spare me a minute or two?'

'Here? In the station?'

'Please--if you don't mind.'

Astonished, Mumford drew aside with her to a quiet part of the long
platform. Louise, keeping a very grave countenance, told him rapidly
all that had befallen since his departure from home in the morning.

'I behaved horridly, and I was sorry for it as soon as I had left
the house. After all Mrs. Mumford's kindness to me, and yours, I
don't know how I could be so horrid. But the quarrel with mother had
upset me so, and I felt so miserable when Mrs. Mumford seemed to
want to get rid of me. I feel sure she didn't really want to send me
a